by Simon Hawke
He had his back to Neilson, but he was dressed like a gambler, in a dark, dandy’s suit. The cowboy with his gun out was standing at a right angle to Neilson, his left side toward him, about a dozen feet away. Neilson quietly stepped aside, knowing that Leslie had a gun beneath the bar. The entire room became suddenly, completely silent,
“Come on now, take it easy. Slim.” said one of the other men at the table.
That damn deck’s marked!” the cowboy named Slim furiously accused the man with his back to Neilson.
“I can assure you, sir, that it is not.” the gambler replied, in a calm and steady voice. “You are welcome to examine it. Any man here is welcome to examine it. I won that hand fair and square.”
“You lyin’ bastard, you did not! You pulled some cheap, tinhorn trick!”
Men were quickly edging away from the vicinity of the table. Leslie waited until his field of fire was clear, then pulled a sawed-off shotgun from beneath the bar.
“Put up that pistol, friend, right now.” said Leslie.
Neilson suddenly heard the ominous sound of a revolver being cocked.
“I don’t believe he will, barkeep.” another cowboy at the far end of the bar said. He had a gun aimed right at Leslie. “Now you put down that scattergun. Just rest it on the bar there, nice and easy, and step away.”
Leslie hesitated for a second. “You don’t want to do this, friend.”
“You shut your damn mouth and do as I said!”
Leslie complied.
Slim turned toward the bar, moving so that he could clearly see both the gambler and Leslie. “You tell him. Jack! We’ll show these cheatin’ sons of bitches! That pot is mine by rights!”
Nobody moved.
“You, boy.” said the man named Jack, talking to Neilson. He came around the end of the bar slowly. He aimed his gun at Neilson.
“Leave him out of this.” said Leslie.
“I said, shut your damn mouth! Boy, take that scattergun and slide it down the bar to me, real careful like.”
“Everybody just stay right where you are.” said Slim, “and keep your hands where I can see ’em.”
“Be smart, cowboy.” said the gambler, sitting perfectly still. You shoot anyone in here and you’ll never make it out of town.”
“Yeah? Well, you won’t be around to find out, one way or the other.
Neilson hadn’t moved. The situation was getting ugly and he didn’t want to chance being shot by a stray bullet. His mission was too important. Not to mention his life. If he slid that shotgun down the bar, Jack would have a better weapon with which to cover their escape after Slim had shot the gambler. And God only knew who else.
“ You, boy!” shouted Jack. “You tired of livin’? I said, slide that scatter gun down here!”
“Leave him alone.” said Leslie. “He’s just a kid.”
“You opened your damn mouth once too often!” Jack responded, moving his gun to fire at Leslie. And in that moment, Neilson moved.
His hand snaked down inside his coat as he drew and cocked the pistol in one smooth motion and fired at Jack, hitting him in the chest. Without pausing, he recocked the Colt as it rolled with the recoil, brought his arm around and fired at Slim, dropping him before Jack even hit the floor. It happened so fast that no one had a chance to react.
There was a moment’s stunned silence, then somebody exclaimed. “Jesus. Mary and Joseph! Did you see that?”
By God. I ain’t never seen anyone that fast!” The saloon erupted into activity as Neilson stood there. Still holding his smoking gun. Great, he thought. Now what do I do?
“Right through the heart!” said someone, bending over Slim. “Dead center!”
“I’ll be hog-tied!” said someone else. examining Jack’s body. “This one, too!”
“Hold it right there!” said a steely voice, cutting through the commotion. “Put down that pistol, kid, or I’ll shoot you where you stand!”
Fuck, thought Neilson, unable to see the speaker behind him. Whoever he was, he had the drop on him. He released his grip on the Colt, allowing it to dangle from his index finger in the trigger guard, then slowly brought it down on the bar and raised his hands.
“It’s all right. Virgil.” Leslie said. “The kid’s okay. He just stopped some killin’.”
