"Now you-all wouldn't be fixing to spoil our fun, would you?" his companion continued, lining a Starr Army revolver in Waco's direction with disconcerting steadiness of hand. "Me n' Eli here wouldn't care for that."
Catching Buffalo Kate's eye, the bartender waited for a signal to take a hand. The woman hesitated, not sure what to do for the best. Since her arrival in Mulrooney, she had developed the greatest respect for all the local law officers. If possible she wanted to help for that reason, but another one sprang to mind. She knew Dusty, Mark and the Kid regarded Waco as their protege and Hke a favourite younger brother.
If he should be shot down, the men who did it were sure to pay. Yet that could easily start bad trouble between the cowhands and buffalo-hunters, for both factions would side with their own.
Just as Kate prepared to signal to the bartender, she caught Waco s eye and the youngster shook his head. Such was her faith in the marshal's oflSce that she refrained from passing a sign for her bartender to gather up the sawed-off ten gauge from under the counter. As the shotgun lay at the far end of the shelf, the bartender let out a faint sigh of relief.
"All I came in for s a drink,'' Waco assured the men, walking forward.
Used to the normal run of Kansas lawmen, who would have entered behind a lined shotgun—provided they did not send in two loads of buckshot first—the buffalo-hunters accepted his explanation. Yet neither relaxed to any great extent, which precluded any chance of drawing and covering them, even if doing so would solve the problem.
"You look Idnd of young to be wearing that badge," Eli commented.
"The marshal's my uncle," Waco explained with a disarming grin.
"So he figured the town might's well pay and feed you 'stead of him, huh?" asked the second man, lowering the Starr.
"Don't talk it out loud," Waco said urgently. "The taxpayers might hear. Say, that was mighty slick shooting I saw you doing—Near on as slick as I've ever seen."
"He reckons he's seed better'n us, Zeb," EH growled.
"Maybe he'd like to see some more," the other buffalo-hunter replied.
"Now what I calls shooting's what I've seen Uncle Dusty do," Waco put in before the men could decide what action to take. "Why I've seen him stand like where I am now and shoot a whiskey bottle as it slid along the bar top. Now that's what I call shooting."
"Yeah," said Zeb, soimding a might subdued.
"There's not many can do it," Waco went on. "It's too hard for most."
"Hah! It ain't all that hard," snorted Eli. "Least-wise not for buffalo-hunting gents like us."
*Tve seen Uncle Dusty hit five out of six. Now there's real lead-slinging.**
"G'wanI" Zeb snorted. "He missed one, didn't he?*'
"I've never seen it beat," Wacx) replied.
"By cracky, you will this timel'* Eli yelped and swung towards the bartender. *Tou slide a whiskey bottle down there, feller.**
Directing a glance at his boss, the bartender saw her nod. While Kate did not know what Waco was planning, she guessed more than mere boasting lay behind his words. So she went along with him, wondering if he hoped the sound of the shooting would bring Dusty and the others to help deal with the men.
"Ready?" the bartender asked, taking one of the empty bottles from beneath the coimter.
"Go to it," Waco repUed and looked at the men. 'Tou have to let it get right to the end afore you cut loose."
Whatever his motive, Kate realised that Waco aimed to minimize the damage to her property. If the men allowed the bottle to reach the end of the bar before shooting, provided they came anywhere near close to their target, the bullet would end its flight harmlessly in the building^s wall. The outer timbers were of sufficient thickness to prevent a revolver bullet bursting through. So she moved slowly down the stairs, watching every action the trio made.
The bartender sent the bottle sliding along the polished top of the counter with a deft flick of his wrist. Bringing up his Starr, Zeb fired and missed, the bottle coming to a halt on the edge of the counter. However Eli had been watching Waco all the time and presented no opportunity for him to make a move.
"Missed," grinned the youngster.
"Dang it, so did your imcle!" Zeb replied hotly.
"Skim another down and leave me try a try," Eli suggested.
Puzzled by Waco's actions, the bartender still felt no inclination to make a move himself. If Kate gave him the sign he would, but until then he felt content to go along with Ae young Texan's wishes.
