Free Town Tamers by David Robbins Page B

careful.”
    “We’ll be careful as hell.”
    Jake Bass chuckled. “Scared of that old breed, are you?”
    “A bona fide”—Crusty pronounced it “bona fidee”—“man killer ain’t to be taken lightly.”
    “Hell,” Jake said. “He bleeds like everyone else.”
    “So do we,” Crusty said.
    “Get goin’,” Bull commanded. Shifting in the saddle, he called out to the rest, “Dismount if you want. We’ll be waitin’ here a spell.”
    “Hell,” Jake Bass said, swinging down. “I say we ride on in and do it.”
    “You buckin’ me, Jake?”
    “Not ever,” Jake instantly replied. “But you know me. I ain’t much for twiddlin’ my thumbs when killin’ needs to be done.”
    “That’s why Knox relies on me more than he relies on you.”
    “You ever hear me squawk about that? I agree you’ve got more sense than me. I try to rein myself in, but I can’t help bein’ me.”
    Some of the others were climbing down, but Bull stayed on the sorrel. He could sit a saddle forever. His brother used to josh that he had an iron ass. Then a lawman went and put a slug through his brother’s brain.
    Bull stopped thinking about his brother. It always upset him, and he needed a clear head. This Town Tamer, Delaware, was supposed to be living hell and not apt to go down easy.
    Time passed, and Jake Bass said out of the blue, “What I’d like to know is why us.”
    “Us who? The Circle K?”
    Jake nodded. “Why did Delaware come here when there’s towns that need tamin’ a lot worse than Ludlow?”
    “Someone sent for him.” Bull stated the obvious. “The town council, most likely. That’s how it’s usually done.”
    “When we’re done with the half-breed, we should pay each of them a visit.”
    “You know,” Bull said. “That’s not a bad idea.”
    Jake suddenly stiffened and stared toward town. “Do you hear that?”
    “I ain’t deaf.”
    The quiet of the night had been shattered by pistol shots and the unmistakable blasts of a shotgun. There were several more shots and the shotgun blasted a second time and after a bit once more.
    “What are we waitin’ for?”
    Bull raised his reins. “Back on your critters, boys. Crusty is in trouble.”
    “Do we ride in with guns blazin’?” Jake Bass eagerly asked.
    “We ride in with our guns out,” Bull said, “and blaze away the moment we set eyes on Asa Delaware.”
    “Let the fun commence,” Jake Bass said, and whooped for bloodthirsty joy.

23

    T hey thought they were being smart, but Asa had the eyes of a hawk. It came from his grandmother, one of the few things her legacy was good for.
    Three riders had appeared. Two broke one way and one another. They were swinging wide to go up the streets that paralleled Main.
    Asa moved into the murk along the side of the bank and sprinted to the rear. He reached it when the two riders were still a couple of blocks away. They were no more than black silhouettes, but that was enough. One of the advantages of a shotgun was that you only had to point it in the general direction of your target. The spread took care of the rest.
    The street was narrower than Main, another factor in his favor.
    They came on slowly and Asa heard one of them whisper, “I don’t see hide nor hair of anybody, Slim.”
    “Me neither, Charley.”
    Asa’s impulse was to shoot without warning, but he had to be sure, however slim the chance they were strangers passing through. “You Circle K punchers were warned to leave the country.”
    They reined up and one blurted, “It’s by-God him, Charley! What do we do?”
    Charley was already doing it. In the dark Asa didn’t see his hand move, but suddenly the night flared with a firefly and a six-shooter cracked. “Fill him with lead!” Charley cried.
    Asa fired.
    The force of it lifted Charley from his saddle and sprawled him catawampus in the street.
    Slim banged off a shot and hauled on his reins. He was trying to get out of there, and as his mount turned, Asa let him have it,