Gunsmith #361 : The Letter of the Law (9781101553657) by J. R. Roberts

in, he came out of the barn to see what was happening. He had left his rifle inside.
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    Charlie came out of the bunkhouse to see who the riders were. He had thought to strap on his gun before he came out.
    That was why he was the first to die.
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    â€œOkay, boys,” Garver said. “Take your man.”
    Garber drew and shot down Charlie before the man could react.
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    Wycliffe turned his horse and very deliberately drew his gun and shot the man in the chaps.
    The bullet struck Ed in the chest, punched all the air from his lungs even before he realized he’d been shot.
    Stanford turned his horse, but his man—Bob—had turned and run back into the barn.
    Stanford, unaware that Bob had a rifle in the barn, rode up to the open door of the barn, his rifle held lazily in his hand.
    From inside, Bob waited for the man to appear, and when he did, he shot him.
    The shot hit Stanford in the hip and knocked him off his horse.
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    Garver and Wycliffe turned and saw Stanford get shot from his saddle.
    â€œIdiot,” Garver said.
    â€œI’ll go around the back,” Wycliffe said, and gigged his horse into motion.
    Garver waited for Wycliffe to get around to the back, then rode his horse over to the barn and dismounted outside.
    Stanford was lying on his side in the dirt, groaning.
    â€œHow bad, Stanford?” Garver called.
    â€œIt hurts,” Stanford said.
    Garver shook his head and shot Stanford in the back.
    â€œDoesn’t hurt anymore,” he said.
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    Wycliffe rode around back and dismounted. Like most barns, there was space between the boards and he was able to peer inside. He saw a man with a rifle keeping his eyes on the front door.
    He looked around, saw a regular-size door in the back, and moved to it.
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    â€œHey, in the barn!” Garver said. “All we want is some horses.”
    â€œCorral’s full of ’em,” Bob said.
    â€œYeah, well, we’d like something that’s already broke and ready to ride,” Garver called. “Like what you got in there.”
    â€œI’ll send ’em out.”
    â€œGood idea,” Garver said.
    â€œYou want’em saddled?”
    â€œThat’s real nice of you, but we got our own saddles. Just send the horses out.”
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œTwo will do.”
    Garver waited, gun drawn, and when he heard the sounds of the horses’ hooves, he stepped out of hiding.
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    Wycliffe heard Garver and the man talking, waited for his chance.
    The man inside got a couple of horses out of their stalls, aimed them at the front door, and slapped them on the rump.
    That was when Wycliffe stepped through the door.
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    Both Garver and Wycliffe came in shooting. The bullets struck Bob from the back and the front. He did a little dance as the bullets struck him, then he fell to the ground, dead.
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    Garver approached the body, looked down, and nudged it with his boot.
    â€œDead?” Wycliffe asked.
    â€œHe is.”
    â€œHow’s Stanford?”
    â€œDead.”
    â€œStupid,” Wycliffe said, holstering his gun.
    They looked around, saw there were three more horses in the barn. They wouldn’t have to go out and chase the other two down.
    â€œLet’s bring in our horses and saddle two of these up,” Garver said.
    â€œWhat about the bodies?” Wycliffe asked.
    â€œWhat about them?”
    â€œWe don’t want anybody passin’ by to see them,” Wycliffe said.
    â€œYou’re right,” Garver said. “Let’s bring all four of them in here before we do anything else.”
    They went outside to collect the bodies and stack them up.

THIRTY-TWO
    The trail of the three horses led Clint and Wycliffe to Billy Dixon’s ranch.
    They reined their horses in.
    â€œDamn it,” Kelly said. “They rode right into the ranch.”
    â€œLooking for fresh horses, probably,” Clint said.
    â€œAnd trouble,” Kelly said.