Slip Gun (6 page)

‘
Would
anybody else like to come in before we start?’ Hardy inquired,
looking around. The prospector shook his head and the little,
soberly-dressed man showed his refusal. So the gambler swung his
gaze to Smith and Burbury. ‘How about you, gentlemen?’

‘
Not
for me,’ Smith replied, having no wish to be brought into close
contact with the McCobbs; especially in a gambling game which he
guessed might prove more expensive than the newly-introduced
players suspected.

‘
I
don’t gamble with three kinds of people,’ Burbury declared,
looking at Hayward. ‘Men, women or children.’

Despite his previous
touchy
behavior, the dandy let the comment pass unchallenged.
Taking another drink from his flask, Hayward leaned at Hardy’s side
and did not attempt to join the game.

‘
All
right then,’ Hardy said. ‘Ante up a dollar, gents, and let’s see
which way the luck’s going.’

After each of the players had
placed a dollar into the pot, one of the drummers made the first
spin. Gripping the stick between his right thumb and forefinger, he
twirled it in a clockwise direction. Whirling around on the nose of
the
‘bullet,
the top collapsed as its momentum ceased.

‘
Take
three!’ whooped the spinner, joyfully drawing three dollars from
the small pile in the centre of the bar. ‘Here, Fred.’

‘
Put
four,’ muttered the smallest of the trio and did so.

On the top reaching Billy
McCobb, he threw a
‘P-All’ and learned one of the snags to the game. The ‘All’
meant that he must put in an amount equal to the total already
forming the pot. Scowling a little, he shoved eleven dollars across
the counter and thrust the top in Hardy’s direction.

‘
Here’s
a take-all for me,’ the gambler announced, spinning it awkwardly so
that it turned anti-clockwise and made a wry face as it settled
showing ‘P-4’.

Another
‘P-All’, thrown by the largest
drummer, swelled the pot to fifty-two dollars. With that much money
at stake, none of the players as much as looked when the blonde
came from the women’s quarters. After glancing at the bar, she went
to sit at the main table.

‘
Mow’s
your chance,’ Smith remarked to Burbury. ‘I’d guess the lady’s not
used to being on her lonesome.’

‘
You
could be right,’ the man admitted. ‘Why not come over and
see?’

‘
Two’s
company,’ Smith drawled. ‘Asking to make it up to three’s plumb
foolish doings.’

‘
I’d
like to see that gambling man spin the top again,’ Bur-bury
replied.

‘
You’ll
be making me think you’re skirt-’fraid,’ Smith grinned. ‘After all
the stories I’ve heard about you drummers, for shame.’

‘
Damn
it, now I’ll have to go,’ Burbury groaned. ‘I can’t let us
travelling men’s good name down.’

With that, the burly man strode
across to the long table. Doffing his bowler hat with a flourish,
he bowed and addressed the blonde. After looking at Burbury, she
swung her eyes in Smith
’s direction. From the man’s gestures, Smith
formed the opinion he was asking her to join them at the bar. Again
Smith felt puzzled by Burbury. Since first seeing her, the drummer
had expressed considerable interest in Lily Shivers. Yet, given an
opportunity to be alone with her, he seemed determined to throw his
chance away.

Something fell from the bar and
bounced off the toe of Smith
’s right boot. Although he felt only a slight tap,
it took his thoughts off Burbury’s behavior. Looking down, he saw
the put-and-take top lying close to his foot. Obligingly, he bent
and picked it up.

‘
My
apologies, sir,’ Hardy said. ‘It slipped out of my hand. Perhaps
fate guided it to you. Why not try a spin and see?’

Glancing at the pile of money on
the counter, Smith found that it had increased considerably since
Burbury
’s
actions diverted his attention. Somebody obviously had hit a
‘P-All’ and there must be well over a hundred dollars in the pot. A
tempting sum. More so since Smith had not risked anything to take a
chance at it. Not that he intended doing so.

