Firestick. William W. Johnstone

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      CHAPTER 10

      Next morning, over breakfast at the Double M, Firestick was relating to everyone the previous night’s events in the Mallory Hotel barroom.

      “What about Chapman, the other Bar 6 rider?” Moosejaw wanted to know. “Did you just let him go?”

      Firestick shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? True, he was part of givin’ Gus Wingate a hard time earlier on. But he didn’t join in the shootin’. Matter of fact, he even tried to talk Wilson out of goin’ ahead with it.”

      “Too bad, for his pard’s sake, Chapman wasn’t more convincing,” said Beartooth.

      “At least he tried,” Firestick allowed.

      Around a mouthful of bacon and eggs, Moosejaw said, “How about Wingate? What became of him after the gunsmoke cleared?”

      “The whole thing shook him up considerable,” Firestick replied. “Sorta jarred him out of his drunkenness. Enough, anyway, so’s he was able to climb onto his horse and head for home. Though not without takin’ a couple bottles of who-hit-John with him when he went. Accordin’ to Kate, that’s become a pretty regular thing for him lately.”

      Moosejaw nodded solemnly. “Poor devil. Still tormentin’ himself for shootin’ Owen Rockwell, no matter how he got crowded into havin’ no choice. That’s what caused him to quit packin’ a gun, as well as what led to the hard drinkin’.”

      “Maybe so, but from the way Firestick described it,” Beartooth pointed out, “it didn’t keep him from wantin’ to grab a gun—until he remembered, through his drunken fog, that he didn’t have one.”

      “That’s a rather unfair assessment, don’t you think?” said Victoria, who was seated at the dining room table with the men of the Double M, including the vaqueros, Miguel and Jesus. “You can hardly blame a man for seeking to defend himself upon feeling threatened. Reaching for a gun came from force of habit—from always carrying one in the past. The fact that there was no longer one there to grab came from his greater will to never be put in a position where he’d have to use one again. That remains a commendable measure if you ask me.”

      “I think Miss Victoria is lookin’ at it the right way,” Firestick said. “Goin’ unheeled was a choice Wingate made when he was sober and clearheaded. Grabbin’ for a gun later on, when he was in a drunken fog as you put it yourself, Beartooth, was exactly the kind of reaction he wanted to keep from turnin’ into another shooting. Except for the heavy drinkin’, I see him as a fella tryin’ hard to walk a better path after what happened with Rockwell.”

      “Maybe so,” Beartooth said again. “But I think a man has to stay true to his nature, that’s all I’m gettin’ at. Somebody who’s always had a gun within reach—and I don’t mean those who make a livin’ at that kind of thing, just regular fellas, ranchers and wranglers and such. Those kind have always relied on havin’ that backup. You all of a sudden strip it away, either by their own choice or for some other reason, it’s apt to leave ’em exposed-like. Their thinkin’ is the same in a given situation, but now they don’t have all the tools to face it the way they used to. Like what happened to Wingate last night. To me, you go against your own grain that way, you’re plain puttin’ yourself at risk.”

      “That only holds true,” Victoria countered, “in an environment where guns and violence are such an accepted way of life. If more honest, law-abiding men put away their guns, like Gus Wingate did, and left handling the varmints and owlhoots, as you call them, to duly appointed officers of the law . . . well, I believe the entire frontier would be better off.”

      Beartooth paused with a piece of heavily buttered bread raised partway to his mouth. He smiled crookedly, enjoying seeing the color rise in Miss Victoria’s cheeks when she was on the scrap. “In other words,” he said, “what you’re suggestin’ is that the frontier needs more fellas like Firestick, Moosejaw, and me to make it a better place.”

      Victoria started to make a quick reply, but then held herself in check. She could see that Beartooth was teasing her to get more of a rise out of her. Pursing her lips somewhat defiantly, all she said was, “Well. You are officers of the law, are you not?”

      “You darn betcha we are,” declared Moosejaw, aiming to lighten things up a little. “Especially Firestick. He’s a real rip-snorter. All you gotta do is tally up everything that happened yesterday to see how he’s bent on clearin’ the bad hombres out of the territory—either by tossin’ ’em in the clink or by settlin’ their hash permanent-like.”

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