‘He’s not there!’ Molly withdrew her head from the open window.
‘Isn’t he?’ Mary Anne sat back on the bunk of their sleeper compartment. ‘Did you think he would be?’
‘Me?’ Molly snorted. ‘I’m not in the least worried about Mr. Keith Wellington. I wouldn’t speak to him if he was the last man alive.’
‘Was he the last man alive I don’t reckon he’d have time to worry,’ Waco remarked.
‘That’s the sort of remark I could expect from a man.’ Molly was in no mood for jollity. She’d been hoping Keith would at least come to the train and try to stop her leaving. ‘Men! There’s no good in any of them. T he whole lot are stupid, conceited, boasting, tied to their mothers’ apron strings. Where’d they be without a woman to look after them and to sew their buttons on for them?’
‘If there were no women we wouldn’t need the buttons.’ Waco felt called on to defend the male sex in this den of womanhood.
‘Very funny,’ Mary Anne snorted. ‘Don’t worry, Molly, you’ll never be troubled by him again.’
‘I know.’ Molly suddenly gave a sniff and flung herself on to the bunk, sobbing. ‘If only he’d stood up against his mother just once.’
Waco grinned, taking up his hat and making for the door of the compartment. This was no place for a man and the sooner he got out of it the better. ‘I’ll go and see to my bunk,’ he told Mary Anne, ‘Likely see you in the diner later on.’
Waco went along two doors, opening the sleeper reserved for him. His bag lay on the bed and the new rifle by its side. He took it up and turned it over in his hands. This was a weapon a man could be proud of, more range than a ’73 and just as reliable. The Ysabel Kid would be green with envy when he saw it, might even trade in that ‘One of a Thousand ’73’ for this kind. He cleaned the rifle and his twin Colts, then got to his feet and unbuckled the gunbelt. There did not appear to be much point in wearing it tonight. It was too far east for there to be any danger of a hold-up and a brace of matched guns weighed heavy on a man. He thrust his right-hand gun into his waistband so that his coat hid it then picked up the rifle, gunbelt and second Colt, taking them to Mary Anne’s sleeper and knocking. He was let in by Molly who was over her tears now and looking annoyed at her lapse. ‘Lock these away for me, Rusty gal,’ he said. ‘Then let’s go eat.’
The meal was not a success for Molly was about as cheerful as an undertaker with a toothache. After it was over the girls were all for going to bed but Waco decided he would go along to the smoker in the hope he would meet some fellow spirits to pass the night. He walked along the swaying aisles and across the platforms between the train’s carriages. The city was gone from sight now and they were lulling out into open country again. He breathed in the air and grinned. If that was a big city he hoped such would never come to the West, and that he never need go to another.
Entering the smoker he found it still almost empty and his attention was drawn to the poker game. He moved forward and halted by the empty seat, looking down. Lou was dealing and Waco grinned as he noted the way the man held the cards, three fingers gripping the long edge, fourth around the front and holding square the short edge. Next Waco’s eye went to the young man who sat alone. The two drummers were fleecing him, that was for sure. It was the sort of game a prudent young man would steer clear of; nothing but trouble and loss faced one sitting in on such a game.
‘Room for players, gents?’
Lou looked up from dealing, taking in every detail of Waco’s dress and his apparent youth. He read Waco as a cow hand returning from the big city, a young one and easy meat. His eyes, unused to looking for such things, did not see the bulge made by the gun. Waving a hand he cheerily said, ‘Sure, friend. Set and play a few.’
Waco took the seat next to Keith Wellington with no idea who the young man was. Lou introduced himself, Keith and Joe just by their Christian names and Waco told them the only name he’d ever known. He did not remember Molly’s ex-fiancé’s name or connect this young dude with him. He noted Keith was flushed and worried looking and could guess why.
