The Old Wolves by Peter Brandvold Page A

many,” Drago said. “Well, hi, Louis. Dewey. Elwyn, is that you? Didn’t recognize you under all that bearskin. Have you lost weight?”
    â€œWe was hopin’ we’d run into you again,
Vernon.
” This from the smallest newcomer, Louis, who had his thumbs tucked behind the waistband of his smoke-stained duck trousers. His mean eyes were pinched together. “Wasn’t very nice, walkin’ away with that strongbox. Wasn’t much in there, but, hell . . .”
    â€œTook our share of the gold, took my girl Connie,” said Elwyn. “She always was a double-dealin’ little whore. It’s the gold I missed. It’s the gold you’re gonna die for,
Vernon
 . . . or Boomer Drago, or whoever in hell you are.”
    Louis jerked his head impatiently and closed a hand over his right-side pistol. “Step aside, old man. You don’t wanna die here tonight. Not for him.”
    â€œGo out and get yourself a drink,” said Dewey, curling his upper lip. “You look like you could use it.”
    â€œAh, Jesus,” Burke said, sidling away from the stove. “Marshal Spurr, just turn him loose. The old catamount is not worth all this. He is not worth the trouble!”
    â€œListen to him, Marshal Spurr,” said Dewey. “You’re old and used up and you don’t wanna die this way. Three against one is long odds however you wanna stack ’em.”
    Spurr sighed, hooked his thumbs behind his cartridge belt. “This man is my prisoner. He will not be leaving his cell until tomorrow, at which time we will start our trek down the long trails back to the Union Pacific tracks east of Camp Collins. If you want to make a play for him, then go ahead and make it now, and stop wastin’ my time.”
    â€œAh, shit, Spurr,” Boomer Drago said.
    â€œMarshal, I don’t think you should be encouraging this,” Burke said in his heavy accent. “What you want to do is
dis
courage it.”
    â€œI’m too old to fuck around like this,” Spurr said.
    Behind the old marshal, Boomer Drago stepped back away from his cell door. “Spurr, you think you can take these fellas? They don’t look like they got much back-down in ’em.”
    â€œI don’t, neither,” Spurr said. “So I reckon we’ll just have to see how well I do. Wish me luck, Boomer.”
    Spurr had to admit, if only to himself, that he was feeling less than confident about his ability to take down these three before him. One, they were younger. Two, he had once been fast, but over the years he’d slowed down, so he’d instinctively avoided such situations as these.
    This one, however, was not going to be avoided. He could see that by the hard glints in the three pairs of eyes staring at him.
    Drago said, “Good luck, Spurr. I never thought I’d say those words, but, shit, I’ll go ahead and say ’em again. Good luck.”
    â€œOh, bloody hell! Oh, Jesus!” Burke said, backing against the far wall. “Could I please be excused? I am merely the turnkey here. I have no authority to either hold this man or let him go, but if I did, I would certainly order Marshal Spurr to turn him bloody well loose! I, in fact, have no business here. So, lest I should be caught in the crossfire—”
    â€œShut up,” Elwyn said out of the side of his mouth.
    Then he drew. A half a wink later, the others drew their own weapons.
    Spurr’s old instincts had kicked in. He’d sensed it coming. It was almost as though he’d inadvertently been reading Elwyn’s mind. Spurr’s hand jerked across his belly of its own accord, unsheathed the Starr .44, and ratcheted the hammer back.
    It belched smoke and fire in Spurr’s knobby hand.
    Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam-bam!
    Two of the three hard cases were blown back out through the jailhouse’s open door and into the street.
    Louis was the fastest of the