Legend With a Six-gun (9781101601839) by Tabor Evans Page A

in his hand and trained on them. Slim dropped a hand to the gun at his side and the .44 in the lawman’s hand spoke once. Slim went over backward, wetting his jeans as he died with a soft sigh.
    Longarm asked mildly, “Any other takers?”
    Rat Face gasped, “Please, mister! You got the drop on us!”
    Longarm said, “I know. I want the three of you on your feet and grabbing sky, but be sure you get up like the little gents your mothers always said you were. I still owe one of you to the ghosts of that stage crew, and I ain’t particular who I shoot next.”
    The trio rose from the fire slowly, their hands raised. Longarm nodded to the one in the checkered shirt and said, “You first. Bring your hands down slow and unbuckle that gunbelt.”
    The owlhoot dropped his hands to his middle. Longarm fired and the outlaw jackknifed with a scream as the bullet tore his guts apart. As he went down, Longarm fired again and blew away the side of his head. The body lay limp in a spreading pool of dusty blood as Longarm said, “Damn it, when I say slow, I mean
slow
.”
    One of the two survivors gasped, “Are you crazy, mister?” and made the mistake of moving a step. So Longarm put a bullet in his chest. The man’s hands flew reflexively to cover the gaping bullet hole. Blood spurted from between his fingers as his eyes rolled backward and he crumpled heavily to the dust.
    The lone survivor in the gunbarrel chaps screamed like the frightened animal he was and fell to his knees, babbling, “Please, mister! You can’t just shoot me like a dog!”
    Longarm grimaced and said, “I can do anything I want to, you sniveling little pissant! What did you think this was, a game for schoolboys? You gave up any rights you had to life when you first strapped on those guns and started scaring folks.”
    â€œOh, Jesus, I don’t want to die!”
    â€œNot many folks do,” Longarm agreed. “Those men you shot today likely didn’t enjoy it much, either.”
    He saw the trickle running down the inside of the terrified owlhoot’s thigh and said, “Unbuckle that gunbelt or
draw
, you shithead!”
    The rat-faced youth fumbled hysterically with his buckle, got it open, and let the gunbelt fall from his hips as he knelt in the dust, pissing in his pants. Longarm said, “That’s better.” Now we can talk. Your continued existence depends on how
well
you talk. What’s your name, shithead?”
    â€œCarson, sir. They call me Buck.”
    â€œNo they don’t. They call you shithead. We know you tried to rob the Wells Fargo, so let’s not waste time on that. What do you know about that ore that’s been disappearing off the narrow-gauge between here and Sacramento, shithead?”
    â€œOre, mister? We heard something about some high-grading, but that wasn’t us, honest to God.”
    â€œHow long have you boys been skulking about out here in the brush?”
    â€œYou mean here in Calaveras County, mister? About a month. We rode up from the Santa Monica Mountains with the Calico Kid about a month ago.”
    â€œYou get one point for something that agrees with what I knew already. I’m cheered a mite more by seeing that you’ve taken good care of my gelding over there. You keep singing the right tune and I just might take you in alive.”
    â€œAnything, mister! I’ll tell you anything you want to know!” Carson said with great enthusiasm.
    â€œAll right. If you boys have been roaming around out here, looking for a chance to steal, you must know the territory pretty well after a month. I’m interested in railroad properties. You know the tracks to the low country?”
    â€œSure, we’ve rode over ’em plenty of times.”
    â€œYou ever notice a siding? Maybe a spur line running off into the trees or some old mine tunnel?”
    Carson shook his head and said, “No sir. Not that