A Frontier Christmas by William W. Johnstone Page A

earlobe.
    â€œOw!” T. Bob shouted, lifting his cuffed hands to his ear.
    â€œI don’t like lying. Next time either one of you lie to me, I’ll take off your entire ear. I know ’tis true, because I’m the one who gave the brooch to the wee lass.”
    Jesse turned to his brother. “What the hell did you do? You gave that brooch to that saloon gal, didn’t you?” he said with an angry growl.
    â€œHow was I supposed to know that someone would recognize it?” T. Bob asked.
    â€œYou’re a damn fool,” Jesse said. “And even though you’re my brother, I wish you was the one he shot instead of Sunset.”
    â€œAnd which one would you be?” Duff asked, looking at the man who had just spoken. “Are you Jesse or T. Bob?”
    â€œJesse.”
    Duff dropped from the edge of the roof and pointed toward the horses that were under the lean-to. “All right, Jesse, suppose you go saddle those three horses and lead them back over here.”
    â€œWhy do I have to saddle them? Let him do it.” Jesse nodded toward his brother.
    â€œYou’ll do it because you’d rather ride back to Millersburgh than walk back with only one good leg.”
    Jesse glared at Duff, but without any further remarks, he started toward the lean-to.
    Duff whistled. “Sky! Come here, lad!”
    Sky came trotting up from the gulley, and Duff mounted, then waited.
    Jesse brought the three saddled horses back, and Duff ordered him and T. Bob to drape Moss’s body belly down over his horse. After they mounted, he took two ropes and looped them around their necks.
    â€œHey, what if we fall off?” T. Bob complained. “We could break our necks.”
    â€œAye, ’tis more than likely that would be the case,” Duff said. “I’d suggest ye be real careful.”
    Rawhide Buttes
    There were very few citizens in the town of Rawhide Buttes who were even aware that Duff had been in pursuit of the murderers, so when he showed up with two riders in front of him, both of them secured by ropes around their necks, and a third man, belly down over a horse, the townspeople were surprised. Even before Duff reached the jail with his quarry, word spread that the ones who’d murdered the Guthrie family had been caught and were being brought in. The result was that nearly half the town turned out to watch.
    â€œYou’re goin’ to hang!” someone shouted.
    â€œLet’s hang ’em now! We don’t need no trial!” another called out.
    Marshal Worley and Deputy Masters stepped out of the jail, each of them holding double-barreled shotguns.
    â€œThere’ll be no talk of lynchin’ in my town!” Worley said resolutely. “We’re goin’ to hang these two galoots, but we’re goin’ to do it legal.”
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    Duff went down to the stable where he boarded Sky and the other three horses.
    â€œI recognize these here horses,” the stable owner said, pointing to the horses the rustlers had been riding. “They belong to, that is, they did belong to John Guthrie. I don’t know what to do with ’em now.”
    â€œI expect Mayor Guthrie will call for them,” Duff said.
    â€œAll right, I’ll keep ’em for him.”
    â€œâ€™Tis a good man you are.” Duff shook the man’s hand.
    Leaving the stable, Duff walked down the street to the first saloon he saw. There he saw four cowhands sitting together at one of the tables and another customer standing at the bar, staring at the mug of beer in front of him.
    A bar girl smiled and walked over to stand beside him. “Hi. Welcome to the Cowbell Saloon.”
    â€œI thank you for the welcome, lass. Bartender, a drink for the young lady, and a scotch for myself.”
    â€œNo.” The girl looked toward the bartender. “I’ll pay for my own drink and for his.”
    Duff laughed at her. “Sure ’n