Free Six Gun Justice by David Cross Page B

the gun hanging from his waist, tearing a big hole in the holster, and sending the pistol flying across the porch. His second shot caught Murdock in a shocked stance, raking across his cheek with a fiery brand. He had spun around with the first shot, now his hand flew to the crease on his cheek, coming away with blood.
    Jake could see the fear that crossed his face, smiling as Murdock spun and ran through the door of the house. He jacked the shell from the breach, catching it before it could hit the ground, picked up the other spent cartridge, and dropped them in his pocket. With the telescope, he looked toward the bunkhouse, but the rider had not made an appearance. The blacksmith had dropped his hammer, and was trying to find refuge behind the hot forge, and not having too much luck. He was too big to fit behind the small forge, but he was making a good effort.
    Killman replaced the rifle in its scabbard, gathered the reins and swung his big frame into the saddle. He had left a few calling cards that would give the men on the Circle M something to worry about, and he had enjoyed the fright on Murdock’s face. He was good at sending others to do his dirty work, staying behind in relative safety, but now he would realize that he was vulnerable to attack, just as his riders were. It was Jake’s first lunge at his enemy, and he had successfully scared the wits out of some of his gunslingers, and cut down the odds some. They would know he was out for blood now.
    Riding around the fence line of the Circle M, he thought about what his next move should be, and what Murdock’s next move would be. He was riding south toward Strawberry without thinking. He would go in for some supplies for the ranch, and stop off at for a drink with Mike. He was feeling proud of himself; proud of the day’s work he had done, when he rode into Strawberry, just before noon.
    He spotted the two horses tied at the rail in front of the Strawberry saloon, but paid little attention to them, his mind on the purchases he wanted to buy. He was inside the mercantile before the import of the hoses hit him that the horses were carrying the Circle M brand. He said a hello to Ely, and told him he would be back later, then turned and walked back outside and across the street to the saloon.
    Easing onto the board sidewalk, he looked over the batwing doors, to see the two Circle M riders bellied up to the bar, and Mike Stoler looking directly at him. He made a motion for Stoler to move out of the line of fire, and then walked through the doors, stopping just inside, to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. One of the riders turned to see who had entered and suddenly went stiff.
    “Howdy boys,” Jake said in a low tone. “I thought you would be riding out of this country by now.”
    The second man stiffened and turned slowly to face Killman. His face had lost some of its color, as had his companion. Mike was at the far end of the bar, polishing on a whiskey glass, a small grin creasing his face.
    “Reckon we stayed for the funeral,” the first man said.
    “Oh. Did someone die?” Jake responded, his right eyebrow rising a bit..
    “Not yet. But we expect it to happen soon. I guess you’ll be coming to the funeral too,” he said, as his hand moved closer to his six-gun.
    “If your hand drops any further toward that hog leg, it might be even sooner than you expect,” Jake replied.
    The slender man who had been talking froze, but his partner made a grab for his gun. Jake’s hand moved like lightning, as the Cold dragoon leaped into his huge hand, spitting flame, and lead. The second gunman reached for his gun at the same, and two bullets from Jake’s gun struck him just below the bridge of the nose. The one, who had been doing the talking, caught the next slug in the forehead, slamming him back against the bar, his hand loosening on the grip of the still holstered weapon.
    It was over in less than two seconds, both the Circle M riders dead on the floor of