three other men.”
“Clete and the others tried to take him face on,” Luke Mueller said. “I ain’t askin’ you to do nothin’ like that. I got it all planned out.”
“You got it all planned out, do you?” Toby Collins asked.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“All right, let me hear your plan,” Kelly said.
“We’re goin’ to ambush him. He’ll be ridin’ right down through the middle of the street without no idea of anything about to happen. We’ll all be hid out and we’ll shoot him down before he even knows we are there. How hard can that be?”
“You’re talkin’ about Falcon MacCallister,” Kelly said. “It can be damn hard.”
“Too hard for you to do it for your share of a thousand dollars?”
“There’s three of us here,” Kelly said. “Me, Collins, and Tucker. Four, countin’ you. So how many will there be to divide this money?”
“Just what you see here,” Mueller answered.
“So you’re talkin’ two hundred fifty dollars?”
Mueller shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. It will only be the three of you sharing the money. So you’ll each get three hunnert thirty-three dollars,” he said. “I’m the one goin’ to give the money, remember? I won’t be takin’ none of it for myself. All I want is for the son of a bitch to be kilt.”
“But there’s goin’ to be four of us doin’ the shootin?” Collins asked.
“Four of us, yes.”
“That’s kind of funny when you think about it, ain’t it?” Kelly said.
“Funny? How?”
“When your brother went up agin’ MacCallister, they was four of ’em tryin’ to kill him. But MacCallister not only kilt your brother, he kilt all four of ’em. Four, just like we are four.”
“I done told you, this ain’t goin’ to be like that. It ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ at all like that. Clete and the others tried to face him head-on, and all four of ’em got themselves kilt. We ain’t goin’ to give him no chance a’tall. We’ll have him kilt afore he even knows we’re anywhere around.”
“I got a question,” Tucker said.
“What’s that?”
“How are we goin’ to get him into a spot where we’ll all be a’ hidin’ out and he’ll be in the open?”
Mueller smiled. “You don’t need to be worryin’ nothin’ about that,” he said. “Just leave that to me. I done got that all set up.”
It was the letter that brought Falcon to Idaho Springs. He had received it two days ago.
Dere Mr. Macalster
I heer that you are lookin for Luke Mueller and if you are willing to pay me some mony come to Idaho Springs and I will tell you where he is at. I will be at the hotel. Don’t tell nobody I tode you where at to find him.
Yurs truly
Bill Jones
Falcon MacCallister should have seen it coming. Normally he was much more observant, more aware of his surroundings, but he had no reason to sense danger. He was in Idaho Springs, Colorado which wasn’t too far from MacCallister Valley, and therefore was almost like a second hometown to him.
He had just ridden into town when he felt the impact of the bullet as it plunged into his horse’s neck. He saw a stream of blood gush out as his mount went down, even as he heard the sound of the shot. He leaped from the saddle to avoid being fallen on by the horse, and as he did so he saw a white puff of smoke drifting up from just behind a sign that read J.C. BEALE’S HARDWARE.
Snaking his rifle from its saddle sheath and holding it low in one hand, Falcon darted out of the center of the road, then dived for cover behind the watering trough. A bullet plowed into the dirt just behind him, and another plunked into the trough, kicking up water and causing it to gurgle out. He saw several people running for cover, screaming and shouting in alarm, though they weren’t the target.
Crawling on his belly, Falcon reached the end of the trough, then looked up toward the hardware store where he had seen the gun smoke. Jacking a shell into the chamber he sighted down the barrel and waited. The shooter on the roof lifted his head above the false front, just far enough to take a look. He saw the muzzle flash of Falcon’s rifle, but before he could assimilate it, he was dead, with a bullet in his brain.
Falcon determined there were two more adversaries in the loft of the livery stable, and another one standing behind the corner of Murchison’s Gun and Ammunition shop. He turned his attention toward the livery loft, but couldn’t see anything through the opening because of the darkness inside. He knew the shooters had the advantage—they could see him quite clearly as he was outside in the sunlight.
Another bullet plunged into the watering trough, and the water began running out more swiftly. Falcon threw a shot toward the livery where he had seen the muzzle flash, not with any real expectation of hitting anything, but to drive them back. He turned his attention to the corner of the gun and ammunition shop where, earlier, he had seen another man firing at him. Falcon perused the alley opening next to the shop, but saw nothing. While his attention was directed toward the shooters on top of the hardware store and in the loft of the livery, the gunman behind the corner of Murchison’s had apparently gotten away.
Turning his head he saw Tom Murchison standing just inside the window of his store, waving fiercely. Succeeding in getting Falcon’s attention, he pointed toward a stack of salt blocks in front of McGill Feed and Seed.
Looking in that direction Falcon saw a shadow cast against the feed store wall. He watched the shadow move toward the edge of the stack of salt blocks, then cocking his rifle he aimed at the extreme corner of the stack of blocks, and pulled the trigger. The bullet cut through the corner, sending out a spray of salt before hitting the would-be shooter. The shooter fell heavily to the wood plank porch.
Falcon turned his attention to the two men in the loft of the livery. Getting up from his position behind the watering trough, he left his rifle on the ground and, with pistol in hand, ran toward the door of the stable. Two shots rang out—one so close Falcon felt the breeze of it as the bullet whizzed by. He darted through the wide, double door into the barn before another shot could be fired and moved under the loft so his adversaries above had no shot at him.
“Mueller! Do you see him?” someone called. “Where is he?”
“Collins, you damn fool! Don’t be a’ shoutin’ my name out like that.”
“I’m goin’ to get over here and see if I can see him,” Collins said.
Falcon heard the sound of footfalls on the loft above, and looking up, saw bits of straw fluttering down through the cracks between the boards. He followed the falling straw, then raising his pistol, fired three quick shots.
“Ahhh!” the man yelled, and Falcon saw him pitch over the edge of the loft, catching his foot in the rope
