claim considering the evidence, Sam thought. “Are you headed for Cottonwood?” Bickford asked.
“We need supplies. That would be the closest place to get them.”
“Yeah, I suppose it would. Well, be careful. I’d better get back and help transport those prisoners.”
Bickford lifted a hand in farewell and wheeled his horse around. Sam heeled his mount into a faster pace and drew even with Matt again a moment later.
“You finish talking to that loco hombre?” Matt asked without looking over at his blood brother.
“He didn’t strike me as loco.”
“Anybody who thinks he can stop folks from drinkin’ is plumb crazy,” Matt said. “When people get thirsty, they’ll find a way to take a drink.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Sam admitted. “Still, Marshal Bickford and the others are just trying to do their jobs.”
“Like I said, it’s a sorry excuse for a job.”
Sam let the subject drop. He knew there wouldn’t be any changing of Matt’s mind, and anyway, Sam thought that Matt was pretty much right in his opinions this time.
“We’ll stop in Cottonwood and pick up some supplies. That’ll take just about all of our cash, though, so we might have to try to find a poker game.”
“Didn’t you hear Bickford?” Matt asked. “There aren’t any saloons in that town. They’ve all been closed down because of that stupid law.”
“They may not be selling liquor anymore, but I’ll bet there’s someplace in town where poker games still go on.”
Matt shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll have a look around.”
He was an excellent poker player, and could usually run up a stake for them when their funds ran low. If they were in a town where there was a telegraph office, they could wire home for money. Each of the blood brothers owned a cattle spread in Montana, and thanks to the efforts of the crews who worked for them, those ranches were quite successful. From time to time, Matt and Sam talked about returning to Montana to live and work on their range, but that idea was soon discarded. They weren’t ready to settle down yet, not by a long shot.
Half an hour later, they began seeing smoke from the chimneys of Cottonwood. A little later, the town itself came into view, a good-sized group of buildings scattered along the bank of a creek. The trees that gave the place its name grew on the other side of the stream. Cottonwood had a couple of churches with their steeples standing tall above the settlement, along with a large, whitewashed building at the edge of town that was probably the school. A number of business buildings lined the main street, with residences on the other side of town from the creek. It looked like a typical cow town, maybe a little sleepier and more peaceful than some.
That tranquil atmosphere was the main reason Matt and Sam were both surprised when, for the second time today, they heard the roar of gunfire fill the air.
Chapter 3
Sam didn’t even try to talk Matt out of galloping toward the shots this time. They were headed for the settlement anyway. They would just get there a little quicker this way.
The gunfire continued as the blood brothers raced toward town. They rode past the school, which was empty at this time of year, and as they started along the main street, they saw that the boardwalks were deserted. Obviously, people had scattered to hunt for cover when the shooting started.
Matt and Sam saw a man kneeling behind a water trough and firing a revolver at a wagon across the street. Several men were behind that wagon, blazing away with rifles. Once again, Matt and Sam were in the position of not knowing which side was in the right, if indeed either was.
Then a couple of the men behind the wagon solved the problem by turning and throwing lead at the oncoming riders. To Matt’s way of thinking, anybody who took a shot at him deserved whatever happened, and Sam’s opinion was almost as pragmatic. Matt dropped his reins, guided his horse with his knees, and filled both hands with his Colts.
The revolvers roared and bucked as he began squeezing off shots. The hurricane deck of a galloping horse wasn’t a very good platform for accurate firing, but Matt was better at it than most. Some of his slugs ripped through the canvas cover on the back of the wagon, while others kicked up dust around the feet of his targets.
Instead of putting up a fight, the men broke and ran. Clearly, they were the sort of hombres who liked a battle only when the odds were overwhelmingly on their side.
The man behind the water trough stood up and waved his gun arm after the fleeing men. “Stop them!” he called to Matt and Sam. “Don’t let them get away!”
The blood brothers sent their horses pounding after the gunmen. The race, such as it was, was over in a matter of seconds. Matt pouched his irons, kicked his feet out of the stirrups, and left the saddle in a diving tackle, spreading his arms so that he took down two of the men. They all went crashing to the street, rolling over and over in the dust.
Meanwhile, Sam snatched the coiled lasso from his saddle and shook out a loop with the practiced ease of a man who has spent a lot of time working cattle. He twirled the rope over his head a couple of times and then let fly with it. The loop spread out and dropped perfectly over the shoulders of the third man. Sam jerked it tight, dallied the rope around his saddle horn, and then brought his mount to an abrupt, skidding halt.
The rope went taut with a twang! and pulled the running man off his feet. He went backward and crashed down hard enough to stun him.
A few yards back up the street, Matt made it to his feet at the same time as one of the men he had knocked down. The man was tall and scrawny, wearing greasy buckskins. Long, lank hair tangled around his head, and he had a ragged beard sprouting from his lean jaw. He yelled a curse and came at Matt, swinging knobby-knuckled fists.
Matt ducked under the wild punches and stepped in to hook a hard left into the man’s midsection. The man grunted and started to double over as Matt’s fist sank into his gut. Matt threw a right cross that slammed into the man’s perfectly positioned jaw. That blow sent the hombre to his knees.
Matt didn’t have time to feel any elation at his apparent victory, though, because just then a heavy weight landed on his back and drove him forward. “I got him, Dud, I got him!” a voice yelled in his ear. The sharp stench of long-unwashed flesh filled his nostrils.
Matt knew the other man must have jumped on him, and also realized that if he went down, they would probably try to stomp him to death. He was confident that Sam would stop them, but his blood brother might not be able to do that before they had inflicted some damage on him. As he stumbled and fought to keep his balance, he reached behind him and clawed at the man’s face, trying to jab his thumbs in the varmint’s eyes.
One of them came close enough to make the man let out a howl of pain and loosen his grip. Matt reached higher and tangled his fingers in long, greasy hair. He heaved as hard as he could, which sent the man’s yells up another notch. When Matt spun around, the weight came off. He used his left hand to hang on to the man’s hair while his right fist hammered the man’s face.
This one was shorter and rounder, but just as ugly and dirty. Matt hit him a couple of times, then shoved him toward the boardwalk. The man stumbled backward until his heels hit
