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was gettin’ was some short.
    Gave me sort of a funny feelin’ in the gut.
    Rusty joined me by the hitchrail. “You know any of ’em, Sheriff?”
    â€œMost of ’em. And there ain’t a one there that’s worth a damn for nothin’ except gunslingin’.”
    And I was speakin’ the truth. There was Lydell Townsend, Tanner Smith, Dick Avedon. There was the Mex gunfighter, Sanchez, riding a horse with a Rockinghorse brand. Jim Reynolds, Hank Hawthorne, Joe Coyle, Little Jack Bagwell, Johnny Bull, and Tom Marks. There was some others that I couldn’t right off hang a name on . . . except Trouble-Hunter.
    I named off all that I personal knew.
    Rusty, he said, “That one on the bay, that’s Waldo Stamps, the Texas gunhawk. Clay Dundee on the paint. Behind him is Fox Breckenridge, Ford Childress, the Arizona gunhand. And that’s the German, Haufman.”
    â€œThe fat one; the back-shooter?”
    â€œThat’s him. See that close rifle boot? That’s a .44–.40, and he’s dead right with it.”
    â€œSo I hear.”
    â€œThem other ol’ boys is just as good as any of ’em, but they just ain’t got no public name, as yet.”
    â€œRusty . . . what in the hell is goin’ on around here? Do you know?”
    The passin’ parade had slowed down some, waitin’ on the second buggy to catch up, I reckon.
    â€œAll sorts of rumors, Sheriff, from gold to oil. But I think all that is just talk to cover up a range war.”
    â€œYeah, that’d be my guess, too. When did all these gunslingers start showin’ up around here?”
    â€œWell, Rockinghorse and Circle L has always had a few gunhands on the payroll . . . more to protect the kids than anything else. But about a year ago, that’s when Mills and Lawrence really started hirin’ on gunhands.”
    â€œAnd that’s when the lawmen started goin’ down, huh? How many . . . four?”
    â€œSomething like that. Four’s right, I think.”
    The second buggy come better into view. An older man and a pretty young woman. “That Wanda Mills and her pa?”
    â€œYeah. The second queen of the valley.”
    â€œWhere’s the mother of them gals?”
    â€œThey hardly ever come into town. They don’t associate much with the lower classes. ’Sides, I don’t even know if they’re around here; they might have gone off on some trip. They’re always goin’ here and yonder.”
    â€œMust be a terrible burden for them ladies to have to bear.”
    He looked at me to see if I was serious, then he grinned. “Yeah, plumb awful load to have to tote around.”
    For some reason, the passin’ parade of highfalutin’ folks had stopped, the fancy surrey with Joy and her pa was right in front of Rusty and me, and ol’ A.J. was givin’ me a good hard once-over.
    I had stepped down to stand by the hitchrail with Rusty.
    â€œYou there!” A.J. hollered, and the tone of his voice made the short hairs on the back of my neck tingle. “Get over here. I wanna talk to you.”
    â€œYour legs broke?” I called, some louder than was needed, but I wanted ever’body to hear.
    Man, ol’ A.J. puffed up like a spreadin’ adder, his face high-colored like a wild berry.
    There was a hard poundin’ of hooves and a young man on a fine-lookin’ red horse was glarin’ down at me. The family resemblance was strong, so strong that this had to be A.J. Junior. Twenty-one or so years old, and no little feller neither.
    And damned if he wasn’t wearin’ two guns. I never in all my life seen so many men who fancied two short guns.
    I smiled real friendly at the young man. My, but he was all slicked up. Fancy silk shirt and handsome vest. Tailor-made britches and hand-tooled boots. He sure cut a fancy figure.
    And then he had to open his damn mouth. Kinda ruined my image of him.
    But I