‘
It’s
not my game,’ the Texan said and held out the top to
Hardy.

‘
What’s
up, beef-head?’ Hayward demanded. ‘Ain’t Northerners’ company good
enough for you?’

From all appearances, the
Bourbon imbibed by the dandy was making itself felt. As he spoke,
he thrust himself clear of the bar. Halting with the exaggerated
attention to balance often displayed by one feeling the effects of
liquor, he scowled menacingly at Smith. Hoping to avoid trouble,
Smith placed the top on the counter. Without speaking, he turned
his back on Hayward. Before the Texan had taken four strides in
Burbury
’s
direction, the dandy’s voice came again.

‘
Don’t
go turning your back on me like I’m dirt, you three-fingered
son-of-a-bitch!’

Slowly Smith started to swing
around. While doing so, he removed his right hand glove and held it
in his left fist. Crouching slightly, Hayward stood with his right
hand spread
talon like above its revolver’s butt. At that moment Smith
realized what the dandy had called him. Obviously Hayward was aware
of his identity. What was more, knowing it, the dandy seemed set on
forcing a showdown.

‘
That’s
a hard name,
hombre?
Smith warned, his voice quietly chilling. ‘So what’ve you
got in mind now you’ve said it?’

‘
I
don’t take kind to unsociable bastards,’ Hayward replied. ‘So
you’re either going to join the game, or get carried out of here
feet-first.’

Immediately the put-and-take players, with
the exception of Hardy, began to edge away. Behind the bar, Derham
started to move out of the line of fire. The gambler did no more
than turn to face Smith, standing so that his right arm and hand
was hidden from the Texan by Hayward. It was at Hardy that Smith
directed his next words.

‘
You’d
best cool him off, mister. I don’t take kind to the names he laid
on me; but I’m not looking for fuss and I’ll pass them up—this
once.’

‘
All we
want’s a friendly game of put-and-take,’ Hardy answered. Trouble
being, Roy’s a determined young man. You’ve riled him up and
nothing short of you joining in’ll satisfy him.’

‘
And if
I don’t?’ Smith inquired.

‘
I’ll
damned soon make you!’ Hayward promised.

Studying the dandy, Smith knew that he was
facing a similar situation to the incident in the barn. If he
backed down, Hay-ward was drunk enough to regard it as a sign of
weakness,

Or was he so drunk?

The whole deal felt wrong to Smith. Fined
down by long experience, his instincts sensed a trap. That Hayward
knew him had been made clear. He had worn his gloves all the time
the dandy was in the room. So Hayward could not have seen his hands
that evening. Maybe the dandy hoped to gain a reputation by facing
and killing Waxahachie Smith. Only that did not account for those
other aspects of the affair which smelled wrong.

One thing was certain. Backing
down offered no solution. Apart from other considerations, to do so
might encourage the McCobb brothers to resume their abuses. Right
then, however, Hayward posed a greater threat than they had. Not
only was he standing too far away from Smith to make use of
the
savate
techniques which had quelled the McCobbs, but the dandy
knew who he challenged. Hayward would not be goaded into coming
closer.

‘
Talk
him out of it, mister,’ Smith told the gambler.

‘
I
can’t,’ Hardy confessed in a tone which meant, ‘I
won’t.’

‘
Then I
will,’ Smith declared, shrugging the jacket from his shoulders.
‘How do you stand on that, gambling man?’

‘
It’s
between Roy and you,’ Hardy replied.

‘
Which’s it to be, Smith?’ the dandy demanded and the Texan
saw annoyance flicker on Hardy’s face at the mention of his name.
I’ll give you a count of five. One—!’

Instead of taking the count further, Hayward
grabbed for his gun.

An interested spectator, Dad Derham saw the
treacherous move commence and wondered how Smith could hope to
counter it without a trigger-finger on either hand.