“Appears to me like he just did some killin’.” said the tall, strapping man with the dark, reddish blond hair and bushy moustache who came around from behind Neilson. He was dressed in a dark suit, with a badge pinned to his vest. Virgil, thought Neilson. He recognized him from photographs he’d seen. It was Virgil Earp, eldest of the three “fighting Earp” brothers.
“It was killin’ that needed to be done,” Leslie replied. “The kid did the right thing.”
“I’ll say, he did.” said the gambler, getting up from the table “The kid just saved my bacon.”
“Is that so?” said Virgil. “What happened?”
Neilson stared as the good-looking gambler with the neatly trimmed black moustache came toward him. “Cowboy over there called me a cheat and threw down on me. The other one got the drop on Frank. And me without my guns.”
Those boys meant business, Virgil.” Leslie added. “I would have been shot dead, if it wasn’t for this here Montana kid.”
“I owe you a debt of gratith. cle,” the gambler said. “I’d like to shake your hand and stand you to a drink. The name’s Bat Masterson.”
Feeling rather numb. Neilson shook his hand.
“What’s your name, Montana kid?” asked Virgil.
“Neilson.” Scott replied instinctively, not thinking to give an alias. “Scott Neilson.”
“I like Montana Kid.” said Masterson, with an easy, charming smile. “Drinks all around, Frank. And a bottle for me and the Kid, here. Virgil, you’ll join us, won’t you?”
Virgil Earp looked Neilson over. “Well, if Frank and Bat vouch it was a necessary shooting, then I guess that’s okay with me. But I’ll need to take your gun. Kid, just the same. Those boys were part of Clanton’s bunch. Mean customers. You’re lucky you came out of it okay.”
“Hell, luck had nothin’ to do with it,” said Leslie, pouring the drinks “You should’ve seen it. Virgil. The Kid’s greased lightnin’ with a gun.”
“You don’t say.” said Virgil.
“Shot ’em both right through the heart, dead center!” said one of the other men around them. “Fastest draw lever seen in all my born days! If you’d a blinked your eye, you would’ve missed it!”
The others in the bar quickly agreed with this assessment.
“Sounds right impressive,” Virgil said.
“Impressive doesn’t do it justice,” responded Leslie.
“Is he really that fast, Frank?” Virgil said, with some surprise, apparently expecting. exaggeration from the others, but not Win Frank Leslie.
“I wouldn’t have a prayer against him, that’s for damn sure.” Leslie said. “And here I thought he was some green kid, fresh off the wagon. Shoot! I’ll bet he could beat Wyatt.”
“Faster than Wyatt?” said Virgil, raising his eyebrows.
“God’s my witness.” Leslie replied. “You put him up against Wild Bill. I’d give you even money and it would be a coin toss.”
“Hell, Frank, I never heard of anyone as fast as Hickok.” Virgil said.
“You’re lookin’ right at him.” Leslie replied, flatly.
“Was he really that fast, Bat’?” Virgil asked.
“Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t see it.” Masterson replied. “but I heard both shots come so close together. I would have sworn they had been fired from different guns.”
Virgil looked at Neilson with new respect. ‘Where did you learn to shoot like that, Kid?”
Neilson was still slightly overwhelmed. His hesitance and confusion were taken as modest embarrassment. He simply shrugged and said, “Practice.”
The bodies were still lying on the floor. No one made a move to do anything about them. The d
oor swung open and two more men came in. both with pistols drawn. One man was tall and slim, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He had a flowing handlebar moustache that curled up at the ends and, like Virgil, he was dressed in a black suit. He also wore a badge. The family resemblance was strong and unmistakable. The other man was pale, thin and slightly built, perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds, with sandy hair, sharp features, a moustache and intense. slate-gray, spectral-looking eyes.
“Heard there was some shootin’, Virgil.” And right fancy shooting, from what I hear,” Virgil replied. “It appears that this young gentleman has saved the lives of Frank and Bat. What’s more, they claim he could be even faster than you are. Come on over and say hello to the Montana Kid, just arrived in town. Kid, meet my brother, Wyatt. And the gent with him is Doc Holliday.”
The two men put away their pistols and Scott was speechless as he shook their hands.
