Free Sunday's Colt & Other Stories by Randy D. Smith Page A

and night passed pretty quiet. Blu was sullen and Arny kept his distance. The only worry came when Blu held out his plate for a serving of evening stew. Candle Corn stared at him and let the plate rest empty for a while.
    â€œI wouldn’t take it kindly if this grub ended up in the dirt. A fellow can get mighty hungry around here if he don’t know how to manage his chow,” Candle said.
    Blu shook his head and looked to the ground. He was properly given notice and it sure weren’t worth fighting over after a long day in the saddle. Besides, the stew smelled damn good.
    Candle gave him a nod and plopped a ladle full on his plate. As far as he was concerned the affair was ended.
    It was the last night before breaking camp but no yarns were spun and no poker game developed. Everyone sort of kept to himself and most turned in early.
    About mid-morning they finished up sorting the dregs of the herd. Since none of them were branded and most were sorry, it was the custom to divide them up one critter to each outfit in turn. They came to a scrawny little lineback with a twisted neck and one horn hung low. Without saying anything Arny rode up and started the varmint toward his herd. Red River let it pass, it being Arny’s turn and all.
    Blu put his pony forward and called out. “That’s a Slash Nine steer.”
    â€œHow so?” Red River asked. “He ain’t wearing no brand.”
    â€œI know that steer.” Blu said. “He’s Slash Nine.”
    Red River didn’t see it. “Well, pick out another to take his place. Hell, it ain’t carrying a brand and it ain’t like he’s some prize.”
    Blu shook his head. “No, it’s Slash Nine and I mean to have him.”
    Arny held up and swung his pony around. It’s funny how a man can let things pass then all of a sudden have his fill. Arny had had his. He waved a no and motioned to the remaining catch. “Choose another. It is my turn and the steer is mine.”
    â€œNo, by God, I won’t have it, Hernandez. That’s a Slash Nine steer you’re taking. You’ve had everything your way this trip but it’s coming to an end now and proper.”
    By this time Ty Lee had rode up. “What does it matter? That damned crow bait probably won’t live to make it back to home range.”
    â€œStay out of this, Driscoll,” Blu slurred. “This here’s between me and the pepper.”
    Even old Four-Bit was disgusted. He leaned over his horn and motioned to the catch. “Hell, I’ll settle it. Let him have the steer. You can have our share of the next one up. Two for one. How’s that?”
    â€œNo, it’s that steer I want and that steer I’ll take.” Blu was shaking with anger by then.
    It got real quiet there in the dust, the sweat, and the flies. Everyone watched Arny to see how he’d do. It was his play.
    Arny looked down at his saddle and shook his head. The muscles tightened along his jaw. “No. No more. The steer goes with me.”
    Blu looped his reins around his horn, stepped to the ground and slid his holster forward. “And I say no. Now what the hell are you going to do about it, Mex?”
    â€œHave you completely lost your senses?” Red River snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
    Arny stepped down from his horse and pulled his blade from his belt. He wasn’t wearing a gun. He let the tip of that blade balance on the long finger of his right hand, the handle balanced against his wrist. “I will tell you what is wrong with him, amigo. He has a sickness burning inside of him like many gringos I have known. It is not the steer. It is everything, isn’t it? You want it all.”
    â€œSomebody give this bastard a gun!” Blu yelled. “We’ll settle this right now and for good.”
    Arny shook his head and stepped toward him. Barely nine feet separated them. “I do not need a gun. Not