sp; “You’d be Mr. Spangenberg?” said Scott.

“No, sir. Mr. Spangenberg is out. I’m his assistant, Zeke Bailey. Is there something I can show you?”

“Oh, you’re the gunsmith, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was admiring these Walkers,” Scott said. “Always wanted to get me a couple.”

“I’m afraid those aren’t for sale, sir. They are only for display purposes.”

“I could make you a good offer.”

“No. I’m sorry, sir, they’re not for sale, as I said. They’re my personal property. They belonged to my father. I couldn’t possibly sell them. However, if you’re interested in percussion pistols. I could show you some very fine Colt Navys that we have, just like Wild Bill Hickok’s.”

“No. I don’t think so.” Scott said. He would have liked to have them, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t here shopping for his collection. “I think I need something a bit more practical.”

“Well, then, you can’t go wrong with one of these.” said Bailey, opening up a display case, teaching in and taking out a Colt Single Action Army. 45 with a seven-and-a-half-inch barrel, blued with a color case-hardened frame and walnut grips.

“I think I’d like a shorter barrel.” Scott said.

“Ah,” said Bailey, replacing the revolver in the case. “Something like this, perhaps?”

He took out a Colt with a four-and-three-quarter-inch barrel, blued and color case-hardened, with dark walnut grips. It was also a. 45.

Scott took it from him and examined it. He pulled back the hammer to half cock and slowly rotated the cylinder, holding the gun close to his ear and listening to the lockwork.

“I see you know your guns,” said Bailey. “You’re the Montana Kid, aren’t you? I’ve heard about you. Heard you shot three men in the Alhambra the very first day you came to town.”

“It was two men, in the Oriental.” Scott said,” and it was self-defense.”

“Oh, I have no doubt that it was,” Bailey said, hastily. “I merely wished to say that it’s a privilege to have a shootist such as yourself in our store. In fact, I think we could even arrange a discount. I’ll let you have that piece right there for twenty-five dollars and I’ll throw in two boxes of cartridges.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me.” said Scott.

“Hear you use the crossdraw.” Bailey said. “I have an unusual rig here that just might strike your fancy.”

He turned around and took down a peculiar looking holster rig from a coat tree that was festooned with them.

“Fella came in about six months ago and ordered it made up special. Heard about that holster vest John Wesley Hardin used to wear and wanted a two-gun shoulder rig made up. Man was a greenhorn. You could tell straight off, but his money was just as good as anybody else’s. When he picked it up, he put it on and stuck two brand-new Colts in it. Had them made up special too, ordered straight from the factory in Hanford. Had more money than sense, if you ask me. Right fancy lookin’ things. Think I got ’em here somewhere.”

He continued talking as he rummaged through one of the wood cabinets behind the counter_ Scott picked the rig up and examined it, then took off his coat to try it on.

“Anyway,” Bailey continued. Still looking through the cabinet, “he puts on that there rig, sticks his fancy Colts in it, and goes straight down to the Oriental_ God only knows what the damn fool had in mind. And who does he run into but Doc Holliday. Didn’t know who Doc was, though. Like I said, a real greenhorn. Anyways, Doc sees the guns beneath his open coat and asks him if he knows that there’s an ordinance against going armed in Tombstone. And the greenhorn opens up his coat to show off those fancy gun’ of his and says to Doc, so help me. ‘Mister, I’d feel plumb naked without my shootin’ irons.’ Well, Doc just stares at him with his mouth open for a second and then commences laughin’. Pretty soon, the whole damn place is laughin’ too and everybody’s repeatin’ what the greenhorn said. ‘Mister. I’d feel plumb naked without my shootin’ irons.’ The greenhorn gets real hot under the collar and says to Doc. ‘Mister, I don’t take too kindly to been’ sported with.’ Well, this only makes Doc start laughin’ even harder. He just about split his sides. Ah, here they are..

Bailey straightened up, holding a wood gun case in his hands. He set it down on the counter.

“So the greenhorn says to Doc, real mad now, ‘Mister, you stop that laughin’ right now or I’ll drill you so full of holes you’ll look like a fountain every time you take a drink.’ Well. as you might imagine, that only made things worse. Doc was laughin’ so hard, he had tears cumin’ from his eyes. He’s leanin’ up against the bar and slappin’ it with his hand and the whole place is in an uproar. So the greenhorn, God help him, goes to jerk his pistols. Only as he tries to cock and draw them both at the same time, the butts knock into each other and the guns go off, both of ’em. One bullet goes into the floor, the other one goes right into the greenhorn’s foot. He screams and falls down, grabbin’ his foot, and Doc falls down too. ’cause he’s laughin’ so hard he starts himself to coughin’. They had to get a couple of the boys to carry the greenhorn to Doc Warren’s to get his foot fixed up and as soon as he was able to get up and about, he took the next stage out of town. Don’t think he stopped till he got clear back to New York City. Sold me back the rig and fancy guns before he left. I paid maybe one-tenth what they were worth. Don’t know what you’d think of them. They’re right fine guns, but you might find them a bit gaudy..

He opened up the case and Scott almost gasped

The silk-lined case held a matched pair of Colt Single Action Army. 45s with four-and-three-quarter-inch barrels. They were silver-plated and profusely engraved, with scrollwork even on the barrels and the hammers. The grips were finely engraved pearl. They were the most beautiful guns Scott had ever seen. Not so much weapons as works of art.

“Good Lord.” he said.

“Yeah. like I said, they’re a bit gaudy.” Bailey said, “but I could make you a good deal on ’em. Figure seventy-five dollars, for the whole kit and kaboodle. Guns and holster rig. I’ll even throw in a couple boxes of cartridges.”

Seventy-five dollars! Scott held his breath. The holster rig would have some curious collector value, but the guns would be almost priceless. He could retire from the service a rich man from what he could get from a collector for just one of them.

Tags: Simon Hawke TimeWars Science Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net