Gunman's Song by Ralph Cotton

against the same broad upthrust of rock. They shared a single threadbare blanket, each of them grasping a corner of it in his fist and hanging on, lest the other take it over in his sleep.
    Pecker size,
Cray Dawson thought. Behind him he heard the sound of the two men snoring, and the sound of Della Starks whispering something to Shaw in a gasping voice only a few feet away. Dawson offered a tired smile to the wide, empty night and ducked his hat brim down on his forehead.
All this time I’ve wondered why, Rosa…now I reckon I know.
    When it came time to wake Frome, Cray Dawson still sat watching the glowing wagon, only now he did so more intently, as if gauging the distance and studying something on the dark land lying between the hills and wagon below. There had been no gunfire for the past couple of hours. The night lay in dead silence without so much as a yelp from a coyote or the batting of a night bird’s wings. Yet he sat stonelike, refusing to move, every fiber of his being concentrated on the silent land below.
    There it was, he thought, his senses honing in on the sound of a horse’s nicker in the distance. Itstopped abruptly, but too late. It was nearly inaudible, but he’d heard it. It came from down the hill line almost at the base. The Comancheros had left the wagon ablaze and headed across the land, perhaps following the tracks, perhaps just running on common knowledge that whoever had been at the wagon had no safe way to run except for the shelter of the hills. He stood up and dusted his trousers again, feeling the chill of night tighten around him. He shook himself off and walked in the direction where he’d heard Shaw and Della in the darkness.
    â€œShaw, wake up,” he whispered, reaching down and poking his rifle barrel gently into Shaw’s ribs, barely making out his dark outline in the blanket that wrapped around the pair.
    Shaw awakened quickly, Dawson hearing the soft click of his Colt muffled by the blanket. “What is it?”
    â€œThey’re coming,” said Dawson. “I heard them below us.”
    Shaw arose with the smell of whiskey about him. Della moaned and tugged at the blanket. “You heard them?” Shaw asked hoarsely. “How did you hear them this far up?”
    â€œI was paying attention, listening real close,” said Dawson. “They’re coming, damn it! Take my word for it.”
    â€œAll right,” said Shaw, “I didn’t mean to doubt you…let me clear my head here.” He blew out a breath, and Dawson heard the canteen cap come loose. He heard Shaw swig down a drink of whiskey.
    â€œJesus, Shaw, you said you were going to stop drinking,” Dawson said.
    â€œI am…as soon as this runs out. That’s what I said, remember?” He rummaged around on theground, found his trousers, and pulled them on. With his gun belt hung on his shoulder he found his boots and stepped into them. “I meant it too,” Shaw said. “I never used to drink like this. It’s just been since Rosa’s death.” He stopped and let out a sigh, then said, “I know that’s no excuse. I’ve got to quit; that’s all there is to it.”
    â€œAin’t judging you, Shaw,” said Dawson. “I’ll go get the others and gather the horses while you pull yourself together.”
    â€œGood idea,” Shaw said with much effort, rubbing his temples as if to get his brain working.
    â€œWith a good start, we ought to be able to outrun until we reach the outskirts of Eagle Pass.” That said, Cray Dawson turned to leave.
    But Shaw stopped him, saying, “Whoa! Whoa! What are you talking about, outrunning them? We’re not running from these cutthroat cowards. How would that look to the folks at Eagle Pass, us coming in out of breath, looking back over our shoulder?” Shaw shook his head. “Huh-uh…I’ve been taking a stand too long to start making a run for