There were no medals for
courage where killers were kings!
NO HEROES HERE
They weren’t surprised to find Starr bird-naked in bed with Rosie’s new girl from New Orleans, but it was something of a surprise to confront the cocked .45 in his fist.
“Hey, take it easy, Reuben,” gasped big Horse Wilson, backing up a pace. “It’s us.”
‘Us’ comprised Wilson, Tio and Krogan, all dues-paid members of the Starr bunch that had made its rambunctious, freewheeling headquarters in the Territory’s sun-soaked San Romero over the past riotous two months. Yet dark-haired Reuben Starr glared at them like strangers over his six-shooter sights, while luscious Esmerelda tried to look embarrassed, and almost succeeded.
“Reuben,” she said in an engaging Creole accent, “may we not be alone?”
“That’s three of us with the same notion, honey,” Starr growled. “You, me and Sam Colt.” He shoved the weapon toward the intruders, black eyes flashing. “Vamoose!”