Keith felt relieved when Waco sat in. The game was getting out of his depth and he was losing heavily. It was the opposite of the early stages when the stakes were low and his luck very good. Hand after hand came to him and brought in pot after pot. Then Lou asked if they could raise the stakes. From a friendly and harmless five to twenty-five cent limit it was now fifty cents to five dollars and Keith’s luck had changed for the worse. Now he could rarely do anything right and was losing heavily. His suspicions were aroused but he could not get over the fact that he chose the cards.
Waco accepted the cards after Lou’s deal and gave them an awkward overhand stack, the way the veriest amateur would handle cards. He offered the cards to Lou to cut, then dealt in a clumsy way which brought grins to Lou and Joe’s face. He’d laid his money on the table and they were eager to add it to Keith’s pile. It shouldn’t be hard; a man who dealt in such a manner would not cause them any trouble.
In that casual stack Waco checked the cards and could see no sign of their being marked. That meant the two men were using other methods to take Keith’s roll from him. He knew his awkward handling of the cards was lulling the suspicions of the two men. They did not guess he knew how to handle cards and knew more than a little of the ways of crooked gamblers. His eyes were alert. Without appearing to, he saw everything. He saw Joe make what appeared to be a nervous gesture, gently and quickly pull the second of his five cards out. Just an apparently casual pull but it told Lou, and Waco, Joe held a pair.
The betting went the rounds and Waco discarded his hand right off while watching him and in a casual move he extracted three jacks, laying them on the top of the deck. The move was done fast and unseen by any of the others. He waited for betting to end then asked, ‘Cards gents?’ hoping Keith held a pair and took three cards.
‘Take three,’ Keith answered.
Picking up the three cards Keith almost dropped them again. He was in the game with a pair of queens, now he held a full house, jacks and queens. Keeping his face impassive he managed to hold down his excitement as Joe took three cards and Lou two.
Joe grinned savagely. ‘I’ve got them this time, boys. So run for the hills.’
‘I never was any good at climbing,’ Keith replied and opened the betting eagerly.
Joe’s grin of triumph died an uneasy death as his three kings went under to the full house. He knew the chances of filling a full house from a three card draw were high. His eyes flickered to Waco but on the youngster’s face was nothing but mild interest. Joe decided it was pure bad luck which cost him this sizeable pot.
The game went on. Keith took the next pot and Lou reached for the cards and dealt. There was nothing wrong with the deal that Waco could see but he noticed that Keith showed the signs of having a good hand. Waco wondered where this young man learned to play poker. He wouldn’t last in a real rough game like this even without cheating. Waco once more discarded and Joe made a joking reference to it. At the same moment Lou fanned his cards out, tapped the top edge once in an apparently nervous move, then moved the third card up and down twice. Waco read the signal that Lou held three aces and caught Joe’s almost imperceptible agreement that he held the fourth. Waco knew what was coming now; it was called the spread and an old gambling trick.
The betting in the game was brisk for Keith held a flush 4ealt pat and felt he had a better than fair chance of winning. He shoved up the betting cheerily and the other two went along with it. Joe folded his cards and grunted.
‘This’s too rich for my blood.’
Waco watched the cards falling in a pile and knew that only four were there, the fifth, the desired ace was palmed by Joe ready for use. Lou was holding his cards bunched together but he fanned them out as a man would when the betting was steep. When he folded them together once more he’d got one card palmed. His left hand dropped out of sight behind the table in a casual move and slid the card between his knees, holding it. Now he only held four cards and needed the extra ace his partner was holding out.
Lou took one card on the draw, laying his four in a neat pile before him. He grinned knowingly as Keith declined to draw and pushed his draw card on to the others. Keith pushed the betting some more then called. This was what Waco was waiting for, the moment of the spread. Lou turned his cards, still in one pile and said, Tour aces.’
In a casual appearing move Joe reached across the table as if to spread the cards out, the palmed ace ready to drop into place. Waco moved fast, one hand shoving Lou’s cards to one side, the other reaching for Joe’s wrist. Fingers like steel clamps closed on the man’s wrist and turned it, exposing the ace laying in his palm. Then Waco’s other hand shoved the cards, showing four, not five laying there.
