Curly Bill and Ringo by Van Holt

in the lead, his wild eyes as black as his heart. He led the way to the bar and grabbed the bottle Blondie put before him, turning it up. As fast as she could set out the bottles and glasses the others grabbed them and drank like men who had stumbled on a waterhole in the middle of a parched desert.
    Curly counted heads and found one missing.
    “Where’s Bear?” he asked.
    Pike wiped his mouth with a dirty hand and turned a dark gaze on him. “He’s around. That bastard Ringo tries to sneak up on us, he’ll get a gutful of lead.”
    “I figger you know he ain’t around,” Curly said, “or you wouldn’t be here. You rode back in when you knew he was out of town, trying to make people think you ain’t scared.”
    “Who’s scared?” Pike asked.
    “You are.”
    “I ain’t scared of you, Curly.”
    “You must be. You keep passing up chances to prove it.”
    Pike’s eyes danced with wild anger. He laughed explosively, as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard of. Then he suddenly left the bar and crossed the floor, taking Big Ella’s arm and pulling her out of her chair. “Come on, Big Ella! We got things to discuss in private!”
    Big Ella looked at Beanbelly, gave a little shrug, and let Pike lead her into one of the back rooms.
    Sticky-fingered Dave finished his drink and started toward Crazy Mary.
    Blondie brought up the shotgun and tapped the twin barrels on the bar. “You didn’t pay for your drink,” she said. “And if you’ve got something in mind with Crazy Mary you’ll pay me in advance.”
    Sticky-fingered Dave shrugged, grinning, and carelessly laid some money on the bar. Then he went to the table where Crazy Mary sat with Cash and Beanbelly and he reached for her hand. Crazy Mary held back for just a moment, and there was a look of misery on her face. Then she got up and left the table with Sticky-fingered Dave. Cash’s face got red but he didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much he could say. Crazy Mary was a working girl.
    “Hey, Blondie,” Scar-face Harry said, “where at’s the chuck?”
    “Big Ella ate it all,” Blondie said.
    Scar-face leaned his head toward Rattlesnake Sam and asked, “What did she say?”
    “She said Big Ella ate it all,” Rattlesnake said.
    “Son of a bitch,” Scar-face said.
    Mad Dog Shorty stood at the bar in his baggy old suit and derby, with a whiskey glass in his hand and the stub of a cigar between his little teeth. He saw Curly watching him in the back-bar mirror and his watery eyes glimmered with hate. “Who you grinnin’ at?” he asked. “I ain’t your friend.”
    “You sure as hell ain’t,” Curly agreed.
    Scar-face Harry and Rattlesnake Sam quit drinking and looked on. Shorty’s face twitched with anger. He put the cigar back between his teeth and turned back to his drink. He stood there for a moment trembling in a silent rage and glaring at Curly in the mirror. There was pure murder in his eyes. He must have been thinking about the bad name the big rustler had given him. “That’s all right, Curly,” he said. “You’ll be grinnin’ at the buzzards before long.”
    “It’s your turn to feed them next,” Curly said.
    Those words would soon come back to haunt him.
    Mad Dog Shorty gritted his teeth and passed a trembling hand over his face. Without warning he lost control of himself, screamed something and threw his glass at Curly. Then he grabbed his bowie knife and danced toward him, yelling and waving the long blade.
    Curly was tempted to ignore him, for he didn’t believe Shorty would get close enough to do any damage. But the bow-legged runt seemed past both fear and reason. The way he hopped about and shrieked, while making passes at Curly with the blade, made the big rustler want to bind and gag him. But as that was too much trouble he just laid Shorty out with a long hard right between the eyes. Shorty grunted, hit the floor on his back, slid halfway across the room and lay still.
    “You two want some of the