Only 06 - Winter Fire

gas?” Reginald snarled at Ute.
    The tone of his voice said that he was on the losing end of the card game.
    Ute scooped a handful of silver coins from the table and dropped them in his pocket. Then he gave Reginald a gap-toothed smile and said in Spanish that his mother was a whore and his sister walked on all fours.
    The man to Reginald’s left smiled thinly, but neither Culpepper knew enough Spanish to realize the insult.
    â€œHey, you ain’t gonna take my money without giving me no chance to win it back!” Reginald said.
    â€œCome here at the new moon,” Ute said.
    â€œBut—”
    Whatever else Reginald wanted to say was cut off when Ute kicked over the table and shot to his feet with a speed surprising in a man his age.
    By the time the other players recovered, Ute was standing up, waiting for whatever came. A double-barreled shotgun was in his hands. Both hammers were eared back and ready to go. One of his thick, scarred fingers was across the triggers.
    â€œNew moon,” Ute said.
    Case was careful not to move. He also kept both hands in sight, a courtesy that didn’t pass unnoticed.
    Ute gave him a gap-toothed grin and backed out of the room before either Culpepper could stop him.
    â€œI’m gonna gut-shoot that son of a bitch,” Reginald said bitterly.
    â€œNot today you ain’t,” Quincy said. “Today we’re playing cards. Deal, Beaver.”
    The man called Beaver picked up the cards and dealt.
    The padre snored.
    Case sauntered over to the fire and gave the padre’s rump a brisk nudge with the toe of his boot.
    The padre kept right on snoring.
    â€œMan enjoys his own bug juice,” Case said to no one in particular.
    â€œI’m flat as a flea,” Reginald said. “Gimme the ante, Quincy.”
    â€œYou ain’t paid me from the last time.”
    â€œShee-it. I’m your brother!”
    â€œHalf-brother.”
    â€œShee- it .”
    Reginald turned his back on the table in disgust. He focused on the first thing that came into view.
    Case.
    â€œAin’t I seen you?” Reginald asked.
    â€œI’ve been here and there.”
    â€œWhere you been lately?” he demanded.
    Beaver cast a worried look over his cards. Asking a man where he was from was not only rude, it could be dangerous. Reginald might be too irritable to miss the stranger’s quiet self-confidence, but Beaver wasn’t.
    Instinctively Beaver began looking for a place to go when the lead started flying. He had no intention of helping Reginald out. As far as he was concerned, there were too many Culpeppers hanging around as it was. One more or less wouldn’t be missed.
    â€œThere,” Case said.
    â€œHuh?” Reginald asked.
    â€œYou asked me where I’ve been,” he said calmly. “I told you.”
    Reginald came to his feet in a rush. “There?” he repeated. “Shee-it, what kinda answer is that?”
    â€œThe only kind you’re going to get.”
    Quincy leaped to his feet.
    Beaver dove for what he hoped would be a quiet corner of the saloon.
    â€œYou’re outnumbered, boy,” Quincy said, “or can’t you count that high?”
    â€œI can count, but I don’t count fleas.”
    â€œAre you calling us fleas?” Reginald demanded.
    â€œNot me,” Case said. “I have no call to insult fleas.”
    With the speed of striking snakes, the Culpeppers went for their belt guns.
    Damn, those boys are fast!
    Even as the thought flashed through his mind, Case drew and fired in a relentless roll of thunder that didn’t stop until there were no more bullets in his six-gun. Without a wasted motion he swapped the empty cylinder for the full one in his pocket.
    When he walked forward, there was a hesitation in his gait that hadn’t been there before.
    â€œI ain’t part of this,” Beaver said from the corner.
    â€œKeep it that way.”
    â€œYessir.”
    The padre sat up, blinked, and looked around.
    â€œWhat’s that racket?” he said hoarsely.
    â€œGo back to sleep,” Case said.
    â€œSmells like gunfire,” the padre said. “Anyone kilt?”
    â€œFleas, that’s all. Just fleas.”
    â€œHell. Waste of good powder, shootin’ fleas. Just crunch ’em ’tween your thumbnails.”
    With that, the padre flopped back again. His second breath was a deep snore.
    Ignoring the blood running down his leg,