Free Showdown at Gun Hill by Ralph Cotton

whole town’s shook up. The colonel and his men are on our trail.”
    â€œYou took a hell of a chance riding in on that stallion,” Cross said.
    Bard gave him a short grin.
    â€œI had to see how it rides,” he said. He watched Cross shake his head, raise the bottle and take a deepswig. He continued. “We’ve got dead there. They’ve got Fish and Rudy. The colonel took them along with him, following our trail.”
    â€œDamn it,” Cross said under his breath. He sidled his horse over beside Worley and handed him the bottle. “Fish won’t tell them nothing. Rudy might.”
    â€œThe colonel took them along so he can hang them out here, keep from too many townsfolk seeing it,” Bard said.
    â€œSince when did townsfolk start caring about watching outlaws hang?” said Cross.
    â€œThe colonel likes to play it safe, I suppose,” said Bard. He looked back across the stretch of desert he’d just crossed. “For two cents I’d stick here and pick their eyes out when they get here.”
    â€œI’ve got that two cents,” Cross said.
    Bard looked at Worley.
    â€œWhat about you, Kid Domino? You up for it?” he asked. He looked at the dark dried blood on the young outlaw’s shirt, his neck, down his ear. Worley wiped a hand across his lips, following a deep drink of whiskey.
    â€œI’ve got nothing planned that can’t wait,” he said with a weak grin. He handed the whiskey down to Bard, who took it, swirled it in the bottle and took a drink.
    Corking the bottle, Bard studied the settling whiskey as he considered the matter. He knew the colonel and his men were on their trail; he knew they would be showing up here, either on the hill trails or on the desert flats he’d just crossed.
    This is perfect ambush country.
    â€œWell, what do you say, Max?” Cross finally asked.
    Bard let out a tight breath. “No, we’re going on. I hate to start out doing one thing and end up doing something else.”
    â€œHell, Max, we got ambushed ourselves,” said Cross. “We didn’t ask to get skunked out on this job.”
    â€œIt makes no difference if we kill the colonel or he and his men kill us,” said Bard. “It’s no skin off Siedell’s rump. He still gets no sting from it.”
    â€œLikely he never will,” Cross said in a weary voice. He rested his gloved hands on his saddle horn and let out a breath. “So, you call it. Stick here and shoot who we can, or cut out of here and get ready for what comes next?”
    â€œI’m still out for King Curtis Siedell,” said Bard. “I want him to pay for what he done.”
    â€œSo do I,” Cross said stoically.
    Worley sat watching, listening, knowing that this was all about things that had happened before his time, all the way back during the last days of the civil conflict.
    Finally Bard said again, “No, we’re going on. We’ll circle wide of Gun Hill and try to find Dewey Lucas and Russell Gant.”
    â€œWhat about Fish and Rudy?” Worley cut in.
    Bard and Cross gave each other a look.
    â€œForget them, Kid,” Bard said. “They were as good as dead the minute the colonel sank his claws in them.” He turned to the stallion and rubbed its hot, sweaty muzzle. The spare horse stood beside it. “One good thing,” he continued, “all these loose horses running around out here is making it tougher for the colonel to figure which prints belong to us.”
    â€œAw, ain’t that too bad?” Cross said with a wry grin. “I hate putting the man to all this trouble.”
    â€œI still want to kill him,” Bard said seriously. He swung up atop the stallion and took the spare horse’s lead rope from the saddle horn.
    â€œThere’s plenty of
colonels
just like him waiting to take his place,” Cross said. “Siedell knows that.” The three of them turned their