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"Not bad," Yuma Leslie murmured, and his own right hand swept down to the tilted handle on his thigh. Two shots ripped out and blended like one, and Buddy Bowie set his teeth when he saw another whipping body tilt down over the blank.
"Usually, you will find two where you see one rattler," Leslie murmured.
Alamo Bowie was watching closely with eyes narrowed to slits. He saw the second snake stop suddenly and strike with its headless body. Saw the supple wrist swivel when Yuma Leslie seated the smoking gun back in holster leather without looking down. While Mary Jane caught her breath and stepped close to her brother with a pleading look in her wide blue eyes.
Buddy Bowie jerked under her touch like a small body determined to have the last word. Then he checked himself abruptly and stared at the smiling face of Leslie.
"I hated buzzards, and I don't like snakes," and his eyes were frosty with challenge.
"That's what Mary Jane was telling me," the slender cowboy answered with a smile. "You've had a good teacher, cowboy."
Buddy Bowie shrugged. "That goes for you, too," he answered quietly. "Like as not, I'd know him by his handle if you was to mention his name."
Yuma Leslie shrugged carelessly. "I watched them all," he answered lightly. "Wyatt Earp, the Clantons, and Buckskin Frank. Just picked up my own style as I went along."
Alamo Bowie leaned forward to listen. None of the three named had a style like this yearling stranger. Grey eyes studied the tilted handle with head shaking negatively.
"There was one gent packed his cutter something like the way you wear yores," he said slowly. "But he's been dead nearly ten years."
Yuma Leslie turned swiftly. "This muerte hombre?' he rapped sharply, and waited for the answer.
"Three-Finger Jack," and the voice of Alamo Bowie was flinty. "But there is only one man alive who pitched'em the way you do when yore iron clears leather!"
Yuma Leslie tried to smile while he studied the hard face. He knew he was under scrutiny, and he glanced from Buddy Bowie to the high-breasted girl at his left.
"I'd admire to know," he murmured softly. "You mind telling a man about this other buscadero?'
Alamo Bowie stared for a long moment. "Long-coupled jigger who writes poetry every times he sticks up a stage or does him a killing." he answered plainly. "On the Wanted Posters they label him 'Black Bart'. He throws down like you do!"
Yuma Leslie shrugged lightly with a little smile in his dark eyes. "I've heard of him," he admitted. "Fast as chain lighting, and he did a lot of time in prison over on the coast. The law caught up with him back about ten years like you said."
Buddy Bowie turned slowly and stared at Alamo. the gaunt grey gun-fighter was watching the face of Yuma Leslie intently. With head craned forward and eyes glittering with suppressed excitement. While his right hand reached up and rubbed the withered muscles of the left arm hanging at his side.
"Black Bart made a get-way," Alamo Bowie stated quietly. "He'd be forty-odd now." Fairly rapid with his tools, but like as not he's all stove up by now!"
His face showed disappointment for a brief stranger when the dark stranger agreed with him. "Like as not," Yuma Leslie murmured. "A gent can't stay young all his life."
"You wouldn't know," Bowie grunted sharply. "You have never been anything but young!"
"That's right," the dark cowboy agreed quickly. "Agent ain't young but once. You mind if I ride over to the B Bar G to see Mary Jane once in a while?"
Alamo Bowie loosed his muscles then and stood at ease. He glanced at the flushed face of his adopted daughter. Mary Jane was tall for a girl, with a rounded full-breasted figure. Strong arms and shoulders from roping and riding, and now her blue eyes darted to Alamo's face and tried to read his thoughts.
"Mary Jane is her own man," Bowie said softly, but the change in his deep voice of his affection for the pretty girl. "Reckon you will have to ask her, Leslie."
"Might be better for you to wait until folks know you better," Buddy cut in gruffly. "Being my only sister, I kinda ride herd on Mary Jane!"
"Buddy," the girl pleased softly. "Please!"
"He's right," Yuma Leslie interrupted. "I'd feel the same way about it myself. No hard feeling, cowboy."
He stepped up and offered his hand with a friendly smile. Buddy Bowie caught his breath ad stared at the strong slender fingers. The he reached out and gripped...with his left hand.
"I'd kill a man who hurt Mary Jane," he muttered thickly.
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