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

for the likes of you. If you want the steer, take it, if you can.”
    â€œThis is murder,” Red River said. “I won’t have no part in it.”
    It was then that Candle Corn walked up. He had been watching from the cook fire and came for a closer look. He studied the way that Arny held his blade and smiled. “Go on. If Blu wants a fight, let him have it.”
    Blu grinned and tensed for the draw. “That’s right. And, when I’m through, you’re next.”
    Blu hesitated. There was a madness in his eyes and his teeth gleamed like ivory in the center of his grin. “Make your play. Cause if you don’t I’m gonna kill you where you stand.”
    Arny nodded, then quicker than a rattler he flicked his wrist underhanded and put that six-inch blade in the center of Blu’s chest. Old Blu hadn’t even had time to go for the draw. He just looked at the knife hilt deep in his heart and then down at his empty hand, sort of like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. He rocked back and spread a cloud of dust and cow shit with his landing. Most figure he was dead before he hit the dirt.
    Candle Corn calmly walked up to Blu and checked his vitals. “Deader than a skillet,” he said coolly. “You were right about one thing, hoss. Old Blu never did let looking like a fool interfere with his glory.”
    â€œI guess he needs burying,” Red River said as he looked over his shoulder toward the remainder of the Slash Nine crew. “And, I suppose someone ought to break the news to his outfit.”
    â€œThere might be trouble,” Arny said as he made a shadow over the body.
    â€œAnybody here see anything but self-defense?” Red River asked.
    â€œI don’t know what else you’d tag it,” Four-Bit said. “He’d a-killed Hernandez for sure.”
    Candle slipped the blade from Blu’s chest and wiped the blood on his apron. “You might need this,” he said as he offered it to Arny. “It might be that the crew will want to take him back to the Slash Nine. Blu may have had some kin, I’m thinking.”
    Arny motioned to one of his men. “Turn the steer loose. I want no part of him.”
    â€œDon’t send him our way,” Four-Bit said. “I’m thinking that there scrawny lineback is cursed for sure.”
    Ty Lee shook out his line, put a loop round the steer’s horns, dallied up, and made for the branding fire.
    â€œYou ain’t figuring on putting our brand on him?” Red River asked as he followed along.
    â€œNope,” Ty Lee said. “I figure this steer is cursed and no outfit’d want anything to do with him. I’m a-gonna fix him so that never happens. Lay a loop on him so we can stretch him out.”
    Well, they strung him down and stretched him out right in front of the branding fire. Ty Lee gave his line to Four-Bit, stepped down from his pony and drew up the slash iron. Quick as you please, he burned MURDER across the side of that poor critter and then let him free.
    Ty Lee gathered his lasso and mounted. “I figure that’ll do it. Fair warning to anyone. It’s their hide if they want him but they need the warning just the same.”
    By that time all the riders had gathered round the fire. Every man agreed that it was the proper thing to do. They buried old Blu under a mesquite and nailed his hat above the grave for a marker. They say that hat hung on that tree for several years before it rotted away. They still call that tree the blue mesquite and it’s a popular gathering place for the outfits to this day. I guess old Blu was good for something after all.”
    The wide-eyed youngster whistled long and low. “Now that is a yarn if I ever heard one. Heck, I know where that tree is. I guess everybody hereabouts does. So, what happened to Arny? Did the law give him trouble?”
    The cowpuncher shook his mop. “Nope. Back in them