“I’m much obliged to you for coming to the aid of my good friends.” said Wyatt.
“Just arrived in town, eh?” Holliday said. He coughed and glanced at the bodies. “Kid, I’ll grant you one thing. You sure do make one hell of an entrance.”
They took a bottle and moved to a table.
Wyatt glanced down at the corpses. “Jack Demming and Slim Carter” he said, with a grunt. “Well, that’s two less rustlers we need to be concerned with. But I’d watch my back from now on if I were you, Kid. The Clanton bunch won’t take too kindly to the service you just performed for this community. You plannin’ on stayin’ in town?”
He was askin’ after some friends of his,” said Frank Leslie. “Summers, Billings and McEnery.”
Wyatt frowned. “You told him?”
“I started to,” said Frank, “and then things got a little hot around here.
“He told me they were dead,” said Scott. “What happened to them?”
“Kin of yours?” asked Wyatt.
“No, just good friends. We, all grew up together.”
“It’s too bad about what happened.” Wyatt said, sympathetically. They were good men, thought highly of around here.
They were murdered out at their claim.”
“Funny thing, though,” Doc said. “I never saw bullet wounds that looked quite like that before. No blood to speak of. Had to be small caliber, one of those little Colt New Line pocket pistols. Whoever shot ’em got up real close. You could see the burn marks on the clothing and even on the wounds.”
“We thought at first it might’ve been the rustlers,” Virgil said. “They’re not above shootin’ down a man that’s got a roll. But I don’t know of any rustlers armed with pocket pistols. They would have used their rifles or their. 45s. A pocket pistol is a gambler’s weapon. Not much use ‘cept at close range. Only there was no sign of them playing cards out there. We thought it could have been some claim jumpers, but then nobody’s been workin’ their claim. It’s a riddle, all right. We get a lot of strangers comin’ through town and, sad to say, those kind of things tend to happen around here. Unless somebody talks, we may never know who killed ’em.’
Scott was thinking about what Doc had said. He’d never seen bullet wounds like that before. Small wounds. Burn marks. No blood to speak of. To Doc and the others, it may have looked like the sort of wounds a small-caliber pocket pistol like the Colt New Line could inflict. To Scott, it sounded ominously like a laser.
“They were decent men,” said Wyatt. “Never gave anybody any trouble. We gave ’em a proper Christian burial.”
“What about their personal effects?” asked Scott.
“Sold ’em off.” said Frank. “There really wasn’t very much. Their rig and horses. saddles. Winchesters and six-guns… most everything got cleaned out by the killers. Don’t think those boys were pullin’ much out of that claim, anyhow. unless they had it stashed. They were right decent enough fellows, but they don’t seem to have worked too hard.”
“Were there any bracelets’?” Scott asked. “Indian bracelets, like the one I’ve got?” He held up his arm and pulled back his sleeve to show them. “They’re not really worth much, but we all had ’em. They’d have sentimental value to me.”
“Come to think of it. I do recall those bracelets.” Leslie said. “I tried to buy one off ’em once, but none of ’em would sell. They said the same thing, that the bracelets had sentimental value. They all got ’em together somewhere.”
“I don’t recall any Indian bracelets among their personal effects.” Virgil said. “Do you. Wyatt?”
“Nope. I don’t believe I do. The killers must’ve stolen ’em, along with any money they had. They have any kin?”
“Yeah,” said Scott. “I’ll have to write to ’em. I’d like to take a look at where it happened, if that’s all right with you.
“Sure thing,” said Virgil. “But I wouldn’t plan on goin’ out there tonight. I’d wait till morning if I was you.”
“I’ll rent a rig and run you out tomorrow: said Masterson.
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“It’s the least I can do, after you saved my life.”
“What are your plans. Kid” asked Wyatt.
“I don’t know,” said Scott “I’d like to find out what happened to my friends, if I can. Ask around, see what I can learn.”
“We’ve already done that,” Virgil said. “You’re welcome to ask around, so long as all you do is ask. I don’t want any more gunplay in this town. Kid. We’ve got plenty enough as it is.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” Scott replied.
