“True enough,” the old woman called back out. “But that’s Morse’s lookout. Don’t owe him nothing, and he don’t owe me enough to make it worth my while to take a hand in what you’re prepared to deal out.”
“We’re going to have to trade,” Ryan said, “one way or another.” He let that sink in. “We don’t have a choice about pressing on.”
“Mister,” the woman said after a brief pause, “words like that could get you chilled in your boots, standing right there where you are.”
“There’s been some who tried,” Ryan said agreeably. “Figure if you knew you had that locked down, you’d have already tried it.”
“You’re a confident man.”
“Have to be. Otherwise, I’d have never climbed up this hill and rang that bastard bell.” Ryan mopped a layer of perspiration from his forehead with his shirtsleeve.
“What have you got to trade?”
“Handblasters,” Ryan answered. “Four of them.”
“In good shape?”
“They are now. I’ve got a friend out here who can fix damn near any long gun or handblaster.”
“Talented man to have around,” Annie stated.
Ryan didn’t say anything; the old woman was just taking time now to decide if she was going to buy into the situation.
“Is what this man’s saying true, Morse?” she asked.
“It’s the truth,” Morse answered. “I got some handblasters out of the deal myself.”
“Mil-spec?”
“Yeah.”
“No long guns?”
“No.”
“Mister,” Annie called out to Ryan, “assuming I let you inside, what are you going to want for those blasters?”
“Ammo,” Ryan answered. “Mebbe some self-heats, ring-pulls.”
“Got it all inside the post,” she told him. “We’re only talking four handblasters, though, so you’re going to have to come up with something else to even things out.”
“We ran into a sec team put out by a local baron,” Ryan said. “They had a few handblasters, but primarily they were outfitted with long guns. Handblasters are easy to carry out of sight. I don’t think you’ll have a hard time selling them. For what we’re planning to trade for, your price will be covered.”
“Seem awful sure about yourself.”
“I am,” Ryan replied. “I’m no stranger to trading myself.”
“What kind of handblasters?” Annie asked.
“Two 9 mm semiautos,” Ryan called back. “Two wheelguns.”
“How do I know they shoot true?”
“Test them yourself. If they don’t, you don’t have to make a deal.”
“By then, you might be inside.”
“It’d be hard for either one of us to get what we want if that doesn’t happen.” Ryan waited, letting the silence fill in the distance between them.
“I don’t know that I want what you have to offer,” Annie said. “You have a lean and hungry look about you.”
Crimson misted Ryan’s vision as the anger took him. He struggled for self-control as Doc stepped forward.
The old man struck an imposing stance and addressed the owner of the trading post. “Madam, I should wonder if you pass that quote in telling jest, and not some happy chance of twisted words about you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. The passage actually goes thusly, a scene from the first act of Julius Caesar by the immortal bard himself.” Doc cleared his throat.
“Let me have men about me that are fat;/ Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o’ nights./ Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look;/ He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.”
The old man’s words rolled over the area, sounding powerful and resonant.
“Who are you?” Annie demanded.
Doc tucked his cane under his arm as he bowed with a flourish. “Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner at your service, madam.” His wide smile showed his impossibly white teeth.
“You’re a good-looking enough man to look at, Doc Tanner,” Annie called back, “and you talk flowery.”
“Why, thank you kindly.”
“Pretty words and a nice smile don’t mean you’re going to get inside, though.”
“Madam, let me assure you, we’re here neither to harm nor rob you. Only to trade fairly and for things that we desperately need.”
“I’m not known for giving out charity.”
“Madam, I am reminded of some great words handed down by Sir Winston Churchill, who was also a hard man to deal with,” Doc stated.