Joe jerked his hand free, dipping it into his pocket. The light of the smoker glinted on the shining steel of his razor as it licked out at Waco’s face. The young Texan pitched sideways from his seat, the razor lashing over his head and ripping open the seat. Even as he fell Waco’s right hand went across his body and brought out his Colt. The crash of the shot sounded louder than a cannon in the confines of the smoker. Joe rocked backwards, hit under the armpit by the heavy bullet and thrown back on to the seat again.
There was a thud and Lou crashed from his seat, a small light caliber Smith & Wesson revolver caught half out of his pocket. Waco came to his feet and grinned his thanks to Keith, whose help, via a well placed left fist, saved him from what could have been a ticklish position.
‘Hold it!’ Waco gave a warning as he lined his Colt on Lou who was clawing for his gun again. ‘Let loose or I’ll drop you and I’ve got me a permit to do it.’
Lou licked his lips. He still thought this was an easy mark cowhand here, one who’d made a lucky guess. He’d never seen a real fast man with a gun and did not have any idea how fast and deadly one could be. He still kept his hand on his gun, snarling, ‘I’ll get—’
‘Touch it or I’ll let you join your friend,’ Waco answered, blue eyes never leaving the man ignoring Joe who was laying back with an arm which would never be of use to him again. ‘You must think we were real easy, friend, trying to pull the spread on us.’
It was in that moment Lou realized that he was up against something more than just a dressed up cowhand. Here was a man who was a master with a gun. Then it hit Lou. A man who knew enough about the cheating trick called the spread, knew more than a little about cards. He knew far more than a man who gave a clumsy, overhand stack should know.
The few occupants of the smoker were on their feet now and the conductor forced his way through them. He came up, a big, burly man well capable of taking care of himself. ‘All right, all right. What’s it all about then?’
Waco did not take his eyes from Lou, who still held his revolver, as he answered. ‘These two tinhorns tried to take Chicago and me in a brace game. I caught them trying to use the spread on us. That gent there took his razor but I allow it’s some too late for shaving. If the other don’t let go of his gun I’ll help him to. Me’n ole Colonel Sam.’
‘Well, if it ain’t Joe and Lou.’ The conductor knew these two men from way back. ‘Haven’t I told you two not to use the train I’m conducting?’ He put his hand under his coat and took out a revolver. ‘Come on, both of you. Get down to the caboose. You’re getting off at the next whistle-stop.’
For a moment Waco thought Lou was going to argue the matter but the man was no gunfighter and knew the conductor was capable of either shooting him down or felling him with the barrel of the gun. He rose and helped Joe up. Then his eyes turned to Waco, full of hate. ‘You should be throwing him off the train as well. He’s a damn cardsharp.’
‘Me?’ Waco grinned, it made him look about sixteen. ‘I’m just a lil ole Texas boy who got lucky.’
‘Yeah,’ the conductor’s voice was heavily sarcastic. ‘You sure look it.’
The conductor herded Lou and Joe from the smoker with a warning that he would be back. Waco shoved the Colt back under his coat again and waved to the money on the table. ‘There enough there to cover all you lost, Chicago?’
Keith counted the money and nodded. ‘Enough and more. Do you mean they were cheating all the time?’
‘Why sure. They weren’t real good at it though.’ Waco picked up the remaining money and made it into two equal piles. He took five dollars from each pile and scooped his share into his pocket, leaving the ten dollars and Keith’s pile on the table.
The conductor returned and found the two young men seated at the table. ‘You playing cards again?’ he asked.
‘Not me,’ Waco answered. ‘I only sat in to lend Chicago here a hand when the wolves were fleecing him. It was a real rough school you got tied in with, Chicago.’
Keith’s face reddened slightly. His Streeterville Sporting Club training did not appear to be so good after all when a chance passing stranger could spot he was being fleeced. He kept his mouth shut for this young man saved his bankroll for him and prevented him from making a complete fool of himself. He could imagine what Molly would say if she’d met him and he confessed a couple of cheap crooks took all his money in an easily spotted card game.
