The Six-Gun Solution (TimeWars 12)

Ike Canton stood at the bar in Hafford’s Saloon, hunched over a whiskey. In defiance of the town ordinance, there was a six-gun stuck in his belt, beneath his coat, and a Winchester. 44–40 rifle lying on the bar before him. The bartender kept glancing at the rifle nervously. Clanton was working up a real snootful and guns and whiskey didn’t mix.

“Want me to hold on to that gun for you. Ike?” the bartender asked.

Clanton slapped a beefy hand on top of it. “It’s stayin’ right here.” he replied, in a surly voice. “There’s men in this town lookin’ to murder me and if they come lookin’ for a fight, they’ll get one!”

He glanced around at the other patrons in the bar. “You all heard that!” he said, loudly.

“I don’t want any trouble in here, Ike.” the bartender said.

“Ain’t me that’s causin’ trouble.” Clanton replied. I was mindin’ my own business when that Doc Holliday invited me to jerk my pistol! I couldn’t defend myself because I wasn’t heeled, but that Virgil harp was right there with him and you think he arrested Holliday for makin’ a play against an unarmed man? No. sir! I tell you, they’re all in it together, those Earps and Holliday! They’ve been spreadin’ lies about me, tryin’ to frame me, and now they’re out to murder me, as well!”

He patted the rifle once again. “That’s stayin’ right there! Man’s got a right to protect himself! Gimme another whiskey!”

“Maybe you’d better go home and go to bed Ike “ said the barman. “You’ve already had quite a lot to drink-”

“I said, another whiskey!” Clanton shouted, slamming his hand down on the bar. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere! I ain’t goin’ to bed. I’m goin’ to stay right here in town and as soon as the Earps or Holliday show themselves out there on that street, the ball opens! They’re gonna have to fight!”

The bartender nervously poured him another shot of whiskey. Clanton tossed it back. He was tired of being caught in the middle of this whole thing. First Ringo and the others coming in and taking over, telling him and his boys what to do, then the Earps and Holliday, with their high and mighty ways, doing everything they could to run him off, acting like they were the lords of the most and trying to turn people against him. He was tired of it. Sick and tired. Things were working out just fine till those damn Earps showed up with Holliday.

He had complained bitterly to Johnny and the others, telling them what lies Wyatt Earp was spreading. A lot of the boys were even acting as if they believed it. And Wyatt was a liar. He’d promised that he would keep their deal secret and he’d lied about that. He probably never intended on paying that reward money, after all, Son of a bitch would probably have kept it for himself. Now he was left was nothing. There was no reward money, because Head and Leonard had to go and get themselves killed in Hachita, and Crane was dead as well. So the whole thing fell apart, only Wyatt had broken his promise and told about the deal and now some of the boys weren’t sure if Clanton wouldn’t also double-cross them for some reward money if he were to get the chance.

“Those damn Earps are always gettin’ in the way!” he’d said to Curly Bill, earlier that day. “And I’ve had about all I can take of Doc Holliday. as well!”

“Then maybe you ought to do something about it.” Curly Bill had said.

“Yeah, maybe I oughtta.”

“Maybe you should fight.”

“What. just me? Against the four of ’em?”

“Take Frank. Tom and Billy with you.” Curly Bill had said. “We’ll back you up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve had a bellyful of the Earps myself. I’ll get the boys together and we’ll ride on into town tomorrow. You call the Earps out for a fight. When they come out, we’ll all be waitin’ for ’em.”

“One more time.” said Ike now, pointing at his shot glass.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Ike?” asked the barman.

Clanton fixed him with a baleful glare. “You gonna give me another drink or not?”

The barman poured another whiskey. Ike drank it down. fortifying himself with liquid courage-Alone. he would have dreaded going up against the Earps and Holliday. Even if he had Frank, Tom and Billy along with him. But with Curly Bill and all the boys backing him up, he had nothing to worry about. The Earps and that bastard, Holliday, wouldn’t stand a chance.

11

Colonel Brian Cooper and two of his Temporal Ranger officers took a quick look around at Delaney’s room in the Aztec. The rooming house was located at the northwest end of town, on the corner of Third and Fremont. It was a very small room, with only one window looking out over Fremont Street from the second floor. There was a bed, a chair, a bureau, a washstand and basin, a small table and a mirror. That was about it as far as furnishings went. There was a small closet and a door leading out into the hallway. With four of them standing in the room, it felt cramped. Cooper’s two officers, Lieutenant Georgeson and Captain Tilley, did not look very pleased with the arrangements.

“This the best you could do?” asked Tilley, dubiously. He was tall and dark, with a trim, athletic build, he moved with the erect posture and controlled tension of the professional soldier, a man who seemed relaxed, yet prepared to react quickly to any threat on an instant’s notice.

“I’m afraid so.” Delaney replied.

Georgeson shook his head, he was a stark contrast to the swarthy Tilley. blond and fair complected, slightly shorter and slimmer, with a contemplative, vaguely studious air about him. He gave the impression of being careful and deliberate. “Keeping this place secure isn’t going to be easy,” he said. “And we’re looking at possible hostilities from Drakov. the Network and the S. 0. G.?”

“What we’ve got is what we’ve got,” said Cooper, curtly. “We’re going to have to make the best of it.” Colonel Cooper, commander of the elite Ranger Pathfinder division based in Galveston, was tall and trimly muscular, with sharp, angular features and curly, light brown hair. His high-cheekboned face was covered with coarse stubble and his eyes had an unsettlingly direct and intense gaze. He spoke in sharp, clipped tones and had the air of a man who assessed situations quickly and took firm charge.

All three men were dressed in period costumes. Tilley wore jeans and boots, a denim shirt, a bandana, a gray Stetson and a long trail duster. His dark hair hung down to his shoulders and he had a full beard. He would have looked perfectly at home on horseback, driving a herd of cattle or perhaps robbing a bank. Georgeson had on a pearl gray bowler hat, a black frock coat. dark trousers, jodhpur boots, a white shin and a gray silk vest. He was clean shaven, his blond hair slightly shaggy, and he looked like the sort of man who might be a professional gambler or a big city dandy. Cooper wore black trousers, high-heeled boots, a black frock coat and a white shirt with a black vest. His curly hair fell loosely to his shoulders from beneath his black Stetson, yet for all his western accoutrements, he looked more like the leader of a motorcycle gang than a cowboy. None of the three looked “regular Army.” In any other time but the 27th century, when the service had special need of men with their distinct talents, they would probably have been mercenaries or contract assassins.