Part 42 (1/2)

”Shall I ask 'em in, Saunders?” queried Overland, his voice edged with a double meaning.

”Not on my account,” said Saunders over his shoulder.

”All right. Let's have a drink, boys.”

Even ”Go-Light” Sago, the vilest of the Gophertown crew, admired Overland's coolness in turning his back on Saunders and facing the bar.

For a second Saunders's fingers twitched. He glanced up.

Joe Kennedy was looking at him over his gla.s.s of whiskey. ”Ain't you drinkin', Silent?” he asked.

”With some folks,” said Saunders.

Overland whirled round. ”Have a drink with me, then.”

Saunders laughed.

”Then you don't smoke either, while I'm here,” said Overland, his hand on his hip.

”That so?”

”Yes, that's so! When you try to pull that old bluff of a match-game on me, wait till I'm a hundred and four years old, Silent. That gun-trick died of old age. Think up a new one.”

”Ain't you talkin' a little loud for polite sa.s.siety?” questioned Sago, addressing Overland.

”Seein' you're the only one that thinks so, I reckon not,” said Overland.

”Then,” said Sago, moving slightly from the bar, ”Saunders smokes.”

It was an open declaration of war. Sago, the Inyo County outlaw, sided with Saunders.

According to the ethics of gunmen, Saunders was not armed. He was not ”packing iron.” His weapons lay on the table within reach, but he knew Overland would not precipitate matters by shooting him down where he sat. He glanced at Sago. The other winked.

”Then I smoke,” said Saunders, and reached for a match. He shot from the hip, swinging his guns sideways. The stutter of Overland's automatics mingled with the roar of Saunders's heavy Colts.

Sago, jumping clear, pulled his gun. Kennedy clutched his arm. Saunders slid from his chair, coughed horribly, and wilted to the floor. Overland backed toward the door, both guns leveled.

Sago, jerking his arm free, threw two shots at Overland, who replied with a rippling tattoo of the automatics. The Inyo County outlaw sank to his hands and knees. Then Overland leaped through the doorway. The Moonstone riders spurred toward the saloon, thinking that the quarrel had provoked too many guns. Overland tried to stop them, but they were hot for fight.

”It's a clean up!” yelled Parks, running out of the saloon and mounting his horse. ”You framed it, you red-headed son--” He got no further.

Brand Williams, thundering down at the head of the Moonstone riders, threw a level shot that cut through Parks, who wavered, but managed to wheel his horse and fire at Overland Red. Then the outlaw slid from the saddle clawing at it as he fell.

The Gophertown men poured from the saloon, and, seizing their ponies, circled round to the back of the building, firing as they retreated.

Miguel spurred his big pinto in among them and emptied his gun. He rode out at a lope, reloading. The front of his flannel s.h.i.+rt was shot away, but he was not aware of it.

Billy Dime coolly sat his horse and ”drew fine” at each shot, till a leaden slug drilled his gun-arm. He swore profusely, and wisely spurred out of range.

”I got one!” cried Miguel, swinging shut the cylinder of his gun. ”I go get another one.”