shirt.
"Fill me a cup, would you, Billy?" he said, handing the bottle to his leader. "It's been a long day. In fact, fill one for everyone. I picked up a piece of bad news."
William Doolittle didn't take orders from anyone, but something about this desperado always set his hairs on end and gave him pause. Tubbs had ridden with the gang for just three months now, and had participated in only one job, some three weeks ago: relieving the Texas Exchange in Durango of the meager contents of its safe.
It wasn't as if the man didn't have his strong points. He did his work quickly, quietly, and well. He wasn't squeamish about using his guns, or turning them on lawmen, boys, and if the occasion warranted it, women. And, as an extra plus, the man knew how to listen, rarely shooting off his mouth unless he had something really important to say.
Other than the annoying habit Tubbs had of staring at the ugly craters left behind on Billy's face from a vicious case of chicken pox, Billy really couldn't point a finger at anything the man did that was out of line. But Tubbs gave him the creeps anyway.
Anxious to hear what he had to say, Billy poured the whiskey into two tin cups, leaving the bottle to the others to fend for themselves. "Tate, Cletus. Get on over here," he called.
As the men took their places around the fire, Artemis shuffled up behind, grinning broadly and looking closer to thirteen than his eighteen years of age. "You want me here too, don't you, Billy?"
Tubbs's gaze flickered up to the young man. "Sit down and be quiet."
Over his brother's scowl, Artemis beamed, and said, "Don't mind if I do," and then flopped down between Cletus and Tate.
"I have some disturbing news that needs discussing," Tubbs began.
Billy called a halt to the announcement. "If it's that all-fired important, maybe we ought to call Shorty in on this. Them horses will be all right if we leave them on their own for an hour or so."
In that quiet, nonthreatening, but somehow dangerous way of his, Tubbs slowly lifted his gaze to Billy. "Apparently you've never laid eyes on any of the mountain cats that roam this mesa, or seen one drag down a full-grown bull elk. I don't know about you, mister, but I'm pretty fond of the horse I've got. I don't have a hankering to train another."
That was something else Billy hated—being contradicted or humiliated in front of his men. To cover, he said, "What I meant was that I figured we'd swap Artemis for Shorty—almost the same thing as leaving them on their own, wouldn't you say?"
Tubbs shrugged. "We can just as well talk to Shorty later as Artemis."
Billy tossed down a long drink of whiskey. Then he checked the biscuits and pulled the skillet from the fire. "Well, get on with it, then. Supper's cooked."
Tubbs held his cup of whiskey between both hands, staring at it a long moment before he said, "While I was in Mancos getting supplies, I took it upon myself to send a wire to a friend of mine in Santa Fe. I didn't much care for his answer."
"You gave our position away to someone in Santa Fe?" Billy slammed his empty tin cup into the fire pit. "Hell, even the dummy knows better than that."
Tubbs shot him a murderous look. "I said I wired a friend. I asked him had he heard anything about some trouble up Durango way." His gaze returned to the cup of whiskey.
Billy waited for the rest, and then waited some more. Finally, exasperated, he said, "And... ?"
"He had."
"Well, news travels fast. So what?"
"Not what," said Tubbs. "Who."
The hairs on Billy's neck felt stiffer than ever, strong enough to hold his collar at bay. In his agitation, he turned to Artemis. "Get my cup out of that fire pit, boy. See if you can't be of some use."
Artemis kept his fascinated gaze on his hero as he blindly reached into the pit and removed his brother's cup. Barely aware he'd burned the tips of two fingers, he tossed it next to Billy's thigh, and then settled back to hear the rest of Tubbs's story.
After pouring himself
"Fill me a cup, would you, Billy?" he said, handing the bottle to his leader. "It's been a long day. In fact, fill one for everyone. I picked up a piece of bad news."
William Doolittle didn't take orders from anyone, but something about this desperado always set his hairs on end and gave him pause. Tubbs had ridden with the gang for just three months now, and had participated in only one job, some three weeks ago: relieving the Texas Exchange in Durango of the meager contents of its safe.
It wasn't as if the man didn't have his strong points. He did his work quickly, quietly, and well. He wasn't squeamish about using his guns, or turning them on lawmen, boys, and if the occasion warranted it, women. And, as an extra plus, the man knew how to listen, rarely shooting off his mouth unless he had something really important to say.
Other than the annoying habit Tubbs had of staring at the ugly craters left behind on Billy's face from a vicious case of chicken pox, Billy really couldn't point a finger at anything the man did that was out of line. But Tubbs gave him the creeps anyway.
Anxious to hear what he had to say, Billy poured the whiskey into two tin cups, leaving the bottle to the others to fend for themselves. "Tate, Cletus. Get on over here," he called.
As the men took their places around the fire, Artemis shuffled up behind, grinning broadly and looking closer to thirteen than his eighteen years of age. "You want me here too, don't you, Billy?"
Tubbs's gaze flickered up to the young man. "Sit down and be quiet."
Over his brother's scowl, Artemis beamed, and said, "Don't mind if I do," and then flopped down between Cletus and Tate.
"I have some disturbing news that needs discussing," Tubbs began.
Billy called a halt to the announcement. "If it's that all-fired important, maybe we ought to call Shorty in on this. Them horses will be all right if we leave them on their own for an hour or so."
In that quiet, nonthreatening, but somehow dangerous way of his, Tubbs slowly lifted his gaze to Billy. "Apparently you've never laid eyes on any of the mountain cats that roam this mesa, or seen one drag down a full-grown bull elk. I don't know about you, mister, but I'm pretty fond of the horse I've got. I don't have a hankering to train another."
That was something else Billy hated—being contradicted or humiliated in front of his men. To cover, he said, "What I meant was that I figured we'd swap Artemis for Shorty—almost the same thing as leaving them on their own, wouldn't you say?"
Tubbs shrugged. "We can just as well talk to Shorty later as Artemis."
Billy tossed down a long drink of whiskey. Then he checked the biscuits and pulled the skillet from the fire. "Well, get on with it, then. Supper's cooked."
Tubbs held his cup of whiskey between both hands, staring at it a long moment before he said, "While I was in Mancos getting supplies, I took it upon myself to send a wire to a friend of mine in Santa Fe. I didn't much care for his answer."
"You gave our position away to someone in Santa Fe?" Billy slammed his empty tin cup into the fire pit. "Hell, even the dummy knows better than that."
Tubbs shot him a murderous look. "I said I wired a friend. I asked him had he heard anything about some trouble up Durango way." His gaze returned to the cup of whiskey.
Billy waited for the rest, and then waited some more. Finally, exasperated, he said, "And... ?"
"He had."
"Well, news travels fast. So what?"
"Not what," said Tubbs. "Who."
The hairs on Billy's neck felt stiffer than ever, strong enough to hold his collar at bay. In his agitation, he turned to Artemis. "Get my cup out of that fire pit, boy. See if you can't be of some use."
Artemis kept his fascinated gaze on his hero as he blindly reached into the pit and removed his brother's cup. Barely aware he'd burned the tips of two fingers, he tossed it next to Billy's thigh, and then settled back to hear the rest of Tubbs's story.
After pouring himself
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