Rimfire
Page 29
“What did he ask?”
“He asked if you came here often. He said he was wantin’ to meet you. And that’s funny, now that you think about it. If he actually did want to meet you, I wonder why it is that he didn’t stay and talk?”
“’Tis enough to make a man wonder now, isn’t it?”
“Don’t you find that a little peculiar?” Nippy asked.
“Aye, ’tis peculiar all right, but I’ve lived long enough to have seen many a peculiar fellow. If ye nae mind, I’ll be for takin’ my drink over to the table.”
“Go find your table, ’n I’ll bring your drink m’self,” Nippy offered.
Shortly after Duff’s drink was delivered to him, two men came into the saloon, talking with each other as they stepped in through the swinging batwing doors. Once they were inside, they separated. The big bearded man went to one end of the bar, while the smaller of the two, who had a handlebar mustache but no beard, went to the opposite end. Both of them appeared to take no notice of Duff, but he couldn’t help but notice that both were studying him in the mirror.
To most people, the fact that those two men had come in together, talking as if they were old friends, then taking up positions far apart from each other would mean nothing. But for Duff, it activated a little signal of alarm. He had the feeling they were setting up an ambush, and he had an even stronger feeling that he was the target.
Deliberately and as unobtrusively as he possibly could, Duff slid his pistol out of his holster, then held it on his lap under the table. He had never developed the skill of the fast draw, which seemed so prized by all Westerners, but did whatever needed to be done to give him an even chance anytime he was forced into a confrontation. For that reason, he held the pistol on his lap.
He had one additional advantage, one that required no manipulation of the situation in order for it to be effective. He was an exceptionally accurate shot, and his prowess extended with equal skill to the pistol and the long gun.
Even as he wondered about the strange behavior of the two men who had just come in, the same man who’d left a few minutes earlier returned and walked right to the center of the bar.
He was met by Nippy Jones. “You left your beer more ’n half full last time you was here, Mister. I can replace it if you like, but it’ll cost you the price of a new beer.”
“I’ll do my drinkin’ after,” the man said.
“After?”
“After me ’n this feller over here finish up with our business.” The man turned to face Duff.
Here it is, Duff thought. He almost felt a sense of relief, not only because it was proof positive that his natural instincts were still active and correct in the assessment of danger, but also because the threat was imminent and he could deal with it right away.
“Would you be the Scotsman they call Duff MacCallister?” the man asked.
“Aye, Duff MacCallister ’tis my name.”
“Is that a fact? Well, Mr. Duff MacCallister, my name is Deekus Pollard, and I’m calling you out, now.”
With that announcement, a sudden repositioning of all the other patrons in the saloon occurred as most everyone moved to get out of the line of fire, should shooting begin.
Duff noticed that neither of the two men who’d come in just before Pollard had moved. In fact, they seemed to be studying their beer, which seemed very strange, given the possibility that they might be in the line of fire.
“Mr. Pollard, would you be for telling why you wish to pick this fight with me?”
“What difference does it make? You’ll be dead in another couple minutes, ’n once you’re dead, how or why you was kilt won’t make no difference at all.”
“Ah, so you are a philosopher, as well as a gunman. I have found that philosophers are some of the most interesting men I have ever encountered. ’Tis a shame I’m going to have to kill you.”
Pollard’s smile disclosed crooked, yellow teeth. “I ain’t the one that’s goin’ to be kilt. You see, I got me what you might call an edge.”
“An edge, you say? Do you think that’s fair?”
“Fair? What do you mean, fair, you damn fool? I’m here to kill you. Fair ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”
“Well, in that case, I shall feel nae compunction about acquiring my own edge, and you’ll have nae cause for complaint, seeing as you have already established the parameters for our tête-à-tête.”
“For our what?”
“You’re right, tête-à-tête would nae be the correct word, would it? I mean, of course, because a tête-à-tête normally refers to a head-to-head encounter between two people, and ’tis obvious that isn’t to be the case here.”
“I don’t know what you’re a-talkin’ about, but I can tell you right now, you won’t be a-drinkin’ no tea.”
Duff chuckled, though instead of humor, there was a raw, almost dangerous edge to his laughter. “This is a life-or-death situation, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes.”
“And in a life-or-death situation, one should take every advantage, should they not?” Duff cocked the pistol he was holding under the table.
“Yeah,” Pollard said.
“I’m glad to hear you say that. Oh, and you two gents standing at either end of the bar . . . I suspect that you are a part of this. If you are, you will die along with Mr. Pollard. If you aren’t, then you need to leave now, while you can.”
“Draw!” Pollard shouted.
