back, exclaiming over both the speed with which he shot, and the target still swinging like a pendulum gone berserk.
Necker laughed and took his due, then returned to Luke for his beer.
“That’s some of the best shooting I’ve ever seen,” Luke said, handing him the bottle.
Necker took a swig. “There are plenty better than me.”
“Who?”
A slight smile tugged at the man’s mouth. “Well, them papers say Lucious Landrum is ranked as the best all-round rapid-fire marksman in the state.”
The men guffawed. Luke tensed. Did they know? Had he somehow slipped up? But the members were completely focused on Necker.
“Cain’t believe everything you read, now, boy.”
“Goes to show you how much them papers know.”
“That’s only ’cause they hadn’t seen you shoot.”
Necker chuckled. “You know who I’m talkin’ about?” he asked Luke.
“I’ve heard of him. He’s one of them Texas Rangers.”
“That’s right.”
The sheriff slung his arm across Necker’s shoulders. “If Landrum is so all-fired great, why is it Comer slips through his net every time?”
“Well, Sheriff, I cain’t rightly say.”
“I can.” Joe Lee, the local lawyer, rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. “Landrum may be a fast draw, but he couldn’t track an elephant in ten feet of snow.”
“Now, boys. You’re being awfully hard on poor old Landrum.” Doc shook his head. “Not a one of us has ever met him. Ever even seen him shoot. ’Sides, you’re forgetting Comer’s a man who’s all heart above the waist and all guts below. He’d rattle any lawman’s think box.”
Ottfried rolled his eyes. “Landrum has nothing but hair under his hat and I, for one, don’t fancy talking about him all day. Whose turn is it?”
Luke had made a career of keeping calm in the face of his enemy, but this was different. The men weren’t trying to get his goat. They honestly believed Landrum— him —to be a buffoon and Comer to be a saint. Even the doc.
He tried to convince himself it was nothing personal, but no matter which way he looked at it, it was personal. Very personal.
The men reordered themselves and continued shooting. The longer the beer flowed, the more vocal the gallery became. Necker offered pointers, encouragement, and ribald jokes. When it was Luke’s turn, the farmer smiled and indicated the ground in front of him with the sweep of his hand. “Let’s see what you got, Palmer.”
Never had Luke wanted so badly to shoot standing up. But if Necker wasn’t one of Comer’s gang, then he’d be mighty surprised. The opportunity to curry favor with the man was much more important than soothing his own pride.
He stretched out on the ground, braced himself and his gun, then aimed a bit right.
“A little to the left,” Necker offered.
Luke moved the rifle left.
“That’s it, give her a shot.”
He pulled the trigger, slightly lifting his muzzle at the last second. The cartridge whizzed above the target.
“Ooooh, almost.”
“Just missed her, Palmer.”
“A little too high.”
“Keep her steady to the end.”
Luke cocked his action lever, pulled the hammer back, looked down the sights again, shot, and winged the northeast corner of the target.
“That’s it.”
“Better, better.”
“You’re still up and to the right.”
On his final shot, he aimed high and right once more, then pulled to bull’s-eye at the last second, hammering the steel plate dead center.
The men hollered their approval, grabbing him by the back of his overalls and hoisting him to his feet with congratulatory words and rounds of pounding. Necker gave him a nod, but Luke knew the man thought it dumb luck.
Luke shook his head. “I’m a birdman myself and more comfortable with my shotgun.”
Necker rocked on his heels. “Well, Brenham is hosting the Texas State Tournament at the end of the month. A bunch of us’ll be practicing trap next week. Would ya like ta join us?”
“Oh, I’m not good
Necker laughed and took his due, then returned to Luke for his beer.
“That’s some of the best shooting I’ve ever seen,” Luke said, handing him the bottle.
Necker took a swig. “There are plenty better than me.”
“Who?”
A slight smile tugged at the man’s mouth. “Well, them papers say Lucious Landrum is ranked as the best all-round rapid-fire marksman in the state.”
The men guffawed. Luke tensed. Did they know? Had he somehow slipped up? But the members were completely focused on Necker.
“Cain’t believe everything you read, now, boy.”
“Goes to show you how much them papers know.”
“That’s only ’cause they hadn’t seen you shoot.”
Necker chuckled. “You know who I’m talkin’ about?” he asked Luke.
“I’ve heard of him. He’s one of them Texas Rangers.”
“That’s right.”
The sheriff slung his arm across Necker’s shoulders. “If Landrum is so all-fired great, why is it Comer slips through his net every time?”
“Well, Sheriff, I cain’t rightly say.”
“I can.” Joe Lee, the local lawyer, rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. “Landrum may be a fast draw, but he couldn’t track an elephant in ten feet of snow.”
“Now, boys. You’re being awfully hard on poor old Landrum.” Doc shook his head. “Not a one of us has ever met him. Ever even seen him shoot. ’Sides, you’re forgetting Comer’s a man who’s all heart above the waist and all guts below. He’d rattle any lawman’s think box.”
Ottfried rolled his eyes. “Landrum has nothing but hair under his hat and I, for one, don’t fancy talking about him all day. Whose turn is it?”
Luke had made a career of keeping calm in the face of his enemy, but this was different. The men weren’t trying to get his goat. They honestly believed Landrum— him —to be a buffoon and Comer to be a saint. Even the doc.
He tried to convince himself it was nothing personal, but no matter which way he looked at it, it was personal. Very personal.
The men reordered themselves and continued shooting. The longer the beer flowed, the more vocal the gallery became. Necker offered pointers, encouragement, and ribald jokes. When it was Luke’s turn, the farmer smiled and indicated the ground in front of him with the sweep of his hand. “Let’s see what you got, Palmer.”
Never had Luke wanted so badly to shoot standing up. But if Necker wasn’t one of Comer’s gang, then he’d be mighty surprised. The opportunity to curry favor with the man was much more important than soothing his own pride.
He stretched out on the ground, braced himself and his gun, then aimed a bit right.
“A little to the left,” Necker offered.
Luke moved the rifle left.
“That’s it, give her a shot.”
He pulled the trigger, slightly lifting his muzzle at the last second. The cartridge whizzed above the target.
“Ooooh, almost.”
“Just missed her, Palmer.”
“A little too high.”
“Keep her steady to the end.”
Luke cocked his action lever, pulled the hammer back, looked down the sights again, shot, and winged the northeast corner of the target.
“That’s it.”
“Better, better.”
“You’re still up and to the right.”
On his final shot, he aimed high and right once more, then pulled to bull’s-eye at the last second, hammering the steel plate dead center.
The men hollered their approval, grabbing him by the back of his overalls and hoisting him to his feet with congratulatory words and rounds of pounding. Necker gave him a nod, but Luke knew the man thought it dumb luck.
Luke shook his head. “I’m a birdman myself and more comfortable with my shotgun.”
Necker rocked on his heels. “Well, Brenham is hosting the Texas State Tournament at the end of the month. A bunch of us’ll be practicing trap next week. Would ya like ta join us?”
“Oh, I’m not good
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