“It was from those Injuns, you see, that all three of us got our nicknames. Firestick for me, on account of my skill with a long gun when it came to nailin’ anything I shot at—be it a four-legged critter or the two-legged kind. Moosejaw for Hendricks, due to the time he got caught alone and was ambushed by a party of braves; after he ran out of bullets, they closed in on him with war clubs and tomahawks and he fought ’em off with the jawbone of a moose skeleton that happened to be lyin’ on the ground of the gully where they had him cornered.”
“Samson of the San Juans!” Farrelly cackled. “I never grow tired of hearin’ that yarn.”
“I can see why,” said Lofton in a somewhat awed tone.
“That only leaves Malachi, the fella you ain’t met yet,” McQueen said. “Him they took to callin’ Beartooth on account of the fierce way he handled a knife—one he kept as sharp and deadly as a grizzly fang.”
“I take it the Apaches got a firsthand taste of that skill also?”
“Often enough for ’em to come up with the name. Not that Beartooth didn’t prefer usin’ a gun and bullets as often as he could,” McQueen explained, “but somehow he ended up fightin’ in close quarters on several occasions and, when he did, well . . . it was his knife that got him out alive.”
Lofton wagged his head. “You called Moosejaw the Samson of the San Juans a minute ago,” he said to Farrelly. “I’d say the full trio—Firestick, Beartooth, and Moosejaw—sounds more like the Three Musketeers of the Mountains.”
The puzzled looks Lofton got in response to that remark made it quickly evident his reference to the popular Dumas novel was lost on this particular audience. Instead of trying to press the point, he simply let it go, saying, “Never mind. Trust me, it was meant as a compliment. Though, on second thought, those mountain adventures might very well have surpassed anything they could be compared to.”
“I don’t know about that,” allowed McQueen. “What I do know is that spinnin’ yarns about those days is a sight easier than livin’ through some of ’em was—barely makin’ it through, in some cases. But it was the life we chose, and, by and large, we had some fine times. What’s more, we took those names the Injuns hung on us as badges of honor, sort of, and commenced callin’ each other by ’em, even amongst ourselves. Got to be such a habit, that when we came down out of the mountains and mixed with other folks, they picked up on usin’ ’em, too.”
“I guess the only thing that leaves, if you’ll indulge my curiosity a bit more,” said Lofton, “is how the three of you ended up as lawmen here in the town of Buffalo Peak? What was it that made you finally leave the mountains? I’ll venture another wager that it wasn’t because the Indians finally ran you off.”
McQueen shook his head. “No, our pullin’ out wasn’t on account of the Injuns. Hell, we got to a point there toward the end where they quit takin’ so much notice of us. Not meanin’ there was any love lost between us and them. We mainly learned to sort of steer clear of each other. But the creepin’ years were addin’ up, and they don’t steer clear of nobody. Each season when the mountain winter came around, the cold bit a little deeper into our bones and took a little longer to seep back out. Plus, the game got scarcer and the huntin’ trails seemed longer and harder to travel. One spring, the three of us looked around and somehow just seemed to know it was time to come down out of the high country.
“Since we all had a hankerin’ to see this Texas we’d been hearin’ about on and off for years, here is where we headed. Happened that durin’ my years passin’ through Wyoming, I spent some time with a horse-wranglin’ crew. That was another hankerin’ I had—to someday take another turn at tryin’ my hand with that. My pards thought it sounded all right, too, so we bought ourselves a little spread west of here and settled in to raise and sell horses. Been at it for a while now, and it’s workin’ out pretty fair.” McQueen’s broad shoulders rolled in a shrug. “Along the way, when we started seein’ how the town of Buffalo Peak was havin’ more and more trouble with rowdies comin’ around causin’ trouble, we decided we ought to pitch in and help tame things down. For our trouble, we ended up gettin’ badges slapped on ourselves. Far as I can tell, the townsfolk seem to think that’s workin’ out pretty fair, too, and so that’s how things stand.”
“Quite a tale. Quite a tale, indeed,” said Lofton.
“This is the West, mister. Everybody’s got a tale to tell,” said Firestick. Then he flashed one of his wide grins. “Only, not everybody is so long-winded and as willin’ as me when it comes to sharin’ theirs. You might want to keep that in mind when that curiosity of yours gets to tuggin’ on you around somebody else.”
“I’ll be sure and do that.”
“Okay. But before you take my advice too much to heart, how about allowin’ me a turn at some curiosity? You got me wonderin’ if you’re a gamblin’ man by trade who maybe plans on stickin’ around these parts for a spell? Or are you just passin’ through?”
“I planned on staying over a night or two in your hotel,” Lofton answered. “Get some sleep in a warm, soft bed. Have me some decent meals. Then, yes, I’d figured to drift on. It’s what I’ve been doing for some time now, ever since . . . well, let’s just say a love affair that didn’t go well. What you might call a big gamble I failed to win.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Firestick said earnestly. “But you are a gamblin’ man, then?”
Lofton shrugged. “It’s how I’ve been getting by. Earning a few bills here and there, enough to eat and enjoy a few creature comforts now and then. But I’m not what you’d call a high roller by any means. I do okay against other small-stakes players and cowboys with a month’s pay burning a hole in their pockets. But that’s about it.”
“Can’t help noticin’ that hogleg you got strapped to your hip,” said Firestick, gesturing. “Mighty fine-lookin’ piece. A .45, ain’t it? You wear it like you for sure know which end the bullets come out, yet you made no attempt to pull it against those jackasses when they was backin’ you into a corner. Excuse me for sayin’, but I find that kinda curious.”
Now it was Lofton’s turn to smile, a somewhat guarded lifting of the corners of his mouth. “I suppose that does seem a little odd, doesn’t it? A gambling man not playing his ace against three-to-one odds? Reaching for the gun crossed my mind, to be sure, but as you saw, none of those men were armed. That crossed my mind, too. A stranger in town drawing against three unarmed locals? There are many places, I’m afraid, where—no matter the odds or anything else—such an act could go very bad for a fellow in my position.”
“Reckon I can see how you might look at it like that,” allowed Firestick. “I’ve been in those kind of places, too—where things are stacked right from the get-go against anybody from the outside.”
“None of which is to say I wouldn’t have gone for my gun if the situation had started turning too ugly,” Lofton admitted. Then he smiled again, this time more openly. “But then you showed up, and events took a different turn . . . a far more interesting and colorful one.”
Firestick worked his jaw from side to side, still feeling the effects from Woolsey’s head butt. “Yeah. Interestin’ . . . I reckon that’s one word for it.”
CHAPTER 4
Buffalo Peak straddled a nameless old trail that ran between Presidio and Sierra Blanca. In time, the portion of the trail passing through the settlement’s heart
