Free Twin Guns by Wick Evans

me of rustling."
    Kirby shook his head. "No, just of selling rustled beef… my beef."
    Bill's trigger-like temper flared. "You send me a bill and I'll make you eat it!"
    Kirby stopped his roar. "I didn't finish. Three times someone has tried to bushwack me. Maybe you didn't fire the shots, but it looks like you were behind them. If it happens again, I'm coming to Lazy B with my crew to wipe you out. In case I stop a bullet, Josh will be glad to handle the chore for me. You asked for war; now you've got it. Only it will be out in the open, not from behind a tree or through a hotel room window. And I don't give a darn if it starts right now."
    Bill was livid. "Why not? There ain't no man alive can call me a rustler and bushwacker and live to brag about it… not even you!"
    Kirby had been watching the pale-eyed young gunman. His Colt crashed at Bill's move, hut he wasn't aiming at his brother. Bill slumped to the floor. Kirby watched in astonishment. He had seen his bullet thud into the chest of the young gunman an instant before the latter's gun had cleared leather. The older stranger was stretched on the floor, a bullet hole between his eyes. Kirby turned to see Josh's wavering gun covering the rest of the Lazy B crew. It finally dawned on him that Joe had accounted for Bill. He was leaning over the bar, peering down at Bill's prostrate figure.
    "Hope I didn't bean him too hard," he worried. He still held the loaded end of a pool cue, the weapon that had taken Bill out of the fight. Kirby breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that his brother was alive. His sigh was echoed gustily by Lon Peters.
    "Danged if I ever saw anything like it," said the sheriff. "Even on Christmas you have to kill people. I told the old lady as soon as I seen you ride in that there was goin' to be a shootin'." The sheriff took a deep breath. "Joe, that billiard shot you made on Bill's head was about as pretty as anything I ever saw. I guess you know you saved his life. I'm beginnin' to wonder if it was worth it. Well, it looks like Christmas is over for the undertaker."
    Kirby looked at Bill's crew. "You heard what I told your boss. The same goes for you. Don't let me catch you on Wagon property. Right now, if I were you, I'd get my boss out of here."
    The sheriff sighed again. "And right out of town. The gunplay for this Christmas is over. If I find any one of you in town in an hour, I'll open up a cell."
    The sheriff followed the punchers as they got Bill to his feet and half-carried, half-dragged him through the door. He paused and looked at Kirby.
    "Maybe you and your crew better ride out, too. I'd feel easier if you was headin' for home. I'll be comin' out to see you sometime tomorrow. Reckon there won't be no trouble about those gunslicks, except for buryin' them, but I'm plumb curious about the rustled cows you was mentionin'. About the time I got interested in what you were sayin', the danged guns goin' off made me miss the endin'."
    "We'll get going, Lon. It'll be all right to have a drink with Joe, won't it?"
    The sheriff chuckled. "That was sure a pretty billiard shot Joe made. I wouldn't have missed it for anything."
     

CHAPTER NINE
    Sheriff Lon Peters was an early riser. Some said it was because he had to get out of his house, away from his wife's constant scolding. Those who really knew were aware that her scolding meant nothing, that it was only a cover for the deep affection she felt for her salty spouse… an affection he returned with interest. Like his wife, he was ashamed to show it. The only evidence of his devotion was his constant reference to "the old lady" or "that woman."
    He rode in to Wagon the next morning while Kirby and Jen were having breakfast, before Josh had given the bunkhouse crew their orders for the day.
    "Mornin', folks." He sighed as he pushed open the kitchen door without the formality of knocking first. "Reckon I will have a cup of coffee, now that you've asked me." He watched while Maria filled his