Aintree reached Shaw. For a moment, he blocked Mart’s view of the rifleman.
Mart’s mind was working smoothly, coldly. There was one man behind him—the barman. Mart knew him. He’d keep out of it. If trouble came, Grebb would use his weight to get the trouble outside, aided by Charlie Stott. Mart decided that this piece of trouble was going to take place right here on the spot in Grebb’s place. He didn’t want a shot in the back as he went through the doorway.
Aintree moved slightly. Mart could see Shaw’s face. The man was talking, calmly and with authority. Mart knew what he was saying. This wasn’t the way he had planned it. Therefore this wasn’t the time. He wanted Mart heavily outnumbered in a crossfire.
And that, Mart decided, was what he was not going to get.
He was going to get this situation rammed right down his throat and it would choke him.
Aintree nodded once. He moved away from Shaw, walking past Mart diagonally across the room without looking at him, reaching the far corner opposite to Shaw and on the other side of the door to Shaw. For the first time, Mart started to worry. But he didn’t let the fact make him sweat. His mind was still ice-cold.
‘Clem,’ he said, ‘if you want to stay alive, move away from me.’ He owed that much to the little man.
Clem gave him a startled look and scuttled to the center of the floor, floundered around for a moment and made for the door. He went through the doorway and the door slammed behind him.
Grebb turned toward Mart. The man could smell trouble. Charlie Stott saw the alarm in his master and came to his side, stood there woodenly, looking over the room.
Mart slipped the thong from the hammer of his gun.
‘You want me, Shaw?’ Mart asked, raising his voice above the hubbub.
The rifleman couldn’t hide his surprise.
The place fell silent at once.
Mart’s eyes were on Shaw as the more deadly of the two men, but his mind was on Aintree in his corner. Nobody there was yet aware of the connection between Shaw and Mart. There were men between them. This wasn’t going to be easy. That was Mart’s one dubious advantage. The situation was so much in the favor of Shaw and Aintree that they were taken off balance by his challenge.
Grebb said: ‘Now, now, Mart ‘
‘You keep right out of this, Andy,’ Mart said quietly.
Grebb hesitated. Even Stott stayed still. Both suspected that there could be more than they could handle here. Mart Storm wasn’t a man to tangle with.
Shaw said: ‘What makes you think I want you? I don’t even know who you are?’
‘You know who I am,’ Mart said. ‘Aintree, hidin’ over yonder in the corner with his hand on his gun, told you.’
Men moved. There was now a wide lane between Mart and the rifleman.
Grebb said: ‘Take it outside, boys.’ There was worry in his voice.
‘Nothin’s goin’ to get broken,’ Mart assured him. Stott looked as if he wanted to take some action. He also seemed to be rooted to the spot.
Aintree shouted—
‘Now.’
Mart moved.
The onlookers had never seen a man move faster with less effort in their lives. There was a sudden burst of utter confusion. The men between Aintree and Mart were suddenly aware of their danger and tried to scramble clear.
Mart knew that Aintree was drawing. He also knew that Shaw was most likely the more dangerous of the two.
He dropped to one knee, crouching forward. As he did so, his gun came smoothly into his hand. Shaw was in the act of flicking down the light carbine so that his left hand caught the barrel. By the time he had done that, Mart had cocked and fired.
Almost in the same instant, Aintree’s gun sounded. The bullet thudded into the timber wall at the rear of the bar. The barman yelled and dropped from sight.
Mart pivoted on one knee, dove forward full length on the floor, tilted his gun up, cocked and fired a second time. There was still a man between himself and Aintree. He no more than glimpsed the man’s gun-hand.
Even as he fired, he thought: By God, We’ve wounded the bastard again. He wouldn’t make the mistake a second time. Aintree was as good as dead.
The man was shrieking: ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.’ His gun hit the floor. ‘I don’t have a gun.’
Mart rose to his feet, turned and backed to the wall beside the external door. His gaze passed quickly over the men in front of him. The shock of the sudden violence showed in their eyes.
He said to Aintree: ‘Get over by the bar.’
Clutching his bloody right arm, Aintree slowly crossed the room and backed up against the makeshift bar. His face was ashen and the terror showed in his eyes.
Mart glanced quickly at Shaw.
The man lay on his face, arms outspread. There was a pool of blood around his head. Mart could see that the bullet had exited through the rear of the skull.
He looked at Aintree. His bullet had taken the man in the right arm no more than inches above where he had previously planted the lead.
Kill him, a voice said in his head.
Aintree knew his thoughts. He watched Mart’s face avidly.
Mart said: ‘I’m goin’ out of here. Anybody follows me an’ they’re as dead as Shaw there.’
The three Broken Spur riders were looking pretty sick.
Mart moved sideways, felt for the latch of the door and opened it. He stepped back into the night, slammed the door shut and quickly turned, ready for a shot. The other men might be out here waiting for him.
Then he ran for Darky.