drawing, and I reckon it saved his life for hanging, for my bullet struck his hip right above the holster, knocking him sideways. The bullet hit the hipbone, then glanced off and sheered a small chunk from the meaty part at the base of his gunhand.
My rifle was right on him and I'd worked the lever of the Winchester without even thinking of it. The muzzle was on his belly, and I wasn't six feet away. He was shocked by the smash of the bullet, and he was scared. He was looking right into the hollow eye of death, and he knew it.
"Now just you wait," he said, thickly, "you hold up there, mister. You ain't hunting me."
What was taking place behind me, I didn't know, but that was up to Corbin and Madden, and I knew them both. They'd stand their ground. The truth was the suddenness of my shot kind of stunned those others. They'd reckoned this was their party, and the change in the state of things was too fast for them.
"I want to know where that hide came from," I said, "and you'd better start talking."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bartender's hand drop off the bar and I swung my rifle barrel in a short, vicious chop that caught him on the side of the head. He dropped as if he'd been shot, and I brought my gun muzzle back on the gunman's belly. "You're talking, mister," I said, "and you'd better make it clear the first time. I'm in no good mood."
"I had no hand in it," he said, gripping his wounded hand, which was oozing great drops of blood. "They drove some beef in here and peddled it for drinkin' money."
"Who was it? And when?"
"It was Satiday. There was three of them. Three men and a woman ... a redheaded woman."
"How many head?"
"Ten, twelve head, maybe."
I looked at the bartender. "You bought them?"
While I was talking Corbin had stepped around the bar and taken up the shotgun the bartender kept there. He had picked the bartender up and was holding him with one hand. The big man had a nasty cut along his skull above his ear and a stunned glaze to his eyes. I had to ask the question again before he could answer.
"Uh-huh. I bought 'em."
"You bought stolen stock," I said, "and the going price in Abilene was twenty dollars a head. We'll figure there was ten head, and that means you owe me two hundred dollars."
He stared at me, trying to face me down. "I bought that stock," he muttered. "I paid for 'em!"
"They were stolen cattle, and you knew it," I said, "and they were my cattle. If you say they were not stolen, and that you didn't know it, you're a liar on both counts. Pay me."
He hesitated, but Corbin shook him so his teeth rattled, and he fumbled in his pocket and counted out ten gold eagles on the bar.
"Write him out a bill of sale; Cotton," I said, "and I'll sign it."
Corbin had shoved the bartender against the bar, and he was holding the shotgun on the other men. I waved the gunman around and he staggered over and fell into a chair at the table.
"You goin' to let me do something about this hand?" he pleaded.
"Just as much as you'd have done for me." I said. "If you're alive when we leave here, you can do something about it then. Right now I want to know where those men went the ones who sold the cattle. And don't waste any more time by saying you don't know."
One of the men at the table wet his lips. "Hell, it ain't no sweat off us. They rode in from the south, and they went back that way. They were askin' about another herd of Lazy TC cattle. We hadn't seen 'em. He was also askin' about you ... if you're Chancy."
"I'm Chancy," I said, "Otis Tom Chancy. And if you see those boys again, you tell 'em I'm looking for them. And if they've killed my partner, Bob Tarlton, I'll see they hang."
We started toward the door. "And that goes for anybody who lends them a hand, or buys any more cattle from them."
Outside the air was cool. We swung into our saddles, Handy Corbin still carrying the shotgun. He glanced over at me as we started to ride away. "Mister," he said, "you can sure build yourself a
My rifle was right on him and I'd worked the lever of the Winchester without even thinking of it. The muzzle was on his belly, and I wasn't six feet away. He was shocked by the smash of the bullet, and he was scared. He was looking right into the hollow eye of death, and he knew it.
"Now just you wait," he said, thickly, "you hold up there, mister. You ain't hunting me."
What was taking place behind me, I didn't know, but that was up to Corbin and Madden, and I knew them both. They'd stand their ground. The truth was the suddenness of my shot kind of stunned those others. They'd reckoned this was their party, and the change in the state of things was too fast for them.
"I want to know where that hide came from," I said, "and you'd better start talking."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bartender's hand drop off the bar and I swung my rifle barrel in a short, vicious chop that caught him on the side of the head. He dropped as if he'd been shot, and I brought my gun muzzle back on the gunman's belly. "You're talking, mister," I said, "and you'd better make it clear the first time. I'm in no good mood."
"I had no hand in it," he said, gripping his wounded hand, which was oozing great drops of blood. "They drove some beef in here and peddled it for drinkin' money."
"Who was it? And when?"
"It was Satiday. There was three of them. Three men and a woman ... a redheaded woman."
"How many head?"
"Ten, twelve head, maybe."
I looked at the bartender. "You bought them?"
While I was talking Corbin had stepped around the bar and taken up the shotgun the bartender kept there. He had picked the bartender up and was holding him with one hand. The big man had a nasty cut along his skull above his ear and a stunned glaze to his eyes. I had to ask the question again before he could answer.
"Uh-huh. I bought 'em."
"You bought stolen stock," I said, "and the going price in Abilene was twenty dollars a head. We'll figure there was ten head, and that means you owe me two hundred dollars."
He stared at me, trying to face me down. "I bought that stock," he muttered. "I paid for 'em!"
"They were stolen cattle, and you knew it," I said, "and they were my cattle. If you say they were not stolen, and that you didn't know it, you're a liar on both counts. Pay me."
He hesitated, but Corbin shook him so his teeth rattled, and he fumbled in his pocket and counted out ten gold eagles on the bar.
"Write him out a bill of sale; Cotton," I said, "and I'll sign it."
Corbin had shoved the bartender against the bar, and he was holding the shotgun on the other men. I waved the gunman around and he staggered over and fell into a chair at the table.
"You goin' to let me do something about this hand?" he pleaded.
"Just as much as you'd have done for me." I said. "If you're alive when we leave here, you can do something about it then. Right now I want to know where those men went the ones who sold the cattle. And don't waste any more time by saying you don't know."
One of the men at the table wet his lips. "Hell, it ain't no sweat off us. They rode in from the south, and they went back that way. They were askin' about another herd of Lazy TC cattle. We hadn't seen 'em. He was also askin' about you ... if you're Chancy."
"I'm Chancy," I said, "Otis Tom Chancy. And if you see those boys again, you tell 'em I'm looking for them. And if they've killed my partner, Bob Tarlton, I'll see they hang."
We started toward the door. "And that goes for anybody who lends them a hand, or buys any more cattle from them."
Outside the air was cool. We swung into our saddles, Handy Corbin still carrying the shotgun. He glanced over at me as we started to ride away. "Mister," he said, "you can sure build yourself a
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