Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [34]
“Look who’s here, fellas,” Doc said.
The men turned. A tall man with a commanding physique swaggered toward them. His overalls were in worse shape than Luke’s, if that were possible, and his boots had seen some hard living. The 1895 Winchester .30-40 Krag he carried was the exact model Luke and the milliner used. In the hands of a competent shooter, it would stand up to any of the expensive, single-shot target rifles the other men carried.
“Arnold Necker, where you been?”
“Necker, you devil, you haven’t been to church in a month of Sundays.”
“Finally, I’m gonna get some competition.” This from the judge.
Necker smiled, giving a fancy bow. “Somebody’s gotta work around here. Cain’t be leaving the farm ever’ week just to hear the preacher tell me ’bout something I done already read three times over.”
The men laughed, put a beer in his hand, and walked him to the front of the line.
Stopping along the way, he looked at Luke. “Who’re you?”
“Luke Palmer, the new troubleman.”
Necker nodded, recognition touching his eyes. “I seen you stringing wire out near my place the other day. I nearly shot you fer a monkey.” He turned to the judge. “You oughta see this feller climb a pole. He’s up that thing quicker’n a flea hopping outta danger.”
In the two weeks Luke had been stringing line, his pole-climbing skills had improved a hundredfold. So if Necker had seen him at ease with the task, the man farmed north of town. It also meant he hadn’t shown himself when he’d observed Luke. A bit peculiar for such an amiable fellow.
“You know how to use that Krag?” Necker asked him.
Luke lifted his hat, then resettled it on his head. “I’m not the marksman some of these fellows are, but I get by.”
Necker handed him his beer. “Well, let me show you how it’s done, then.”
Luke held the bottle while Necker stepped to the front. Had Teddy Roosevelt joined the group, the men couldn’t have been more energized. Smiles were exchanged, elbows were nudged, and eyes were alight.
Necker didn’t lie down, nor even sit, but braced his legs like a sea captain and took the Winchester to his shoulder. He cocked the hammer, squeezed one eye shut, aligned the sights, and pulled the trigger.
Dinnnng. Click-click.
Dinnnng. Click-click.
Dinnnng. Click-click.
Dinnnng. Click-click.
Dinnnng.
The men roared, surrounding Necker, pounding his 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