“The way you handle a gun, it’s liable to find you just the same,” said Leslie.
“What did you do up in the Montana ‘Territory, Kid?” asked Virgil.
“My folks were farmers in the Bitterroot.” said Neilson.
“You don’t have the look of a farmer,” Virgil replied.
“It didn’t suit me, so I left.”
“You wear your hair like a plainsman,” said Wyatt. “Do much buffalo hunting?”
Scott knew that Wyatt Earp had been a buffalo hunter in his youth, along with Bat Masterson In fact, much of Masterson’s early reputation stemmed from a harrowing Indian attack known as the Battle of Adobe Walls, where a handful of buffalo hunters had stood off about two hundred Indians with their six-guns and Sharps rifles. His fame from that encounter had led to his becoming a lawman in Dodge.
“I hunted some.” he answered.
“How do you skin a buffalo?” asked Wyatt, softly.
Scott knew what this was all about and he had to handle it just right. Fortunately, he know the answer, but he made a long pause before giving it, staring Wyatt Earp right in the eyes. Wyatt met his gaze steadily.
“You cut up the insides of the legs and down the belly, then around the head,” said Scott. “Then you tie a rope up to the hide and hitch it on a horse. It peels right back. Only that’s work for skinners, not for hunters.”
Masterson nodded.
“So he hunted buffalo.” said Holliday. “Still doesn’t mean he’s not a gunfighter. ‘Specially if he’s as fast as Frank says.”
“Practice your fast draw on the farm, did you?” Wyatt asked, softly. Virgil simply looked on quietly, watching him carefully.
“Like I said. Marshal,” Scott replied, in a steady voice. “I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t start what happened here tonight.”
“Nobody’s sayin’ that you did. Kid,” Masterson said. quickly. “But like Wyatt said, you wear your hair like a plainsman. Only you dress like a gunfighter. And you damn well shoot like one.”
“I hear tell you’re a fair hand with a gun yourself,” said Scott.
“It’s been said.” Masterson replied. “A man’s reputation gets around. Only you see, none of us have ever heard of you before. Someone shoots the way you do. you’d think there’d be some talk. The reason for all the questions is that Wyatt here tends to be the careful type. Virgil. too. It’s their job to keep the law in Tombstone and, as you’ve seen, it can be quite a job
.
“Like I said, I don’t want any trouble,” Neilson replied. And you’ve got my gun.”
“We’ve got stores in town that sell ’em,” Wyatt said. “there’s no law keeps you from buyin’ another one. Just don’t let me catch you wearin’ it in town.”
“What about Mr. Holliday’?” asked Scott. “I don’t see a badge on him.”
“Doc’s got special permission.” Wyatt said.
“I see.” said Scott. “So the idea here is the law-abiding citizen is disarmed, but the outlaw carries a gun, is that it? You’d think it should be the other way around
“The outlaw is not permitted to carry a gun. either,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah, but if he’s an outlaw, he’ll do it anyway, won’t he’?”
“Only if I don’t catch him at it,” Wyatt replied, severely.
“Tell me something, Marshal,” Scott said. “do you generally catch him before or after he shoots somebody?”
“Before, if I can manage it,” said Wyatt. giving Scott a hard stare.
“And if you can’t manage it. I guess that’s hard luck for the fellow he just shot.” They were pushing him a bit to see how he would handle it. If he didn’t push back slightly, they’d be suspicious, but he had to be careful not to push back too hard
“If you don’t care for the law in Tombstone. Kid, you’re free to move on,” said Virgil, in a neutral tone.
“Oh, now that I’ve been informed of the law. Mr. Earp, I’ll abide by it,” said Scott. “But I guess it’s a lucky thing for your two friends that I wasn’t informed of it before.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Meet you right here in the morning, Mr. Masterson?”
“Right here’s fine with me. About eight o’clock suit you’.”
“Eight o’clock suits me fine.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Gentlemen…”
They watched him as he left.
“He asked a bunch of questions,” Wyatt said, “but he didn’t answer many. The Montana Kid, eh? I’ve never heard of him before.”