Like Zeb, Eh discovered that shooting a shding bottle proved a tricky proposition.
"Dag-nab it!" the lean hunter wailed as the bottle stopped unbroken by his bullet. 'That danged mirror threw Hght back into my eyes. Maybe I ought to do something about it."
"Busting if d sure be a heap easier than hitting that bottle,'* Waco agreed, determined to prevent such an expensive piece of damage.
Slowly Eli lowered the Colt from pointing at the mirror. The young deputy's words had carried all aroimd the room. So if Eli did throw lead into the mirror, everybody would reckon it was because he lacked the skill to hit the bottle. Conscious that he upheld the honour and dignity of the bufFalo-hunting fraternity, Eli could not allow such a thing to happen.
"Damn it, send her along again!" he growled.
Once more the bottle made its ghde along the counter. Although both men fired, no shattering of glass gladdened their ears.
"Danged if you didn t put me aim oflE, partner," Zeb said.
"I never figured you'd blast off in my ear just as I pressed the trigger," Eli protested. "You leave me do it next time."
If Waco had hoped to cause a rift between the two men, he failed. The misses merely increased their desire to shatter that hateful bottle. Eli tried again with no better result. Then Zeb made another attempt, shooting twice and bursting the bottle with the second bullet.
*T)one iti" he whooped.
Xemme have one, barkeepi" yelled Eli, not wishing to be outdone.
More by luck than skilled aim Eli managed to shatter the bottle, although it had almost come to a stop when he hit it. A point which Waco immediately brought out in a loud tone.
"Uncle Dusty hits them at full slide," he announced. "Not when they've just about stood still."
"Yeah?" snorted EH. "Well as soon as I've reloaded, I'll show you how its done."
"Just let me fill my old Starr's chamber," Zeb went on. "Then I'll hit six outa six. I was just getting the range."
"You mean you gents're empty?" asked Waco with deceptive mildness.
"Sure am, boy," agreed Eli.
"And me," confirmed Zeb.
Then both of them froze, staring into the barrels of the matched Army Colts which flashed from Waco's holsters and lined on them.
"Now you just put up your guns and we'll take us a walk down to the jailhouse."
'What—I" Eli squaUed.
'Why you—I" Zeb bellowed.
But they stood very still, for neither had drunk enough to dull their perceptions at such a moment. The speed with which Waco drew, and the way he thumb-cocked the hammers and pressed back the triggers after the barrels had left leather and slanted away from him, did not go unnoticed by the men. Faced by such mastery, even with a fair load of whiskey in them, they knew better than to make any foolish moves.
"By cracky, boys," Buffalo Kate said, coming forward. "He sure out-foxed you."
Then the humoiu" of the situation struck the crowd. They suddenly realised that the youngster's actions since entering the saloon had been for a pmpose. Nor did the difference between his method of disarming the pair and that which most Kansas lawmen would have employed go unnoticed. A man started to laugh and others took it up. All the tension went from the crowd as they howled their mirth. Slowly the baffled anger faded from the faces of Eli and Zeb, then they too joined in the laughter as heartily as anybody.
"Everything all right, Waco?" asked the ICid, walking in with his Winchester cradled over the crook of his right arm.
&
nbsp; "I reckon so," the yoimgster replied. **These gentsVe just been showing me some right fancy shooting and now they're fixing to show me how fancy they are at sweeping up broken glass."
"How's that?" Eli asked, watching Waco's Colts retmn to leather.
"I figure you owe it to Miss Kate," the youngster told him, "Busting bottles all over the place."
'Which same it'd be easier than spending a night in the pokey," the Kid went on.
"I'll be damned if I believe anybody could hit a bottle at full slide," Zeb stated indignantly.
A grin twisted Waco's lips as he faced the bar. "Skip one along, friend."
