Part 32 (2/2)

One nodded. The other touched a finger to the brim of his hat. They were riding side by side, going slow as if they weren't in any rush to get somewhere. From the looks on their faces, they were neither glad to meet us nor unhappy about it. They didn't rightly have expressions, at all. They just watched us approach.

The older of the two was a slim fellow with grim eyes and a mustache that was just as black as his outfit. His hat was black, same as his string tie and frock coat, trousers, gunbelt and boots. I didn't care at all for the looks of him.

The bloke he rode with wasn't just younger, but heavier. He looked as if the heat didn't agree with him. His face was red and sweaty, his s.h.i.+rt collar open, his tie hanging loose. He had a black coat like his friend, but it was tied down behind his saddle.

I wondered if they might be a pair of preachers or undertakers, dressed in black that way.

If it'd been up to me, I would've pa.s.sed them by.

But McSween rode straight toward them. ”Hate to be a bother,” he said, ”but you boys look like you've got a horse to spare.” The last word wasn't out of his mouth before a Colt was in his hand, c.o.c.ked and pointed at the skinny fellow.

Emmet, Chase and Breakenridge all pulled at once. On both sides of me, hammers went snick-clack. snick-clack. Snooker took a while to come out with his Winchester. He worked its lever and shouldered it. Snooker took a while to come out with his Winchester. He worked its lever and shouldered it.

Both the strangers hoisted their arms.

”Climb on down,” McSween said.

They dismounted and stood beside their horses. Each had one hand in the air, the other holding reins.

”w.i.l.l.y, get on over here.”

I slid off the back of Emmet's horse and walked toward the two fellows. The way they glowered at me, I rather shriveled up inside. But then their eyes turned to McSween as he swung to the ground. He stepped in front of them, one at a time, and took their pistols. They never said a word to him. The fat one, his chin was trembling. The mean one looked like he wanted to bite McSween.

After collecting their sidearms, McSween fetched their rifles out of the saddle scabbards. He handed one of the Winchesters to me, then toted the other weapons over to a thicket of p.r.i.c.kly bush and tossed them in among the nettles.

Coming back, he said, ”Let's have your boots off, friends.”

They sat on the ground and tugged their boots off.

”Try 'em on, there, w.i.l.l.y.”

”I'd rather not, actually.”

”Go on, now. You need a pair what fits, don't you?”

Well, this didn't seem a good time to argue the matter, so I gathered the boots. I sat down with my back to the fellows so I wouldn't have to look at them, then pulled off the boots I'd taken from the conductor. I tried on the new ones. The first set felt too tight, the second too loose. The loose boots belonged to the fat chap. They felt a sight better than what I'd been wearing, but I had no wish to keep them on. They were hot and juicy inside so I felt like my feet were sliding about in swamp slime.

So I yanked them off and shook my head. ”They're altogether too large,” I said, and got into my old familiar boots.

”Well, that's a shame,” McSween said.

I carried the boots back to their owners and dropped them.

”Too bad, friends,” McSween told them. ”You lost out on a sale.”

”A sale?” the fat guy asked.

”Why, we ain't here to rob you. Nosirree. w.i.l.l.y here, he'll pay you fair and square for what he needs.” After saying that, McSween checked the horses over pretty good. He looked inside their mouths, ran his hands down their legs, studied their hoofs, and such. Then he came around front and said to the thin fellow, ”He'll give you eighty dollars for your mount, friend. Throw in an extra ten for the tack, and ten for the Winchester. w.i.l.l.y, you owe the man a hundred dollars.”

I wasn't eager to do it, but figured I hadn't much choice. So I counted out my money. I stepped closer to the man, who was still on the ground with his legs stretched out. He just glared up at me. I tossed the money at his feet.

”You take my horse, boy, and I'll kill you sure.”

A chill started to rush through my bones, but then I flinched as a couple of gunshots bashed the silence. The slugs missed him. They kicked dust onto the legs of his black trousers.

”You best watch your tongue, mister,” Emmet said. I looked up at him in time to see smoke drifting away from the muzzles of his Colts.

McSween drew his own pistol. Crouching, he aimed it at the fellow's face and thumbed back the hammer. ”You wanta take back them words?”

”Take 'em back, Prue,” the fatty blurted. ”They'll shoot us both sure.”

”It's my my horse.” horse.”

”No call to threaten a boy's life,” McSween told him. ”He's my buddy. You look like the sort to follow through on a thing like that, so I reckon you either repent your words or die right here.”

”Prue! Good G.o.d, man!”

Prue, he looked fit to bust. Not scared at all, but just in a rage, all red in the face, his breath hissing through his gritted teeth.

”What's it gonna be?”

Prue took to nodding.

”What's that?”

”I take it back.”

”How's that?”

”I won't kill him.”

”I don't reckon I believe you. Goes against my grain, though, to shoot a man down in cold blood. So I'll tell you this. Listen good. We ain't taking nothing we ain't paid for. We're leaving you a horse and your weapons. No law says we gotta, but it wouldn't be right to do otherwise. You keep that in mind. We treated you fair and square. Now, if you or your pal take it into your heads to come after us, know this. Next time I catch sight of either one of you, I'll figure you come to make good on your threat to the lad. Lead'll fly. It's that simple.”

After having his say, McSween unsquatted and holstered his gun. He led the horse forward between the two men. While I held the reins, he unloaded the bedroll, saddlebags and such so we wouldn't be taking anything we hadn't paid for.

Then I mounted up and slid my new Winchester into its scabbard.

I was awful shaken by the whole affair, but it did feel good to be sitting up high in the saddle of my own horse.

We rode off at a trot. I wanted to dig my heels in and light out fast, but the others just weren't in that much of a rush. Except for me, Snooker was the only one who even looked back to keep an eye on those fellows.

They were watching us. Not even heading for the bush to retrieve their guns.

Well, I reckon they were too smart for such a play.

<script>