The conductor grinned, eyeing Waco warily. ‘Good, I wouldn’t want a boy as smart as you taking up where Joe and Lou left off. They’re good but you must be better, you caught them out.’
Waco took up the ten dollars, handing them to the conductor. He waved a hand to the roof of the smoker car where his bullet, after passing through Joe’s shoulder was now buried. ‘This’ll pay for the hole I put in the roof.’
The conductor accepted the money, folded it and put it in his pocket, then turned and walked away. Keith turned to the tall, young man who’d come so suddenly into his life and did not know how to express his thanks. ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ he began.
‘Don’t try. I sat in for the laughs and made some money out of it. You headed west?’
‘Yes, to the Ranse River country in Texas. I want to be a cowhand.’
Waco was naturally suspicious, more so when things were in the state that they were in Ranse River country. He wondered why, out of all the many miles of Texas this young dude was headed for the Ranse River country. He did not ask the obvious question tor that would be against the etiquette of the land.
‘You thinking of settling down there?’ That much was permitted.
‘Maybe. I’d like to be a cowhand. I can ride a horse and shoot.’
‘There’s just a bit more to being a cowhand than riding and shooting. You got any place in mind down there to work?’
‘No.’ Keith could hardly explain his true reasons for going to Ranse River, not even to this youngster who’d saved his bankroll. ‘I decided to try and learn the cowhand business, maybe settle down out there and buy a ranch. I saw the Ranse River on the map and liked the sound of it. That’s why I’m going there.’
Waco did not speak for a moment but his mind was working. He was suspicious of the other’s motives. Of course the young man might be going innocently to Texas but there might be a more sinister motive. Waco was nearly sure he could lay a hand on the man who was behind the killing of his adopted father and the trouble in Ranse River Country. He could be wrong, this young dude might be the one. He made his decision right away and said:
‘I work in the Ranse River country myself. Just been to Chicago with my boss. Come along and happen Rusty’ll give you a riding chore.’
Keith thought this was a remarkable coincidence, meeting a man who was from the Ranse River Country. The offer of work was attractive. It might make Molly change her mind about him if she met him in Whittle while he was actually working for another ranch in the area. He did not connect the name Rusty with Molly. She’d talked about Mary Anne Catlan but Keith did not remember it. Nor did he guess Waco’s real reason for offering him work was to keep an eye on him and have him where his movements could be watched. He gave his agreement to going along and seeing Waco’s boss, expecting to meet a leathery cowhand.
The two young men made their way to the sleepers and Waco knocked on a door. A most unmasculine voice called out to know who was knocking.
‘Waco and a friend.’
The door opened and Mary Anne looked out, her Merwin & Hulbert gun in her hand. ‘Hey, lil brother,’ she greeted. ‘We were just set to go to bed. Who’s your friend?’
‘A top hand from Chicago, headed west and looking for a riding chore. I told him we’d likely be able to take on another hand.’
Mary Anne smiled, suspecting a typical cowhand joke. Waco looked serious about it, but he would even if it was a joke. Of course the other young man might be headed west and looking for work but the Ranse River country was not the best place for a dude to come in and start learning to earn his pay. The young man was well dressed and did not look as if he was coming west because he could not find work in the East. She decided Waco must have some reason for bringing the young man here. Of course, this might be one of his friends wearing dude clothes.
‘All right, I reckon we could take you on, Chicago. I’m Mary Anne Catlan. the boss of the S.S.C.’ She heard Molly getting up and coming towards the door. ‘This is my friend and neighbor, Molly Wilmont.’
‘I believe we’ve met.’ Keith managed to retain control of his senses as he found himself facing his ex-fiancée. ‘I think she dropped this the last time we met.’
Molly looked down at the engagement ring he held out and snorted angrily. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Going west,’ Keith replied.