Obediently the bartender picked up a bottle and sent it along at, if anything, a faster pace than the others. Waco's right hand dipped and rose, the room's fights gUnted dully on blued steel, dien his Colt roared from waist high. Glass flew as the bottle disintegrated in full motion and a concerted gasp passed aroimd tibe room. Twirfing the Colt into leather
in almost a continuation of the draw and shot, he looked at the men.
"I'd do the other five, but the tax-payers buy fodder for my gun and'd rawhide me for wasting 'em/' he said. "Miss Kate, set these gents a drink up on me and then hand tliem a brush each."
"Now there's a lawman I could get to like," grinned Zeb. "I heard this was a straight town, Kate—and it's true."
"You the best hand with a gun in the marshal's office, friend?" Eli asked, dropping the over-familiar condescension and Tx)y*.
"There're two better than me," Waco replied.
"In that case, I'm leaving my gun empty," the lean buffalo-hunter stated. "Hand me a drink, then watch me go to sweeping."
"What'U Dusty say about me letting them do all that shooting?" Waco asked as he left the saloon with the Kid.
"That you did just right. Any other way and you'd've had to salt lead into that pair of hide-hunters."
"So I figured. Maybe I should've jumped them sooner."
"You did it just right," grinned the Kid. "Now stop fishing for compliments and let's get back to the office."
YOU'RE NOT WHAT I'D CALL WELCOME
Dusty confirmed the Kid's summing-up of Waco's actions when told on Wednesday morning and praised the yoimgster for the shrewd manner in which he had handled a tricky situation. So for the first time Waco felt himself capable of holding down his full end of the oflBce's work.
While the youngster was learning fast and gaining confidence with each day, he had yet to come into conflict with the commission of a crime. Due to Dusty's poHcy of having a 'welcome committee' awaiting the arrival of every train and stagecoach, weeding out undesirables, the word went out that Mulrooney was bad medicine for petty criminals. None of the paying visitors who went broke regarded it as a fault of the town, for they received fairer treatment than in other such places along the railroad.
One of the girls employed in Lily Couch's house stole a client's wallet during the transaction of business. However Lily, realising that she might never find another town which allowed her to operate without paying substantial bribes to various civic authorities, acted fast. In addition to retiu*ning the wallet, contents intact, to its owner, she gave the thief a beating calculated to make her fight shy of the touch of leather between her fingers for hfe. The other girls took the
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hint and there were no further incidents of that nature in the house.
Under the peaceful air of Wednesday morning, the town seethed widi excitement. The feud between the Fair Lady and Buffalo saloons grew hotter, causing considerable interest among citizens and visitors alike. While the game of strip-poker had put the Fair Lady ahead, nobody expected Buffalo Kate to stand back and accept defeat mildly. Nor did she. When the Buffalo opened for business on Wednesday, the girls wore dresses cut considerably shorter than accepted as usual, even in saloons. Naturally such an attraction hauled in trade and the town waited eagerly to see how Freddie planned to top it
"Did Babsy tell you anything, boy?^ asked the Ysabel Kid as he stood with Waco and Frank Derringer watching the noon train pull in to the depot on Thursday. "I'd sure admire to lay a bet on it with Mark—^if I could be sure of winning."
"She never told me a thing,** the yoimgster grinned. "Like I told Mark, when he asked so he could bet against you."
"Damned if the oflBce's not crawling with sharps," Derringer commented, then nodded towards the train. "Here they come."
"You're bossing this drive," the Kid answered. "Point her the way you want to go."
In addition to being the ofiBce's gambling authority. Derringer possessed another asset. Travelling around in search of high-stake games of chance, he had come to know many of the assorted petty criminals Dusty wished to deny access to Mutooney. So the gambler always attended the arrival of trains or stagecoaches and put his knowledge to good use.
Slowly the train ground to a halt, its driver timing things so that the passenger cars stopped in front of where the deputies stood. In addition, the conductor locked the end doors of the two cars, forcing the passengers to come out in the middle where Derringer's party could look them over conveniently.
"Howdy," greeted the gambler-deputy, blocking the path of a soberly-dressed, respectable-looking man who stepped from the forward car. "Can you tell me what persona non grata means?"