Duff didn’t squeeze the trigger until Pollard had his gun in hand.
Pollard’s victorious smile changed to an expression of shock when he heard the roar of a gunshot and felt the bullet tear into his stomach. He dropped his own unfired pistol and slapped his hands over the bleeding wound in his stomach.
“What the hell? Where’d that gun come from?” shouted the big, bearded man standing at the bar. He put his hands up, as did the smaller man standing at the opposite end of the bar.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” the bearded man shouted. “We ain’t in on this!”
Duff pulled the still-smoking pistol out from under the table. “Would the two of you be good enough to take your guns out of your holsters ’n lay them on the bar?”
“Why? I told you we ain’t goin’ to do nothin’”
Duff cocked his pistol, the sound of the hammer drawing back making a loud, metallic click in what had become a very silent room. “I’ll nae be askin’ again.”
“All right, all right. I’m a-doin’ it!” the bearded man said. As he slowly drew his pistol to put it on the bar, the other man followed suit.
Duff nodded to the owner. “Mr. Jones, if you would be so good as to remove the bullets from the two guns, I would appreciate it.”
Nippy Jones did so.
“Now, if you two gentlemen would be for joining me, I would like to buy you a drink.”
“You want to buy us a drink?”
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“Have you ever heard the expression, Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer?”
“Nah, ain’t never heard nothin’ like that,” the bearded man said as he and his companion joined Duff at his table.
“Well, ’tis an old Chinese proverb. To that end, would you be for tellin’ me your names?
“I’m Tremble,” the larger of the two men said. “He’s Harrison.”
“Mr. Tremble, Mr. Harrison, why did you want to kill me?”
The two men looked at each other for a second, then Harrison spoke. “We didn’t want to kill you. There ain’t neither one of us ever even heard of you before today. It was Pollard that wanted to kill you. He seen you when you was down at the depot, ’n he said he’d give us twenty dollars apiece if we’d come along with him.”
“Oh, that’s most disheartening to think that my life would be worth no more than forty dollars.”
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing,” Tremble said. “We wasn’t supposed to have to do anythin’ but just be standin’ there ’n s
ort of back him up. Pollard said he’d be able to kill you all by his ownself.”
“And why is that? Why did he want to kill me, I mean.”
“He said you kilt his brother.”
Duff shook his head. “He was mistaken. I have nae killed anyone named Pollard.”
The sheriff and his deputy had arrived, and after interviewing several eyewitnesses, informed Duff that the killing of Pollard was justifiable homicide, and that he needn’t be present for the official inquiry.
“What about these two?” Duff asked, indicating Tremble and Harrison. “Can we charge them with attempted murder?”
“I’m not sure that we can,” the sheriff replied. “As I understand it, neither of them actually even drew their guns. I think it would be hard to make a case against them.”
“That’s right, Sheriff. We just happened to be standin’ there when it all happened.”
“Uh-huh,” the sheriff replied, showing his disbelief. “I’ll say this for you. You are a couple very lucky men.”
“You mean ’cause you can’t charge us with nothin’?” Tremble asked.
“No. I mean you are lucky that you didn’t actually take part in the shooting. I know you didn’t, because if you had been a part of, it you would both be dead now.”
“What makes you think that?” Tremble charged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we wasn’t a part of it, but if we hada been, there woulda been three of us to his one. More ’n likely, MacCallister would be the one that would be dead now.”
The sheriff chuckled cynically. “Of course he would be,” he said, sarcastically. “Now, I want you two to get out of my town before I change my mind.”
“You got no right to run us out of town,” Harrison said.
“I don’t have to run you out of town. I can put you in jail.”
“How are you goin’ to put us in jail? We ain’t neither one of us done nothin’. You ain’t got no reason.”
“I’ll keep you in jail till I think of a reason,” the sheriff replied.
“No need for that,” Tremble said. “We’re leavin’.
* * *
“Hey, Tremble,” Harrison said as the two men rode out of town. “Why don’t me ’n you wait here, ’n when MacCallister rides by, we’ll shoot ’im.”
“What would be the advantage of that?” Tremble replied. “Pollard’s dead. We wouldn’t make any money from it.”
“Yeah, well, maybe not. But we could get some satisfaction out of it.”
“How about getting satisfaction and a lot of money?” Tremble suggested.
“What do you mean? Do you have an idea?”
“Yeah.”
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Copyright © 2016 J. A. Johnstone
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3575-5
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ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3576-2
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3576-5
Notes
1 For the full story of the Jensen brothers’ family history—which they themselves are unaware of at this point in their lives—see the novel Those Jensen Boys!