around for the fun … peculiar for a heller like Fisher, who loved games and action. But there would be enough to go around.
Late afternoon saw an end to the races, and the crowds poured back into Towash. The “boys,” whoopin’ it up, shot off their pistols and stampeded into the saloons to continue their betting urge at seven-up and five-card stud. The Regulators began looking them over.
It was into this confusion that Josey, Lone, and Little Moonlight rode their horses. Lone and Little Moonlight stayed mounted, as planned, across the street from the big sign that said “Dyer & Jenkins, Trade Goods.” Josey rode to the hitch rack in front of the store, dismounted, and entered. To one side a crude bar stretched the length of the store, and jostling, laughing cowpunchers drank and talked. The trade-goods section was empty except for a clerk.
Josey called off his needs, and the clerk scurried to fill them. He would like to see the man gone as soon as possible. A man with two tied-down holsters was either a badman or a bluffer… and there weren’t many bluffing men in Texas. Josey watched casually through the big window as blue uniforms sauntered down the boardwalks. Four of them paused across the street and looked curiously at the stoical Lone and then moved on. Two punchers circled the big black horse, admiring the fine points, and one of them said something to Little Moonlight. They laughed good-naturedly and walked into a saloon.
Josey selected a light saddle for the paint. He accepted the two sacks of supplies handed to him by the clerk and paid with double eagles. Now he moved slowly to the door and paused. Holding the saddle in one hand, he half dragged the two sacks with the other. With the easy air of a man checking the weather he looked up and down the boardwalk … there were no blue uniforms.
As he stepped to the walk he could see Lone start the black walking toward him… Little Moonlight behind… to take some of the supplies. He turned two paces up the boardwalk toward his horse and came face-to-face with Cann Tolly… and flanking him were three Regulators. At the same instant he had stepped from the store they had come out of the Iron Man saloon. Fifteen paces separated them from Josey.
The Regulators froze in their tracks, and Josey, with only the slightest hesitation, dipped his head and took another step.
“Josey Wales!” Cann Tolly yelled the name to alarm every Regulator in Towash. Josey dropped the saddle and the sacks and fixed a look of bleakness on the man who had shouted. The street became a clear distinctness in his eyes. From the side he saw Lone halt his horse. Men poured out of saloons and then fell back against the sides of buildings. The boardwalk emptied, and cowpunchers dived behind water troughs and some flattened themselves on the ground.
He saw a young woman, her eyes a startling blue, staring wild-eyed at him … her foot fixed on the hub of a wagon wheel. She had been about to mount to the seat, and an old woman held one of her hands. They were both motionless, like wax figures. The girl’s straw-colored hair shone in the sun. The street was death-quiet in an instant.
The Regulators looked back at him … half surprise, half horror was on their faces. Another minute and the Regulators all over town would recover from the momentary shock and he would be surrounded.
Josey Wales slowly eased into the crouch. His voice shipped loud and flat in the silence … and it carried a snarl of insult.
“Ye gonna pull them pistols, ’er whistle ‘Dixie’?”
The Regulator to his left moved first, his hand darting downward; Cann Tolly followed. Only the right hand of Josey moved. The big .44 belched as it cleared leather in the fluid motion of rolled lightning. He fanned the hammer with his left palm.
The first man to draw flipped backward as the slug hit his chest. Cann Tolly spun sideways and made a little circle, like a dog chasing his tail, and fell, half his head blown
Late afternoon saw an end to the races, and the crowds poured back into Towash. The “boys,” whoopin’ it up, shot off their pistols and stampeded into the saloons to continue their betting urge at seven-up and five-card stud. The Regulators began looking them over.
It was into this confusion that Josey, Lone, and Little Moonlight rode their horses. Lone and Little Moonlight stayed mounted, as planned, across the street from the big sign that said “Dyer & Jenkins, Trade Goods.” Josey rode to the hitch rack in front of the store, dismounted, and entered. To one side a crude bar stretched the length of the store, and jostling, laughing cowpunchers drank and talked. The trade-goods section was empty except for a clerk.
Josey called off his needs, and the clerk scurried to fill them. He would like to see the man gone as soon as possible. A man with two tied-down holsters was either a badman or a bluffer… and there weren’t many bluffing men in Texas. Josey watched casually through the big window as blue uniforms sauntered down the boardwalks. Four of them paused across the street and looked curiously at the stoical Lone and then moved on. Two punchers circled the big black horse, admiring the fine points, and one of them said something to Little Moonlight. They laughed good-naturedly and walked into a saloon.
Josey selected a light saddle for the paint. He accepted the two sacks of supplies handed to him by the clerk and paid with double eagles. Now he moved slowly to the door and paused. Holding the saddle in one hand, he half dragged the two sacks with the other. With the easy air of a man checking the weather he looked up and down the boardwalk … there were no blue uniforms.
As he stepped to the walk he could see Lone start the black walking toward him… Little Moonlight behind… to take some of the supplies. He turned two paces up the boardwalk toward his horse and came face-to-face with Cann Tolly… and flanking him were three Regulators. At the same instant he had stepped from the store they had come out of the Iron Man saloon. Fifteen paces separated them from Josey.
The Regulators froze in their tracks, and Josey, with only the slightest hesitation, dipped his head and took another step.
“Josey Wales!” Cann Tolly yelled the name to alarm every Regulator in Towash. Josey dropped the saddle and the sacks and fixed a look of bleakness on the man who had shouted. The street became a clear distinctness in his eyes. From the side he saw Lone halt his horse. Men poured out of saloons and then fell back against the sides of buildings. The boardwalk emptied, and cowpunchers dived behind water troughs and some flattened themselves on the ground.
He saw a young woman, her eyes a startling blue, staring wild-eyed at him … her foot fixed on the hub of a wagon wheel. She had been about to mount to the seat, and an old woman held one of her hands. They were both motionless, like wax figures. The girl’s straw-colored hair shone in the sun. The street was death-quiet in an instant.
The Regulators looked back at him … half surprise, half horror was on their faces. Another minute and the Regulators all over town would recover from the momentary shock and he would be surrounded.
Josey Wales slowly eased into the crouch. His voice shipped loud and flat in the silence … and it carried a snarl of insult.
“Ye gonna pull them pistols, ’er whistle ‘Dixie’?”
The Regulator to his left moved first, his hand darting downward; Cann Tolly followed. Only the right hand of Josey moved. The big .44 belched as it cleared leather in the fluid motion of rolled lightning. He fanned the hammer with his left palm.
The first man to draw flipped backward as the slug hit his chest. Cann Tolly spun sideways and made a little circle, like a dog chasing his tail, and fell, half his head blown
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