For a moment recognition flickered on the man's face, then it assumed a bland, puzzled expression. "I'm afraid I don't imderstand."
"It means *No thanks, we've enough of our own*,** Derringer explained, thumbing open his jacket to expose the badge on his vest. "In other words, Mr. Ketter, this town doesn't need you.'*
"Kett—," the man began in a tone ringing with righteous indignation.
"You're blocking the other passengers," Derringer interrupted. "So just step aside, let them out and then get back aboard. Try going West, Ketter. Maybe they're short on gold-brick salesmen and card-sharks out there, but we've got all we want."
"I still don't know what you mean," the man stated, then shrugged. "But I'll do what you want and lodge a complaint with yoiu" bondsmen later."
With that he started to turn and his right hand disappeared from Derringer's sight in front of his body. The gambler did not hesitate. Catching Ketter by the left shoulder, Derringer swung him around and drove the other fist hard into his belly. A purist student of pugilism might have claimed that the punch went home a mite low for sportsmanship, but Derringer did not regard the affair in the nature of a sporting contest.
Nor did Ketter, judging by the way he gasped and started to fold over. On the heels of the blow. Derringer slashed his other hand from the shoulder to the side of Ketter's jaw and sent him sprawling at the feet of a tall mm just about to step down from the next car.
"If you wasn't reaching for that hid-out stingy gun, HI think about apologising, Ketter," Derringer remarked, then looked at the mm and felt an explanation to be in order. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It was only a harmless bit of fimning."
"So it seems," the nun replied, glancing down at the groaning Ketter. "I suppose Sister Bridget and I are persona grata?"
"Yes ma'am," Derringer agreed, seeing a second nun behind the speaker. "I reckon you are. Let me just help this gent out of your way."
Bending over Ketter, the deputy took hold of his jacket lapels and hauled him erect. Before the gasping man could shake the dizziness from his head and think about revenge, Derringer thrust him to one side. Then Derringer turned and watched the two nuns step down. Looking at the first
of the pair, he wondered what had made such a beautiful woman renounce the world and take the veil.
Despite the habit which she wore hiding her figure, the woman conveyed an impression that what lay imdemeath would take seconds from none of her sex. Her face, framed severely, had beauty of a sultry land that could not be hidden. She spoke with a refined New England accent and moved gracefully.
Behind her came a slenderly-built novice, walking with head bowed and apparently conscious of the vow of silence imposed by her order.
"Take the ladies along to the convent, v^ll you, Waco,** Derringer said and the youngster moved forward with no great show of enthusiasm.
"We couldn't think of interrupting you, or taking your assistant from his duty," the nun objected, glancing at the badge Waco wore. "Heaven only knows how many bad characters might get into town without you being here to stop them. I suppose you meet every train like this?**
^Trains and stagecoaches both, ma'am,** Waco told her, relieved that he did not have to attend to such a minor chore when somebody interesting might come off the cars.
"How very tiborough. I'll sleep more peacefully in my bed knowing that Mulrooney has such an efficient police force. Come Sister Bridget."
"Ill have somebody fetch your gear along, ma'am," Waco promised.
^TThank you, but I assure you that I can manage," the mm replied and walked across to where the usual bunch of loafers had gathered by the depot.
Body hunched in pain, breathing hard, Ketter glared at his assailant and snarled, "I'll not forget this. Derringer. One day—."
"Sm-e, 111 wait for the day to come," Derringer answered. "Could be I just saved yorn: worthless Hfe. Look—."
Following the direction indicated by the deputy, Ketter saw something that almost scared him out of a year's growth. Unnoticed until that moment the Ysabel Kid was lounging in the background, his rifle hanging negligently in his right hand. The neghgence was more apparent than real, especially
when taken with the position of his right forefinger. No man of the Kid's proven rifle-sawy curled that particular digit through the triggerguard imless prepared to start shooting. Cold sweat sent a shiver through Ketter at the sight. Recognising the Kid, he realised what his fate would have been had he drawn the Colt Cloverleaf revolver from its concealed holster.
The making of a lawman Page 10
