Twenty-Six
Lars dropped his six-shooter.
The pistol hit the dirt of the street and a small dust cloud rose from the impact. The blood drained from Lars’s face as he found himself looking down the barrel of Falcon’s .44.
“You dumb bastard!” Terri squalled from the hotel.
Falcon slowly let the hammer down on his pistol and holstered it. “It’s your lucky day, Lars. God was looking after you.”
“Goddamn you!” Terri screamed from the hotel door. She jerked out a pistol and leveled it at Falcon.
The deputy U.S. marshal lunged out of his chair and slammed into the young woman just as she pulled the trigger. The shot went wild and Terri hit the floor, losing her grip on the six-shooter. She banged her head against the floor. The marshal grabbed the gun and stood up, shoving the short-barreled pistol behind his belt.
“You son of a bitch!” Terri screamed at him.
“Oh, shut up,” the marshal said. “You have the foulest mouth I have ever heard on a woman.”
That set her off like a firecracker. She sat up on the floor and started cussing, the vulgarities directed at the deputy U.S. marshal.
“Can I pick up my pistol?” Lars asked.
“Not unless you have a death wish,” Falcon told him. “Just let it lie, Lars. Go on back to your Pa. He needs you now more than ever.”
“Pa don’t need no one.”
“Yes he does, Lars. He needs the support of his kids. You especially.”
“You really think so?”
“Don’t listen to that son of a bitch!” Terri screamed. She had overheard Falcon’s words when she had paused for breath. “He’s lyin’.”
“Shut up, Terri,” Falcon called. “You owe your pa, too. You should be ashamed of yourself being in town when he needs you back at his ranch.”
“He doesn’t have a ranch, you rattlesnake!” she squalled. “You burned it all down.”
“It can be rebuilt,” Falcon said. “But your pa needs the help and support of his kids to do it. He’ll be doing it for you.”
Lars turned slowly and began walking away from his pistol in the dirt of the street.
“Where are you goin’?” Terri shouted at him.
“Home to Pa,” the young man replied.
“You yellow bastard!” his sister shrieked at him.
The townspeople were standing quietly on the boardwalks, listening to the heated words.
Lars paused and turned toward the hotel doors. “You’re stupid, Terri. I just realized that. I been stupid, but I got over it, I hope. But you’re really stupid.” The young man walked on toward the livery.
Terri verbally unloaded on her brother, calling him every filthy word she could think of . . . and she knew plenty of them. Lars walked on without pausing or looking around.
Falcon turned and walked over to his horse. He was heading back to the Rockingchair.
* * *
John Bailey and Kip rode over to Snake headquarters—or rather, what was left of it—several days later. The first thing they noticed was that all the hired guns were gone. There were half a dozen cowboys helping haul lumber in, but no hired guns.
They also noticed that Lars was working right alongside his Pa, and no one was wearing a gun. John and Kip dismounted and walked over to Miles Gilman.
“You need some help, Miles?” John asked.
Miles paused in his sawing and looked at the man he used to call friend. “You volunteerin’, John?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“After all I’ve done, you . . .”
John waved him silent. “That’s over and done with, Miles. In the past. We don’t need to ever speak of it again. I thought me and Kip here might start movin’ some of your cattle back onto your range. Some of my men spotted a bunch not too far away. That all right with you?”
Miles stared at John Bailey for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Sure suits me to a T, John. That would be right neighborly of you, sure would.”
“We’ll do that, then.” He dug in his saddlebags and Kip did the same, both men coming out with packets of sandwiches all wrapped up in cloth. “Martha and Angie fixed these up for you men. Sandwiches and some cake. Cake is right tasty. I’ll just set them over on that old table yonder. Me and Kip packed a bite for ourselves, so we’ll be out for the night with your herd. We’ll see you in the morning, probably.”
“How about some coffee ’fore you head out, John? We found a pot and Lars just boiled up some. It’s good and strong, just like me and you used to make, long years back,” he added.
John smiled. “Coffee sounds good to me, Miles. We’ll just help ourselves.”
Miles smiled and then looked around as the sound of wagons approaching reached the men. A dozen wagons were rumbling slowly up the road.
“What in the world . . . ?” Miles said.
“Folks from town and from some of the ranches and farms around the area,” John told him. “They’re bringin’ in supplies and food and such. I ’spect they’ll have some sort of shelter up for you and your hands before dark.”
“My God!” Miles whispered.
John smiled. “Welcome back, Miles.”
Miles turned to his old friend. “It’s good to be back, John Bailey. I was lost there for some years, wasn’t I?”
“Oh, you got sidetracked a bit, that’s all.”
“I feel like I’ve been livin’ in a fog of hate, John.”
“Well, you’re out of it now, so welcome back.” John took the tin cup of coffee his foreman handed him and took a sip. “Good coffee,” he said with a smile. “Just like we used to make back in the old days.”
“It is pretty good, ain’t it?” Miles asked, returning the smile. “The womenfolk just don’t have the knack of makin’ good coffee.”
“For a fact, Miles. For a fact. Theirs is just a tad on the weak side.”
Both men stood for a moment, looking at one another. Miles slowly held out his right hand. John smiled and took the hand and gripped it tightly.
The war between the Snake and the Rockingchair was over.