Free Widowmaker Jones by Brett Cogburn Page B

and managed to keep most of the quaver of temper out of his voice.
    The tall one looked down the street, making a show of acting like he was searching for someone. “I don’t think the constable is around. I think maybe he went somewhere else and won’t be back until tomorrow. He don’t like us much.”
    The drunken men snickered again and a couple of them moved closer to Kizzy and Fonzo. Fonzo pulled a small knife from his waistband. He held it out toward them with the cutting edge turned up, wavering back and forth between them and the tall one on his other side.
    â€œThere is no need for that. Put away your cuchillo .” The tall one took his hand off his pistol butt and held up both hands. “We only came to see your horses, and maybe to see this Buckshot Annie who is written on the side of your wagon. What does it say there? The world’s best crack shot?”
    â€œI’ve already told you to leave,” Fonzo said.
    The tall one glanced at his friends as if they were a jury. “She says she is this Buckshot Annie, but I don’t think what you write on your wagon is true.”
    â€œKizzy, go to the wagon,” Fonzo said, making a fake thrust at one of the men who came too close to him.”
    â€œ Muchachos , do you think this gringo can outshoot me?” the tall one asked.
    More laughing. Kizzy noticed one of the men had drawn his own knife—a rather large one—and was holding it hidden behind his thigh.
    â€œHow about we have a shooting contest? Me and you,” the tall one said with his eyes on her and his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his catskin vest.
    â€œMaybe another time,” Fonzo said, still brandishing the knife. Without thinking, he had taken a step sideways to place himself in front of his sister.
    Kizzy shoved past him. “What do we shoot for?”
    The tall one looked confused. “For?”
    â€œYou think you can outshoot me. I don’t think so,” she said.
    â€œThat is why we will shoot . . . to see who is best. A winner and a loser. Primero y segundo .”
    â€œAnd what do I get for my troubles?”
    It dawned on him what she meant, and that caused another of his smirks. “Do you mean a wager? You want to bet with me?”
    â€œCall it a small bet. Let’s keep it friendly.” She put a hand gently on Fonzo’s forearm and pushed his knife down.
    The tall one’s friends obviously didn’t speak English as fluently as he did and were looking questions at him. He spoke to them in their native tongue, and when they understood what she was proposing they seemed to find it the most hilarious thing they had ever heard.
    â€œSix shots at a peso a shot,” she said.
    â€œAnd what will we shoot at?” the tall one asked.
    Kizzy looked at her brother. “Fonzo, would you go get us some targets?”
    Fonzo looked at her and the Mexicans uncertainly.
    â€œIt will be all right. Go get them. I will be fine here.”
    Fonzo gave them one last glance and went to the wagon at a brisk walk. When he came back he was carrying a sack containing the glass balls she used in their show and had her gun belt draped over one shoulder. She took her pistols from him and wrapped the belt around her waist.
    The tall one looked at the rig she was strapping on and shoved his hat farther back on his head. “¿Dos pistolas?”
    â€œI shoot with either hand.”
    â€œBut do you shoot well, señorita?”
    â€œWe shall see. Fonzo, will you throw for us?”
    Fonzo gave a smirk of his own to the tall one. “I’d be glad to.”
    â€œWhere shall we shoot?” she asked. While she buckled her gun belt she noticed that several people on the streets had taken notice of them and had stopped what they were doing to see what was going on.
    Fonzo stepped through the tall one’s friends and walked farther up the road away from town. “Follow me.”
    The tall one made