CHAPTER 36
With blue powder smoke still curling in the air and his guns still held at the ready, Sweetwater wheeled to face the crowd of onlookers. His eyes raked the faces of those who had edged back several more steps from the outburst of shooting. “Any of the rest of you sons o’ bitches want to try and stick your nose in my business or tell me some more what my business oughta be?” he demanded.
Buckhorn was aware of activity taking place back down the street, but he kept his eyes on Sweetwater.
The young gunman locked his focus on Carl once again. “How about you, you drunk old bastard? You had plenty to say a minute ago. You still wanting some of this?”
Carl met his gaze. Licking his lips, he said, “You know I can’t beat you in a draw.”
“Damn right you can’t,” Sweetwater said. “Nobody in this sorry town can. Seems to me a lot of you were on the brink of forgetting that before the two greasers stepped forward to try their luck.”
“That don’t mean you can go around outdrawing and killing everybody,” Carl told him.
Sweetwater grinned. “No, but I can do it often enough to make sure you all keep it fresh in your minds. I’m thinking I must’ve let too much time pass here of late and that’s what brought out the show of bravery from you bunch of losers this morning. I gotta remember not to let that happen again.”
Sweetwater’s focus switched to Goodwin. “In the meantime, what’s your real story, water sniffer? What was it those Mexes were spouting about sticking their noses in on account of looking out for Don Pedro’s interests? You got something to do with Don Pedro?”
“I don’t think I care to answer that,” Goodwin replied stiffly. “You’ve shown nothing but disrespect and ridicule for my work. What difference does it make who or what is behind it?”
Sweetwater took a step toward the dowser. “Maybe it would make a difference if I took that goofy-looking stick of yours and rammed it down your throat. How about that? Or maybe I just blast away your kneecaps so’s you can’t parade around waving your phony stick at all. You like that idea?”
At which point Buckhorn stepped up behind Sweetwater and swung his Colt in a short, chopping blow to the back of the young gunman’s head, knocking him unconscious. He caught the lean body as its knees buckled and the pistols slipped from nerveless fingers, then eased it to the ground.
Carl came over and knelt beside Buckhorn. “Can I help?”
“Undo his gunbelt and strip it away,” Buckhorn instructed. “His guns, too. Get ’em out of his reach for when he comes back around.”
“What the hell’s going on here?” demanded Sheriff Banning, arriving at the head of the spread-out string of townsfolk drawn by the shooting. Looking up and around, Buckhorn saw Deputy Pomeroy also approaching, shouldering his way through the other citizens. A little farther back, Justine was also hurrying in that direction, a look of deep concern on her face.
Buckhorn stood up. “What’s going on here, Sheriff, is the beginning of cleaning up your town and freeing it from the grip of Thomas Wainwright. I don’t know how much you’re privy to what all that crazy ex-general has planned for this territory so, before I say more, you’re gonna have to tell me if you’re ready to pull yourself once and for all out from under his thumb and stand firm in your boots as this town’s proper lawman . . . or if you want to throw that badge down in the dirt and slink off with Sweetwater here when I send him packing back to the Flying W.”
* * *
From the back of his horse, Sweetwater glared down at Buckhorn. His wrists were handcuffed to the saddle horn in front of him. Hatless and stripped of his guns, he had just enough slack to work the reins. “You’re gonna be sorry you didn’t kill me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna be sorry because I’m gonna kill you. And it ain’t gonna be fast and clean, I can promise you that.”
“You’re a smart kid,” Buckhorn told him, “but not as smart as you think you are. If you don’t wise up in a hurry, you’re gonna find out there’s always somebody faster with a gun.”
“You, I suppose you mean?”
“I don’t know. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if you push it, I guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Oh, it’s gonna come to that. I aim to make sure. You see me coming, you better start reaching for your hogleg. That’s the only chance you’ll have.”
Buckhorn sighed. “If you have any brains at all, you’ll ride away from here and keep going. Ride clear of Wainwright. He’s heading for a fall and siding with him will only drag you down, too.”
“Hell, you think I ever had plans on living a long life? It plain don’t happen in this line of work. But I’ll live long enough to take you down before I go. You can count on that.”
There was a trace of sadness in Buckhorn’s expression as he replied, “I’ve said all I got to say. I hope you change your mind. If you don’t, I’ll do my best to oblige you reaching that short life you seem so hell-bent on.”
“My guns?”
“They’re in your saddlebags, emptied of cartridges. Same for your gunbelt. By the time you make it somewhere you can get those cuffs off and reload, maybe you’ll have changed your mind.”
“You go ahead and think that if it makes you feel better. One day, and it won’t be long, you’ll find out otherwise.” With that, Sweetwater wheeled his horse and rode out of town in a cloud of dust.
Buckhorn stood watching him go. After a minute, he was aware that Carl had walked up and was standing at his shoulder. “You should have killed him. He’ll make good on that promise to come back after you.”
“Yeah, I suppose he will. Be soon enough to kill him then, if I’m able.”
Carl regarded him. “You got some strange ways about you, you know that?”
Buckhorn returned his gaze. “You just now figure that out?”
“No, not exactly. The part I really can’t figure out is why me and so many others are willing to stick with you.”
Buckhorn looked past Carl at the gathering of people about a dozen yards away. The bodies of the two slain pistoleros still lay on the ground a short distance to one side. Somebody had spread horse blankets over them. The group of townsfolk had increased in size considerably from before. In their midst, addressing them, were Justine and Sheriff Banning. Goodwin also stood close at hand, along with Deputy Pomeroy.
“How are things going over there?” Buckhorn said.
“Justine and Banning are doing a good job of laying it out. So far, I think they’ve managed to convince most everybody what Wainwright and Don Pedro have been setting up. The only thing folks are having a hard time believing is that none of them saw it taking shape sooner.”
“They’re willing to put their trust in Banning, even though he was cutting Wainwright more slack than he ever should’ve been?”
“Yeah. Could say they’re following your lead. I’ll put myself in the same category. I think folks are just glad to have a sheriff back who they can get behind, given the confrontation with Wainwright and his gunnies that looks to be on the horizon.”
“It’s gonna be more than just on the horizon. It’s gonna be right in our laps before it’s over.”
“What about the Don Pedro angle we rigged for Wainwright to worry about? Judging by the way those two pistoleros stepped forward and what they had to say before they bit the dust, I’d say me and Goodwin sold our little show good enough last night to convince more than a few of the cantina patrons. If word of that has gotten to Wainwright and Sweetwater backs it up with what he saw and heard here this morning . . . well, I think it’s a pretty safe bet that Wainwright will swallow the bait.”
Buckhorn grunted. “Swallow it? Hell, he’ll gobble it down like candy.”
“That might make him inclined toward paying Don Pedro a little visit first. Give us more time to get the town ready for when it’s our turn to receive a visit.”
“Something to hope for, maybe. But not something we can count on. Either way, visitors are coming and we gotta figure they’re gonna be coming hard.” Buckhorn jerked a thumb toward the group of folks still being addressed by Justine and Banning. “That means it’s about time to break up this gaggle from just talking about what’s on the way and get ’em preparing for it.”