Free Curly Bill and Ringo by Van Holt

probably the worst thing they could of done. For all I know they even gave him the idea when they warned him not to do it.”
    “What idea?”
    The sun was very bright. Curly closed one eye against the glare and watched Ringo out of the other eye. But Ringo had played too much poker to show what he was thinking on his face.
    “Well, along about the time we heard about that gunfight over in New Mexico, Uncle Willy sent a letter off to someone. Nobody knows what was in the letter, but a lot of folks around here seem to think he sent for Easter or someone to put a stop to the rustling.”
    Ringo turned his pale cold eyes on the rustler. “You mean you knew that and yet you tricked me into using Easter’s name?”
    Curly shrugged. “I figgered you and Easter were one and the same. Nobody ever heard of him before, so it prob’ly ain’t his real name. And when I heard how he could shoot, you’re the one I thought of, even though you were supposed to be dead. You’re about the only one I know of who can shoot like that.”
    “I hate to disappoint you, Curly,” Ringo said, “but you’re wrong, as usual.”
    Curly studied his hard face carefully. “You mean it wasn’t you?”
    “That’s exactly what I mean,” Ringo said. “I didn’t even come through Silver City. But it seems you’re not the only one who thinks I’m Easter. When I was passing through Lordsburg I damn near had to kill two or three men to prove I wasn’t him. Seems the men Easter killed were their friends.”
    Curly was so used to telling lies himself that it did not immediately occur to him that Ringo might be telling the truth. The big rustler rode in silence, twisting his black mustache and thinking. He’s afraid if he admits killing them men, I’ll tell everybody I see about it. Me and my big mouth.
    Ringo gave him an almost injured look and said, “You mean you thought Gibson sent for me, Curly?”
    Curly rubbed his big chin uncomfortably. “Well, you remember the old rumors, Ringo.’’
    “What old rumors?”
    “About you being in with the Earps when we thought you were on our side.”
    “It wasn’t me who tried to sell you out, Curly. It was Ike Clanton. I figured everyone knew that by now.”
    “Why would Ike try to sell out his own gang?” Curly asked.
    “It wasn’t his gang any longer, remember?” Ringo said, “You’d taken over that honor. Talked your way right to the top.”
    “I wanted to share the honor with you, Ringo. But you didn’t seem to want to give orders.”
    “That’s because I never wanted anyone giving me any, Curly.”
    “That’s true,” Curly agreed. “I never could get you to do anything you didn’t want to, and then like as not you’d change your mind just to make me look like a fool in front of the boys. And half of the time you were off in a corner hobnobbing with Uncle Willy Shakespeare or riding off someplace by yourself. You can’t rightly blame the boys for commencing to wonder.”
    “I’m not talking about the boys, Curly. I’m talking about you. Did you really believe I was carrying information to the Earps?”
    “Let’s put it this way, Ringo,” Curly said. “I damn near shot two or three fellows for even suggesting it.”
    “That still doesn’t answer my question. But I think we better let it go at that.”
    “I’d like to ask you a question, Ringo, if you don’t mind,” Curly said. “Why did you come back? I get the feeling you didn’t ride a long ways just to see your old friend Curly.”
    “You know damn well why I came back,” Ringo said softly.
    But there was nothing soft about his face. It was like stone.
    Curly studied that bronzed profile carefully. It was quite a face, with the bold aquiline nose, high cheekbones and strong jaw—a remarkably handsome face. “How long have you known it was them?” Curly asked.
    “All along.”
    “You sure you couldn’t be mistaken?”
    “Dead sure.”
    “There’s them who think it was your old friend Wyatt.” Curly