Mary Anne smiled. She did not know if Waco guessed who the young man was. There was nothing to be gained in standing here talking. ‘Come in, both of you.’
Keith entered the room, followed by Waco. Molly made no attempt to take the ring. Her eyes flickered at Keith’s face and she asked, ‘Just what’s the game?’
‘No game. I’m coming west to find work. Miss Catlan just hired me to work on her ranch.’
‘She did, did she?’ Molly growled. ‘Well you’re not working for any fat mantrap.’
‘Fat is it, you scraggy hen!’ Mary Anne yelled. ‘Why for two cents I’d—’
‘You’d what?’ Molly was so mixed up emotionally that she did not know what to do or say.
‘Come on, Chicago,’ Waco said, grinning at the girls who were glaring at each other. ‘This ain’t going to be no safe place for a couple of innocent boys like us.’
Keith followed Waco from the room, was pulled rather, for he wanted to stop and talk with Molly. He did not realize until he was standing in front of the sleeper compartment Waco had reserved that he’d left the ring on Molly’s bunk.
The two girls were now examining it and Molly smiled, her face showing her delight. ‘He’s coming with me, Rusty, he’s coming with me.’
For all of that Molly was cool towards Keith the next morning and remained so until they reached the railhead in Texas. In the thriving, booming trail end town Molly decided that Keith must look like a cowhand, even if he would never make one. So Keith and Waco went along to a general store.
‘You want a Stetson for a start, Chicago,’ Waco stated and they made their way to the counter where such were on display. ‘Buy the best you can afford, you’ll never regret it.’
Keith bought the expensive and genuine Stetson Waco chose for him and allowed the young Texan to shape it for him. He put it on and tried to get it at the right jack-deuce angle over his eye. Then he chose a tartan shirt, Levis trousers and high-heeled boots. Waco was adamant on one point, the boots must be replaced by made-to-measures as soon as they got settled in Whittle. No cowhand worth his salt would wear ready-made boots. Spurs, the real, genuine Kelly spurs of Texas came next, bought from the store which could sell a man all he would need in clothing and gear. A saddle, bridle, reins, horse-blanket, tarp and war bag came next but one purchase Keith wished to make did not come off. Waco watched him buy a brand new, ivory-handled Colt Cavalry Peacemaker but drew the line at a ready-to-wear gunbelt.
‘I’d like a gunbelt,’ Keith remarked as they sat at the campfire on the first night of their trip to Whittle, after leaving the railroad and travelling with the girls in the rig they hired and the two men riding the horses which brought Waco and Mary Anne to the railhead. ‘One like yours.’
Mary Anne laughed. ‘That’s a Gayline belt, Chicago.’
‘Couldn’t I buy one?’
‘Not from Joe Gayline. He’ll sell you a saddle, or a pair of his boots, if you’d got enough money to buy them. But he won’t sell his gunbelts to anyone. He chooses the men whom he makes them for. I bet there aren’t more than thirty of them in the West.’
Keith could read the pride in Mary Anne’s voice as she told of the gunbelt her little brother wore. She was proud that he owned, wore and was a member of that elite group who carried the Gayline gunbelts. ‘I could buy another,’ he finally said.
‘Sure, but get one made in Whittle. You might go all your life and never need a gun,’ Waco told him. ‘But if you need one, lord, you need it fast. A ready-made’s the best way I know of getting you killed. Can you use a Colt?’
Keith rose, smiling. He was the best shot in the Streeterville Sporting Club and held the club record for pistol shooting. True, he’d been using a target-sighted Smith &: Wesson .32 revolver then but he did not expect any trouble in shooting the .45 Colt. He asked for Waco to suggest a target.
‘How about that tree?’ Waco inquired, grinning, a grin which was mirrored by the two girls.
Keith looked at the tree and smiled, Waco was picking a big enough target. It was probably the best he could do at a range of about twenty feet. Keith opened the loading gate and slid six fat cartridges into the chambers. Then he stood with his left hand on his hip, sideways to the target, feet placed correctly, right pointing to the target, left at right angles. He started to lift his right hand.