Having watched
Hayward’s eyes,
Smith knew what the other was planning. Another fact had struck the
Texan. Those were not the eyes of a man with a gut-full of liquor
to make him ornery. Hayward was cold sober, no matter how he had
been acting.

Even as Smith
’s mind assimilated the fact,
his trained reflexes took over. Turning his right elbow outwards
and almost to the level of his shoulder, he twisted his hand
towards the Colt with the speed of a striking snake. Strengthened
by hard exercises, his second and third fingers wrapped firmly
about the butt and the fourth digit hooked under its bottom. At the
same moment, the web of his thumb wrapped over the hammer’s spur.
Snapping his elbow in, Smith not only twisted the revolver from its
holster but its weight cocked the hammer without further effort by
the thumb.

With the
dandy
’s
revolver still lifting from leather, the barrel of Smith’s Colt
turned in his direction. Aiming by instinctive alignment, Smith
relaxed the grip of his thumb. Freed from restraint, the hammer
sprang forward to plunge its striker into the primer of the waiting
cartridge. Flame rushed from the muzzle of the Colt and the crash
of detonating powder shattered the silence. Hayward reeled back and
to the left, his hand falling away from the gun.

Despite his promise of staying
out of the affair, Hardy started to draw his revolver as soon as
Hayward
’s
hand moved. Faster than his companion, the gambler cleared his
holster an instant after Smith’s shot rang out. Already stepping to
the left, ready to take cards if he should be required, Hardy found
the stricken man blundering between him and the Texan. Snarling a
curse, the gambler reversed his direction. Ignoring Hayward’s
crumpling body, he fixed his attention on Smith—and found that his
movements had been anticipated.

Using the
Colt’
s recoil
and perfectly adapted balance, Smith thumb-cocked the hammer. As if
drawn by magnetic force, the four-and-three-quarter inch barrel
followed the gambler’s figure. While Hardy was still attempting to
line his own weapon, Smith turned loose a second shot. Angled
upwards the discharged load ripped into the gambler’s forehead.
With the back of his skull shattered open, he slammed into the
counter. Killed instantly, Hardy released the revolver and tumbled
face forward across Hayward.

Smith followed Hardy down with
his eyes. For some reason, his attention was attracted by the mud
on the pair
’s
boots. Seeing it reminded him of the man who had arrived shortly
before them. The recollection came slightly too late. Even as Smith
swung his head around, he found that the gaunt hard-case had stood
up and was lining a revolver at him.

‘
Moxley!’ Burbury roared, right hand flashing across to draw
his gun.

Hearing the bull-throated
bellow, the gaunt man
swiveled his head around. What he saw caused him
to move his revolver out of alignment on Smith. A shot thundered
from by the big table and the hard-case rocked under the impact of
lead. About to try to save his life, Smith could not help glancing
at the source of his salvation. Smoke rose from the barrel of
Burbury’s Colt as it reached the height of its recoil kick.
Although hit in the body, the gaunt man braced himself against the
wall still holding his gun.

For all his city clothing,
Burbury handled the Artillery Model Peacemaker with
casually-competent ease. What was more, he responded to the
situation like an experienced gun fighter. Drawing back the hammer,
he aimed and squeezed the trigger a second time, driving a bullet
into the man
’s head. Showing the same smooth, trained speed, Burbury
again cocked the Colt. He did not relax until his victim let the
gun fall and slid limply to the floor.

A deep silence that could almost
be felt dropped over the room. It lasted for almost thirty seconds,
while the powder-smoke swirled away into nothing. Looking around,
Smith saw that the farmer
’s wife had buried her face in her hands. Lily
Shivers was on her feet, but exhibited no signs of distress.
Neither Derham nor the prospector showed any great emotion. Nor,
for that matter, did the soberly-dressed little man. The drummers
and the McCobbs formed a solid wedge of humanity, having crowded
together when they had backed out of the immediate danger
area.

‘
Somebody’d best go tell the sheriff,’ Burbury suggested,
holstering his revolver.