They were flabbergasted, you could see it. Here I was, an unknown kid, stepping out to call a rancher known as a gunman. It had them stopped, and nobody quite knew what to say.
“Lucas,” I said, “you ain’t a fool. You got a daughter and a nice ranch. You got some good boys. If this shooting starts we can’t miss Bayless or you.”
It was hot, that afternoon, with the clouds fixing up to rain. Most of the snow was gone now, and there was the smell of spring in the air.
“Me, I ain’t riding nowhere until I’ve a mind to. I’m fixing to stay right here, and if it’s killing you want, then you got a chance to start it. But for every one of us you bury, you’ll bury three of you.”
Tap Henry was as surprised as they were, I could see that, and it was surprise that had them stopped, not anything else. That surprise wasn’t going to last, I knew. Walking right up to them, I stopped again, letting my eyes sweep over them, then returning to Bayless.
“Why don’t you get down, Chet? If you go for that gun you better have solid footing. You don’t want to miss that first shot, Chet. If you miss it you’ll never get another.
“You aimed to do some burning, Chet. Why
don’t you get down and start your fire? Start it
with a gun like your coyote friend did?” Without shifting
his eyes, Bayless stared, and then slowly he
kicked one foot out of a stirrup. “That’s right,
Chet. Get down. I want you on the ground,
where you don’t have so far to fall. This 25
hombre”—I said it slow–?pd Kiowa
Johnny to burn us out. I heard ‘em. I
gave Johnny a chance to drop his guns and would have made him talk, but he wanted to take a chance. He took it.”
“You killed Johnny?” Lucas demanded, staring at me. “He was supposed to be a fast man with a gun.”
“Him?” The contempt was thick in my voice. “Not even middling fast.” My eyes had never left Bayless. “You want to start burning, Chet, you better get down.”
Chet Bayless was bothered. It had been nigh two years since he had seen me and I’d grown over an inch in height and some in breadth of shoulder since then. My face was part shaded by that hat and he could just see my mouth and chin. But he didn’t like it. There was enough of me there to jar his memory and Chet Bayless, while fast with a gun, was no gambler. With Jerito or Red there, he would have gambled, but he knew Red was out of it because of Tap.
“Lucas,” I said, “you could be riding in better company. Bayless ain’t getting off that horse. He’s got no mind to. He figures to live awhile longer. You fellers better figure it this way. Tap and me, we like this place. We aim to keep it. We also figure to run our own cows, but to be fair about it, anytime you want to come over here and cut a herd of ours, come ahead. That goes for you—not for Bayless or any of his gun-handy outfit.”
Chet Bayless was sweating. Very careful, he had put his toe back in the stirrup. Jim Lucas shot one glance at him, and then his old jaw set.
“Let’s go!” He wheeled his horse and without another ^w they rode away.
Only Red looked back. He looked at Tap, not me. “See you in town!” he said.
Henry called after him. “Anytime, Red! Just anytime at all!”
When the last of them had gone he turned and looked at me. “That was a tough play, kid. S’pose Bayless had drawed on you?”
“Reckon he’d of died,” I said simply enough, “but I didn’t figure he would. Chet’s a cinch player. Not that he ain’t good with that Colt. He is—plenty!”
Walking back, I got my rifle. “Gosh amighty, I’m sure hungry!” I 27 said, and that was all. What Tap thought of it, I had no idea. Only a couple of times I caught him sizing me up. And then the following night he rode off and I knew where he was riding. He was gone a-courting of Betty Lucas.
That made me sore but there was nothing I could do about it. He sort of hinted that Margita was my dish, but that wasn’t so. She was all wrapped up in some vaquero who worked for her old man, although not backward about a little flirtation.
One thing I knew. Chet Bayless was going to talk to Jerito and then they were going to come for me. Jerito Juarez had good reason to hate me, and he would know me for the Laredo Kid.
Me, I’d never figured nor wanted the name of a gunfighter, but it was sort of natural-like for me to use a gun easy and fast. At sixteen a kid can be mighty touchy about not being growed up. I was doing a man’s job on the NOB outfit when Ed Keener rawhided me into swinging on him. He went down, and when he came up he hauled iron. Next thing I knew Keener was on the ground drilled dead center and I had a smoking gun in my hand with all the hands staring at me like a calf had suddenly growed into a mountain lion right before them.
Keener had three brothers, so I took out and two of them cornered me in Laredo. One of them never got away from that corner, and the other lived after three months in bed. Meanwhile, I drifted into Mexico and worked cows down there. In El Paso I shot it out with Jerito’s brother and downed him, and by that time they were talking me up as another Billy the Kid. They called me Laredo for the town I hailed from, but when I went back thataway I went into the Nueces country, where the third Keener braced me and fitted himself into the slot of Boot Hill alongside his brothers.
After that I’d gone kind of hog-wild, only not killing anybody but some ornery Comanches.
Howsoever, I did back down a sheriff at
Fort Griffin, shot a gun out of another’s hand in
Mobeetie, and backed down three tough hands at
Doan’s Crossing. By that time everybody was
talking about me, so I drifted where folks
didn’t know Ryan Tyler was the Laredo
gunfighter. 29
Only Chet Bayless knew because Chet had been around when I downed the Keeners. And Jerito knew.
After that I quit wearing guns in sight and avoided trouble all I could. That was one reason this ou-of-the-way ranch under the Pelado appealed to me, and why I avoided trouble all I could.
It must have been midnight and I’d been asleep a couple of hours when a horse came hell a-whoppin’ down the trail and I heard a voice holler the house. Unloading from my bunk, I grabbed my rifle and gave a call from the door. Then I got a shock, for it was Betty Lucas.
“Rye! Come quick! Tap killed Lon Beatty and a mob’s got him! They’ll hang him!”
No man ever got inside of his clothes faster than me, but this time I dumped my warbag and grabbed those belted guns. Swinging the belts around me, I stuck my .44 Russian into my waistband for good measure and ran for my horse. Betty had him caught and a saddle on him, so all I had to do was cinch up and climb aboard.
“They are at Cebollaffwas she called to me.
“Hurry!”
Believe me, I lit a shuck. That steeldust I was on was a runner and chock-full of corn. He stretched his legs and ran like a singed cat, so it wasn’t long until the lights of Cebolla showed. Then I was slowing down with a dark blob in the road ahead of me with some torches around it. They had Tap, all right, had him backward on his horse with a rope around his neck. He looked mighty gray around the gills but was cussing them up one side and down the other. Then I came up, walking my horse.
“All right, boys!” I let it out loud.
“Fun’s over! No hanging tonight!”
“Who says so?” They were all peering my way, so I gave it to them.
“Why, this here’s Rye Tyler,” I said, “but down Sonora way they call me Laredo, or the Laredo Kid. I’ve got a Winchester here and three loaded pistols, and I ain’t the kind to die quick, so if some of you hombres figure you’d like to make widows and orphans of your wives and kids, just start reaching.
“I ain’t,” I said, “a mite particular about who I shoot. I ain’t honing to kill 31 anybody, but knowing Tap, I figure if he shot anybody it was a fair shooting. Now back off, and back off easylike. My hands both work fast, so I can use both guns at once. That figures twelve shots if you stop me then, but I got a Winchester and another gun. Me, I ain’t missed a shot since I was eleven years old, so anybody fixin’ to die sure don’t need to go to no trouble tonight!”