From his side came four rapid crashes, so fast that they sounded almost as one. Flame lanced from the gun which Waco held waist high, locked tight against his side while his right hand fanned the hammer. Keith gulped. He saw splinters kicking from the tree and then gazed down at the gun Waco held.
‘See, Chicago,’ Waco said, friendship in his voice, not mocking in any way. ‘With a gun you’ve got to be fast.’
‘Fast!’ Keith gulped. ‘I’ve never seen anything so fast in all my life.’
‘Yeah, the boy’s fast,’ Mary Anne chuckled. ‘There aren’t many faster, are there, Molly?’
‘I’ve never see faster.’
‘There’s three,’ Waco said seriously.
‘Who are they?’ Keith wanted to know all he could about the West.
‘Dusty Fog, Mark Counter and Doc Leroy.’ Waco replied. ‘Come on, settle down by the fire and clean your gun.’
They came into Whittle City in the early morning and rode slowly along the main street. Keith looked the part of a Texas cowhand, even sat his horse like one. He brought his horse to a halt and pushed back his hat. A man was coming along the street towards him. Keith stopped talking to the others and studied the man. Then he rode forward and halted the horse, looking down at Brarsand.
‘Why, it’s Mr. Jackson. I thought you were in Denver.’ Brarsand stopped in his tracks, his face, long schooled in frontier poker games, showing nothing of his thoughts. Then he looked up at Keith with the right expression for a man mistaken for some other person. ‘Sorry, friend. You’ve got the wrong man. The name’s Brarsand, I’ve never been to Chicago in my life.’
Keith frowned. He’d worked in his father’s business and developed an ability to remember faces and names. It annoyed him that he’d made a mistake and of course it must be a mistake. Jackson was a gentleman, the Streeterville Sporting Club was exclusive and kept a high standard of its guests. This man here wore what Keith had seen to be the dress of a frontier gambler. He inclined his head politely. ‘I’m sorry, sir. The resemblance is remarkable but I must have made a mistake.’
Waco was pleased that Keith said this. It saved him cutting in helping out. His eyes were cold as he watched Brarsand and the man looked back at him, then at the two girls.
‘Haven’t seen you around yet, Waco,’ Brarsand remarked. ‘I thought you’d be in to take that drink with me.’
‘Would have, but I’ve been away. Took Mary Anne here over to the big city.’ Waco gave the information to see how Brarsand took it. He was forced to concede the man held his emotions in perfect control. ‘We went to fetch Molly here back home. Figgered she might be needed to look after things.’
Brarsand nodded in agreement. ‘It’s always as well to have the owner living on the property. Well, I’ve got work to do. Ladies.’
Raising his hat politely Brarsand walked on without looking back and entered the tavern. Waco watched the man go, noting that Brarsand stood at the door to watch them. Keith was still frowning. He shook his head at last.
‘I could have sworn he was the man I met at the Sporting Club.’
‘Who’d you think he was, Chicago?’ Mary Anne inquired.
‘A man called Jackson. I was introduced to him but Jackson came from Denver,’ Keith replied as they started to move forward. ‘Where are we going now?’
‘To the livery barn. Molly and I want to borrow a couple of horses from Uncle Seamus and arrange for him to send this buggy back to the railhead. Then we’ll head for the S.S.C.’
Brarsand entered the saloon and looked around. There were only three hard-faced gun hung men and his regular workers here. Jerking his head to one of the men, Brarsand gave orders as he came over. ‘Get down to the livery barn, Ed. You’ll find two men and two girls there. You’ll know who I mean, one of them’s that Tejano who shot Dave Tull. I want the other killed. Get both if you can but get the one wearing the tartan shirt first.’
The gunman turned and walked away and Brarsand called another over. ‘Hank, head for the ranch. If Cholla is back bring his bunch into town. If he isn’t bring every other man who’s there.’
