A Frontier Christmas by William W. Johnstone Page B

you’ve got me confused now, lass. I thought the idea was for the customer to buy you a drink.”
    â€œAnd if he has a second drink, I’ll buy it,” called one of the cowboys sitting at the table.
    â€œWhat is this?” the bartender asked. “What’s going on here? Why is everyone so anxious to buy this man a drink?”
    â€œMaybe you didn’t see, you bein’ inside ’n all,” another of the cowboys said. “But this here fella just brought in Jesse and T. Bob Cave. They’re the men that killed John Guthrie and his family. He brought in Sunset Moss, too, but he was dead.”
    The bartender smiled. “Then nobody needs to pay for his drinks. They’re on the house.”
    Wally Jacobs was standing at the bar, but when he heard the names, he looked closely at Duff. Then he tossed down his drink and left.
    He mounted his horse and rode slowly until he got out of town, then he broke into a gallop. Galloping, walking, and trotting his horse, he covered the nineteen miles to Sidewinder Gorge in less than two hours.
    As Jacobs approached the canyon entrance, he stopped, dismounted, and stood with his arms extended out to each side.
    Fifteen minutes later, he was in what was serving as a saloon for the outlaw haven. He walked up to Max Dingo. “You said you was lookin’ for some more men. Well, I know where we can get a couple more.”
    â€œWhat kind of men are they?” Dingo asked. “I ain’t lookin’ for just anyone.” He was eating his supper of bacon and beans. As a result, his beard was matted with bean juice and grease.
    â€œThey’re good men, Max. I wouldn’t come pitch ’em to you if they wasn’t good men. They’re both my cousins, ’n I rode with ’em a while down in Colorado.”
    â€œAll right,” Dingo said. “Bring ’em in.”
    â€œWell, uh, it ain’t exactly goin’ to be that easy to bring ’ em in.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? You mean you’re goin’ to have to talk ’em into it? Hell, if you have to do that, I ain’t interested in ’em.”
    â€œNo, it ain’t that. They’re in jail, ’n they’re about to get tried, then more ’n likely, they’ll be hung.”
    â€œYou said they’re your cousins. What’s their names, ’n what did they do?”
    â€œThere names is Jesse ’n T. Bob Cave. And what they done is, they kilt some people,” Jacobs said without further elaboration.
    â€œThe Cave brothers? Wait a minute, I heard about them. They’re the one that killed that rancher ’n his family, ain’t they?”
    â€œYes.”
    Dingo laughed. “I’ll be damned. Yeah, I’d say they more ’n likely will be hung. All right, if they’re the kind of men who would do somethin’ like that, then they’d more ’n likely be willin’ to do about anything I asked of ’em. Also, they’ll be glad enough to be free that they’ll feel obligated. You think you can bust ’em out of jail?”
    â€œYes. I’ll need two more horses, is all.”
    â€œAll right. When you goin’ to do it?”
    â€œI’ll need a couple days to plan things out. The trial’s on Monday, and I want to get back for it.”
    Rocky Mountain Hotel
    Ralph Walters should have gone to the doctor when the symptoms first started. It was too late now. He could barely breathe, and he was too weak to even get out of bed. A few minutes earlier, he had called out for help, or at least, had tried to call out, but the only sound that came from his throat was a weak gurgling.
    Was he dying? He recalled a conversation he once had with his grandfather. That had been almost fifty years ago.
    â€œGrandpa, what happens when people die?”
    â€œYou quit breathing.”
    â€œDoes it hurt when you are dead?”
    His grandpa tapped on the arm of the rocking