Free the Man Called Noon (1970) by Louis L'amour

was a wall between the yard and the thickets beyond. There were at least three men out behind, and they were hunting him now. He could try for the horse....
    Suddenly he knew he was not going to run. Not yet. They had planned for that, were ready for it. He backed into a corner where he could watch the door and the windows at the same time.
    He thumbed back the loading gate of his Colt and thrust out the empty shell, then added a fresh cartridge. Moving the cylinder, he added another. The six-shooter was now fully loaded.
    He could see a shadow at the window. Somebody was looking into the room, but the corner where Noon stood could not be seen.
    Someone else was at the door. Would they be so foolish as to try a rush?
    "Now!"
    The word came sharply, and three men leaped into the room, two through windows, one from the door. It was then - first mistake.
    They came out of the bright sunlight into the dim light of the room, and one man stumbled as he landed from the window. All held guns, but only one got off a shot. He fired as he was falling, the gun blasting its bullet into the floor.
    Ruble Noon shot as they came, and held the gun in his hand and waited a slow minute while he watched the windows and the door. One of the men on the floor stirred and moaned. Noon squatted on his heels and stayed quiet.
    Outside nothing stirred, and then he heard a magpie. Following that he heard the pound of hoofs racing away... one rider.
    They had thought to surprise him, not thinking of the dimness inside, and he was in the darkest corner, the last place on which their eyes could focus.
    Now the wounded man was staring at him through wide, pain-filled eyes. "You goin' to shoot me?" he asked.
    "No."
    "They said you was a killer."
    "Who said so? Who hired you?"
    "I ain't goin' to tell you that. They said you was a back-shootin' killer."
    "I don't need to shoot men in the back."
    "No," the wounded man admitted, "I guess you don't.... But there's one still out there."
    "No. He rode away - I heard him." Ruble Noon was thinking hard. He said, "What will he do? Will he bring others?"
    "Him?" The wounded man spoke bitterly. "That there louse? He'll run his hoss's legs off gittin' away. Never was no fight in him!"
    Ruble Noon bolstered his gun and moved over to the wounded man. He had hit twice, once through the shoulder, the second time through the leg. Working as swiftly as he could, Noon plugged the wounds and wrapped them with bandages torn from a dead man's shirt
    "Where'd you leave your horse?" he asked.
    The man stared at him. "You goin' to run me out of here?"
    "I'm going to get you out of here. Or do you want to explain those?" He gestured to the dead men. "You came here to murder me... remember?"
    "We sure didn't cut the mustard," the man said. "You outfoxed us."
    Noon collected the guns from the dead men, and packed them outside. He collected their horses and tied the dead men on them. He pinned on each one a paper which read:
    He tried to dry-gulch Ruble Noon.
    Then he turned the horses loose.
    The wounded man raised up on an elbow. "What was them papers you pinned on them?"
    "It makes no difference," Noon answered, and sat down. "Now you and I are going to have a little talk."
    The gunman looked at him warily. He was a grizzled, hard-faced man with a broken nose. "About what?"
    "About who hired you."
    "And supposin' I ain't of a mind to?"
    Ruble Noon shrugged. 'I'll just pull out those plugs I put in you and I won't tell anybody where you are. You might manage to walk a mile, but I doubt it. You'd start bleeding again and before dark you'd be buzzard meat."
    The gunman lay back and closed his eyes. "Mister, I don't know who it was. These boys an' me was in a joint ... the Acme Saloon, it was. There was a gent come in we knew as Peterson. It wasn't his real name, but that's of no matter. Anyway, he said we could pick up fifty dollars apiece and he wanted five of us, for a little shooting.
    "He said this was a known man, and there'd be no