Simon Hawke: The Six Gun Solution

Those boys meant business, Virgil.” Leslie added. “I would have been shot dead, if it wasn’t for this here Montana kid.”

“I owe you a debt of gratith. cle,” the gambler said. “I’d like to shake your hand and stand you to a drink. The name’s Bat Masterson.”

Feeling rather numb. Neilson shook his hand.

“What’s your name, Montana kid?” asked Virgil.

“Neilson.” Scott replied instinctively, not thinking to give an alias. “Scott Neilson.”

“I like Montana Kid.” said Masterson, with an easy, charming smile. “Drinks all around, Frank. And a bottle for me and the Kid, here. Virgil, you’ll join us, won’t you?”

Virgil Earp looked Neilson over. “Well, if Frank and Bat vouch it was a necessary shooting, then I guess that’s okay with me. But I’ll need to take your gun. Kid, just the same. Those boys were part of Clanton’s bunch. Mean customers. You’re lucky you came out of it okay.”

“Hell, luck had nothin’ to do with it,” said Leslie, pouring the drinks “You should’ve seen it. Virgil. The Kid’s greased lightnin’ with a gun.”

“You don’t say.” said Virgil.

“Shot ’em both right through the heart, dead center!” said one of the other men around them. “Fastest draw lever seen in all my born days! If you’d a blinked your eye, you would’ve missed it!”

The others in the bar quickly agreed with this assessment.

“Sounds right impressive,” Virgil said.

“Impressive doesn’t do it justice,” responded Leslie.

“Is he really that fast, Frank?” Virgil said, with some surprise, apparently expecting. exaggeration from the others, but not Win Frank Leslie.

“I wouldn’t have a prayer against him, that’s for damn sure.” Leslie said. “And here I thought he was some green kid, fresh off the wagon. Shoot! I’ll bet he could beat Wyatt.”

“Faster than Wyatt?” said Virgil, raising his eyebrows.

“God’s my witness.” Leslie replied. “You put him up against Wild Bill. I’d give you even money and it would be a coin toss.”

“Hell, Frank, I never heard of anyone as fast as Hickok.” Virgil said.

“You’re lookin’ right at him.” Leslie replied, flatly.

“Was he really that fast, Bat’?” Virgil asked.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t see it.” Masterson replied. “but I heard both shots come so close together. I would have sworn they had been fired from different guns.”

Virgil looked at Neilson with new respect. ‘Where did you learn to shoot like that, Kid?”

Neilson was still slightly overwhelmed. His hesitance and confusion were taken as modest embarrassment. He simply shrugged and said, “Practice.”

The bodies were still lying on the floor. No one made a move to do anything about them. The door swung open and two more men came in. both with pistols drawn. One man was tall and slim, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He had a flowing handlebar moustache that curled up at the ends and, like Virgil, he was dressed in a black suit. He also wore a badge. The family resemblance was strong and unmistakable. The other man was pale, thin and slightly built, perhaps a hundred and twenty pounds, with sandy hair, sharp features, a moustache and intense. slate-gray, spectral-looking eyes.

“Heard there was some shootin’, Virgil.” And right fancy shooting, from what I hear,” Virgil replied. “It appears that this young gentleman has saved the lives of Frank and Bat. What’s more, they claim he could be even faster than you are. Come on over and say hello to the Montana Kid, just arrived in town. Kid, meet my brother, Wyatt. And the gent with him is Doc Holliday.”

The two men put away their pistols and Scott was speechless as he shook their hands.

“I’m much obliged to you for coming to the aid of my good friends.” said Wyatt.

“Just arrived in town, eh?” Holliday said. He coughed and glanced at the bodies. “Kid, I’ll grant you one thing. You sure do make one hell of an entrance.”

They took a bottle and moved to a table.

Wyatt glanced down at the corpses. “Jack Demming and Slim Carter” he said, with a grunt. “Well, that’s two less rustlers we need to be concerned with. But I’d watch my back from now on if I were you, Kid. The Clanton bunch won’t take too kindly to the service you just performed for this community. You plannin’ on stayin’ in town?”

He was askin’ after some friends of his,” said Frank Leslie. “Summers, Billings and McEnery.”

Wyatt frowned. “You told him?”

“I started to,” said Frank, “and then things got a little hot around here.

“He told me they were dead,” said Scott. “What happened to them?”

“Kin of yours?” asked Wyatt.

“No, just good friends. We, all grew up together.”

“It’s too bad about what happened.” Wyatt said, sympathetically. They were good men, thought highly of around here.

They were murdered out at their claim.”

“Funny thing, though,” Doc said. “I never saw bullet wounds that looked quite like that before. No blood to speak of. Had to be small caliber, one of those little Colt New Line pocket pistols. Whoever shot ’em got up real close. You could see the burn marks on the clothing and even on the wounds.”

“We thought at first it might’ve been the rustlers,” Virgil said. “They’re not above shootin’ down a man that’s got a roll. But I don’t know of any rustlers armed with pocket pistols. They would have used their rifles or their. 45s. A pocket pistol is a gambler’s weapon. Not much use ‘cept at close range. Only there was no sign of them playing cards out there. We thought it could have been some claim jumpers, but then nobody’s been workin’ their claim. It’s a riddle, all right. We get a lot of strangers comin’ through town and, sad to say, those kind of things tend to happen around here. Unless somebody talks, we may never know who killed ’em.’

Scott was thinking about what Doc had said. He’d never seen bullet wounds like that before. Small wounds. Burn marks. No blood to speak of. To Doc and the others, it may have looked like the sort of wounds a small-caliber pocket pistol like the Colt New Line could inflict. To Scott, it sounded ominously like a laser.

“They were decent men,” said Wyatt. “Never gave anybody any trouble. We gave ’em a proper Christian burial.”

“What about their personal effects?” asked Scott.

“Sold ’em off.” said Frank. “There really wasn’t very much. Their rig and horses. saddles. Winchesters and six-guns… most everything got cleaned out by the killers. Don’t think those boys were pullin’ much out of that claim, anyhow. unless they had it stashed. They were right decent enough fellows, but they don’t seem to have worked too hard.”

“Were there any bracelets’?” Scott asked. “Indian bracelets, like the one I’ve got?” He held up his arm and pulled back his sleeve to show them. “They’re not really worth much, but we all had ’em. They’d have sentimental value to me.”

“Come to think of it. I do recall those bracelets.” Leslie said. “I tried to buy one off ’em once, but none of ’em would sell. They said the same thing, that the bracelets had sentimental value. They all got ’em together somewhere.”

“I don’t recall any Indian bracelets among their personal effects.” Virgil said. “Do you. Wyatt?”

“Nope. I don’t believe I do. The killers must’ve stolen ’em, along with any money they had. They have any kin?”

“Yeah,” said Scott. “I’ll have to write to ’em. I’d like to take a look at where it happened, if that’s all right with you.

“Sure thing,” said Virgil. “But I wouldn’t plan on goin’ out there tonight. I’d wait till morning if I was you.”