Della Christine joined Brarsand now, watching the men leave, curious. ‘Where’s Ed going?’ she asked.
‘There’s a man in town who met me in Chicago,’ Brarsand answered, then his face darkened. ‘I made a bad slip. Said I’d never been in Chicago and neither of the men even mentioned they’d been to, or come from, Chicago.’
‘They’ll never notice it.’
‘I’ve told you before, that Texas boy is smart, real smart. He knows I’ve made a slip. He’s no fool and can think things out. I asked around town about him since he first came. Thought at first he was just a hired gun brought in to help the girl. He’s more than that, he’s Catlan’s adopted son.’ His face clouded for a moment. ‘That letter, it means O’Dea or Waco was suspicious. Do you think they knew it was a forgery, Della?’
‘I told you Doc Pilsener’s the best of them all.’
‘Yet they knew. I saw O’Dea and hinted I’d like to buy a ranch around here but he never mentioned the Lazy W. Thought the letter was delayed, or maybe lost. So I told him to let me know if he heard of one going around here. They must have been suspicious and Waco took the Catlan girl to Chicago to bring Molly Wilmont home.’
Della gulped. She was worried now. ‘Do you think they found out who wrote the letter?’
‘How could they. And if they did Pilsener’s dead. Besides how could they find out about him. In the West Waco could, likely. But not in a big city like Chicago. I couldn’t have found him without your help. No, they didn’t know about Pilsener.’
Before Della could reply they heard shots and stopped talking, looking at the door and awaiting the report from their man when he returned.
Waco and Keith were standing by the corrals and watching the horses while the two girls made arrangements for mounts and the return of the buggy. To Keith’s eyes the horses here were good and he said so.
‘Sure, they’re all right for what they’re used for. They aren’t cow horses though. Say, who did you say you thought Brarsand was?’
‘Jackson. I met him at the Sporting Club.’
‘Who was he with?’
‘Theo Benedict. The head of the Chicago-Texas Railroad. But it can’t be the same man.’
‘Jackson?’ Waco rubbed his jaw. There was something worrying him, something he should know but could not just remember.
‘Yes, but he came from Denver.’
Then Waco’s tenacious memory got it. The register at the Reed-Astoria and a man called Jackson, from Denver who’d checked out the day the forger, Doc Pilsener died. He got something more, something Brarsand said there in the street. Mr. Brarsand was going to be needing to answer questions real soon. For all that Waco was cautious for he knew he could not handle all Brarsand’s men alone. The best plan was head for the ranch, ole Red Blaze would—
Waco thrust out his hand, sending Keith staggering violently behind the water-trough. At the same moment Waco flung himself backwards, landing on his back, gun in his right hand as he rolled over. From behind them a gun roared and the bullet hissed between them. Waco was right out in the open and a clear target for the man who was flattened behind the wall of the livery barn. Waco expected to feel lead slamming into him and threw two fast shots which kicked splinters from the wall by the man’s head.
Keith was shaken up by the push and his landing, but he saw where Waco was and knew his danger. Drawing his Colt he cocked it and came up, firing fast. Since Waco’s showing him how to handle a gun Keith had made practice with his Colt. His bullet, fast taken, missed the man and he went down as lead slashed at him, sending water erupting from the trough as he lit down.
Lunging up Waco fanned off three fast shots, throwing the lead at the edge of the building. The gunman backed off, turned and ran for it. ‘Keep down, Chicago!’ Waco called, drawing his left-hand gun as he darted forward to the edge of the building, then leapt around ready to shoot. The alley between the livery barn and the next building was empty and the street was ahead. Waco went forward to look along the street but could see no one who might either be the gunman, or have seen him. The ground was too hard to allow him to read any sign from it.
Keith came up, gun out and ready. ‘What was it?’ he asked.
‘Somebody tried to kill one of us,’ Waco replied.
‘You?’
Waco shook his head, turned on his heel and headed back to the corral. ‘No, you!’