“Lone Wolf!” Tuck exclaimed. “What are you doing down here? You must be feeling better.” Lone Wolf notice the strange Mexican riding with the Hardaways, then spoke to Tuck. “Yesterday Lone Wolf sleeping in barn hear horses put in corral. Much noise, laughter in cabin. Not know if they your friends. Then something breaking. Think, not friends. Come down here. Warn you.” “I have no idea who that could be. But there are some bad characters roaming around. Thanks, Lone Wolf.” Then he realized Mendez’ presence needed some explanation. “Oh, I am sorry, forgive me: Lone Wolf, meet Mendez. He is going to be working for us for a while. I will tell you about that later. Let’s find out who is taking our unoffered hospitality for themselves.” “Be careful. Man with gun on porch watching for you,” Lone Wolf warned. “Okay. That means we don’t show ourselves right off. How did you come down here?” Lone Wolf took the lead up through the forest the way he had come. Later near the cabin, they dismounted and tied off horses some distance away. Tuck drew his Colt and gave Lone Wolf his rifle. Mendez had his own. As he removed his binoculars from a saddlebag he asked Jenny to stay back with the horses and keep them from making any noise. The three moved quietly through the tree cover as close as they could, and Tuck scoped the cabin. A burley bearded gent sat in a chair leaning back against the cabin front wall by the door smoking a cigarette. A rifle leaned against the wall beside him. With his hat pulled down on his forward against the bright sun, little of his face showed. “Mendez, you slip up around the far side of the cabin. Careful that he doesn’t see you, try sneaking a look for me from over there. I’m going to walk out in the open toward him. When he reacts to me you step out with your rifle ready and get the drop on him. Lone Wolf, go to the back of the cabin. You have your bow and arrow and knife. So you can handle anyone trying to escape out back.” Tuck waited, watching the far corner of the cabin. In a couple of minutes he saw the slightest move of something that was undoubtedly Mendez. Then he began walking down out of the woods toward the cabin. When the Irishman saw Tuck approaching he came down out of his chair with the legs banging on the porch, grabbing for the rifle. Tuck wagged his Colt and put his other finger up to pursed lips, shaking his head. Mendez cleared his throat, pointing his rifle. Tuck motioned for the man to lay his rifle down, come down off the porch and walk out to him. The fellow had a thick neck and heavy shoulders; suspenders held up wrinkled old trousers. He hesitated, and Tuck walked toward him and pulled the hammer back, cocking the Colt. When they were close he said in a soft voice, “What’s your name?” “Patrick.” “Okay, Patrick, I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I have been known to kill when someone has tested me. Do you want to stay alive?” “Yeah, ‘course I do,” he rasped. “Keep your voice down. How many are in the cabin?” “There’s three of us. Two inside and me.” He had a little facial tic, his eyes giving him away. “Patrick, that’s one count against you. Lying. Lie to me again and my patience runs out. If something goes wrong or you warn your friends in the house, you’re the first one I’m going to shoot.” He looked down, breaking eye contact. “Look me in the eye, Patrick. Do you believe me?” The flushed face reluctantly looked up at the tall young rancher’s eyes burning into his. He swallowed hard, and said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I think you’d shoot me down at any excuse, you sod.” “Now you have spoken the truth. What is the first name of the leader of your group—and how many of you did you say there were?” His face was a hue of purplish red with rage. “There’s four of us Irish lads, and without guns on us we will rip yer guts out, believe me, as sure as there’s shamrocks in Ireland. I guess Billy would be our leader if we had one.” “Alright. I want you to call Billy out. Just tell him you found something he’s got to see.” He turned him around to face the cabin and stuck the Colt up into the back of his neck at the base of his skull and said, “Do it, no tricks, or you’re dead.” “Hey Billy,” he called out, “come out here and see what I’ve found.” A few seconds elapsed, then the door banged open and a rough looking lout stepped out, lop-sided hat crunched down on his head, suspenders also holding up worn black trousers. “Whadidya find, Patri… What the…?” as he saw, first Tuck, then noticed Mendez with his rifle at the corner of the house on his right. Tuck again raised his finger to his lips, trying to silence him, wagging his Colt for him to continue coming down off the porch. As Billy MacIntyre stepped away from the cabin, Danny Finnegan came charging out of the door behind him with a gun, and disregarding his friend being held at gunpoint by Tuck, fired away. His aim was as bad as his judgment, and Tuck put a hole in his right shoulder. The gun dropped away as he fell. But even as he fell, he yelled out, “Dennis, stay in there and shoot these tigers. One’s out here and one’s on the por . . .” and Tuck’s second shot cut him short, hitting him square in the middle of his chest. Patrick O’Connell had been in tougher spots than this. Tuck’s threat had not fazed him. It only stopped him long enough to wait for the right move. Wise as a rattlesnake that measures the moment to strike, when Tuck shot Danny Finnegan diverting his attention Patrick spun around low. His thick forearm and elbow jammed into Tuck’s kidney with such force that all the air went out of him. His huge other hand came up and twisted the gun from Tuck’s hand. As Tuck tried to grab Patrick by the hair, Patrick kicked Tuck’s feet out from under him. As he went down, Patrick smashed his big calloused fist into his face and grabbed Tuck’s Colt. The Colt swung up on Mendez. He yelled, “Mex, drop the rifle or your friend here is dead meat. DROP IT!”
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