“Depends on who they want, Mr. Cawdor. I got a suss that they could be after that girl.”
“Emma Tyler.”
“And Mr. Lauren and Miss Wroth. Something a bit different about them.”
The barkeep waved a hand to calls for service from farther down the room. “Be careful. I can’t afford to fall out with old Sharpie. Take my meaning?”
” ‘Course. I’ll collect everyone together and we’ll go up to our rooms. Be away at first light. Thanks for everything you’ve done for us.”
The two men shook hands.
“Good to know of Trader,” the barkeep said. “There’s still a few folks around here remember the man with thanks in their hearts. A woman I met, year or so ago, around the Hole, claimed she rode with him.”
“What was her name?” Ryan asked, interested at the thought of meeting up with an old companion.
“Can’t recall.”
The fur-clad hunter at the far end of the room was banging with his fist to attract attention, and Clinkerscales gave Ryan a quick smile and went to serve him.
“Trouble?” Krysty asked, standing just behind Ryan, picking up the vibes.
“Could be. Gang that he mentioned earlier. Before we ate. Went out. Now they’re back. Two over there by Jak. Rest are scattered. One’s alongside Doc, watching the main poker game. Find Mildred and J.B. and we’ll get out of here, upstairs. I’ll collect Dean, Doc and Jak.”
But the wheel was already in spin.
“Fuckin’ cheatin’ mutie!”
The voice soared over the background noise in the Lincoln Inn, bringing a hush. It came from near the dartboard.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ cheat. You best come outside with us and we’ll teach you good.”
Jak was standing at the board, hand poised to pick out the trio of steel-tipped darts. “What’s problem you two?” he said quietly.
“No mutie throws that good. Never fuckin’ missed one, snowbird.”
Everyone was watching the drama-except Ryan and J.B., who were looking around the room, trying to pick out the rest of the group. The Armorer had spotted the gang when they came in through the swinging doors, just as Ryan had.
But all the friends had their blasters drawn, all except Jak.
The slender youth, in his ragged camouflage jacket, was standing still, as though he were petrified with terror, fingers just brushing the flights of the darts.
The two men who’d called him out were both inches over six feet, broad-shouldered, in patched shirts. One had a sawed-down scattergun tucked in his belt, one hand resting casually on the stock. The other had a remake revolver, in a worn holster on his right hip.
Ryan could easily have gunned both of them down, but that wouldn’t flush out the others in the gang. He had to wait and let Jak make his move.
“Didn’t cheat.”
“Course you did, you shit-for-brains little runt! We both saw you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan glimpsed the pale face of Emma Tyler, peering round the edge of the door at the side of the bar. Her golden eyes were open very wide, and she looked to be terrified.
“Come on,” said the taller of the two bullying thugs. “Outside!”
Jak made his move, plucking the darts from the board and throwing them, one, two, three, almost too quick to follow with the human eye.
Both men cried out in pain and shock, and everyone in the saloon was witness to the albino’s unique skill.
One dart had struck home in the taller man’s left cheek, missing his eye by a scant inch, while the third one pierced the corner of his mouth, penetrating through the tongue, sticking in the gum.
The second of the missiles landed in the exact center of the other man’s forehead, thrown with such force that it drove through the skin and the thin layer of flesh, driving into the bone at the front of the skull, standing out like the ornamented horn of a unicorn.
“Holy Mary!” breathed a young man at a table just in front of Ryan.
But Jak wasn’t finished.
The darts were enough to devastate the two men, putting them totally off balance, even though the injuries caused by the darts weren’t all that serious.