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only four of you.”
    Preacher drawled, “Yeah, the odds weren’t hardly fair . . . for them.”
    â€œJensen, Jensen . . .” Lopez mused. “There’s a gunfighter up Colorado way named Smoke Jensen. . . .”
    â€œThat would be me,” Smoke said. “I’m just a rancher now. My gunfighting days are behind me.”
    Preacher let out a scornful grunt that showed how little credence he put in what Smoke had just said.
    Luke went on. “Marshal, I’m sure you have wanted posters on all of these men in your office. If you’d like to come along with us to the undertaker’s, you can take a look at them and identify them. That way you can confirm my claim when I put in for the rewards on all of them.”
    â€œYou’re a bounty hunter,” Lopez said disdainfully. Evidently, like most star packers he considered bounty hunters little better than outlaws themselves.
    â€œI’ve never denied it,” Luke said. “Now, would you like to come with us or not? These bodies need tending to.”
    They were fortunate that even though the rain had stopped, the day was overcast and still on the chilly side, but there was only so much cool weather would help with the inevitable processes of nature.
    â€œYeah, go ahead,” Lopez said. “I’ll be down at Claude’s place in a few minutes.”
    Luke nodded and heeled his horse into motion again. He was leading three horses, and his companions had two each. They rode slowly along the street until they reached the undertaking parlor, where they found a pudgy, round-faced man in a dark suit waiting for them.
    â€œI heard that customers were on the way,” the man explained with a smile. “Take them on around to the back, gentlemen. My helpers are waiting to unload them.”
    By the time Lopez arrived a few minutes later, the canvas-shrouded corpses were all laid out on boards in the yard behind the undertaking parlor. The marshal had a sheaf of badly printed reward dodgers in his hand. Clearly, he had gone back to his office and found all the paper he had on the Shawcross gang.
    Luke, Smoke, Matt, and Preacher waited off to one side while the marshal checked each body, comparing them to the wanted posters.
    When he straightened from that grim task, he turned to Luke and nodded. “All right, Jensen, I’ll confirm that these men are who you say they are. You want me to wire the capital and see about getting your money?”
    â€œThat would be very helpful, Marshal,” Luke said. “I’m much obliged to you.”
    Lopez looked at the other three. “Are you bounty hunters, too?”
    â€œNope, just giving Luke a hand,” Smoke replied.
    â€œI still don’t see how the four of you managed to gun down nine hardcases like this.”
    â€œWe’re good at what we do,” Preacher said.

Chapter 6
    In a cantina on the edge of town, Petey Tomlin had been sitting and staring gloomily into a glass of tequila when he heard a commotion outside. He was in such a blue mood that it took several moments for the sounds to penetrate his sullen reverie.
    He had ridden in the rain from Espantosa to Taos the previous evening, arriving even more soaked than he had been. Two emotions had warred within him the entire way—fear that the Jensens would change their minds and come after him and self-loathing because he had turned yellow and run away when the shooting started, then descended even further into craven cowardice by surrendering when he could have gone down fighting like his partners in the gang.
    The booze he’d consumed since stumbling into the cantina the night before hadn’t helped his mental state. Eventually, he had passed out and slumped over the table. The proprietor had allowed him to stay right where he was until he woke up and started drinking again.
    Whatever was going on outside had drawn several men to the entrance, where they opened the door and