are you gonna let your boss do his own killing?”
Sam looked around and saw Burkett’s men exchanging glances.
“Come on, Burkett,” Sam said, “if you do it yourself at least you can claim self-defense.”
“Good try, McCall,” Burkett said, “but if you gun me you’re as guilty of murder as you say Coffin is for killing your brother.”
Sam frowned. Damn the man, but he was right.
“Well, go ahead then, Burkett,” Sam said. “Give your men the order to murder me.”
Burkett looked around at his own men and saw the dubious look on some of their faces.
“Go ahead, Mr. Burkett,” Chuck Conners said, “some of us will back you.”
“Of course,” Sam said, “my First bullet will go right through your heart, Burkett”
Burkett suddenly froze, as if he realized that Sam McCall could draw and fire and kill him before he could even move. What good was having Sam McCall dead if he couldn’t see it?
“Call it, Burkett.”
Sam saw the look of fear on Serena’s face. When the lead started flying he hoped she was smart enough to duck beneath the buckboard.
“Wait,” Burkett said. “I have a better idea.”
“I’m listening.”
“One of my men against you.”
“What stakes?”
“Everything,” Burkett said. “I’ll withdraw my men from town.”
“And Coffin?”
“He’ll be yours.”
“And the killing of your son?”
Burkett made a face and said, “You lost a brother, I lost a son. Maybe well can stop it there.”
Sam didn’t believe him, but for the moment it was the best offer he had.
“All right,” Sam said. “Pick your man.”
Burkett spoke without hesitation.
“I pick Coffin.”
Sam was about to refuse, saying that Coffin was a prisoner. “I’ll agree, on one condition,” Sam said.
“What?”
“Let her go now”
Burkett looked at Serena for a moment, and then he spoke to Chuck Conners.
“Let her go.”
“Make him bring Coffin out first, boss.”
“No need for that, Conners,” Burkett said. “Mr. McCall is a man of his word—aren’t you, Sam?”
“Jubal?” Sam called.
“Yes, Sam?”
“When Serena is safely away, bring Coffin out.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Sam knew Jubal would have liked to argue the point, but there wasn’t time.
“All right, Sam.”
“Don’t give him his gun yet.”
“Right.”
Sam looked at Burkett expectantly.
“Go ahead, little lady,” Burkett said, “go back to your father.”
Serena threw one last glance at Sam, and then ran from the street. She didn’t go far, though. Her father had recovered and had come down the street to see what was happening. She ran into his arms, and they both stood there to watch. Dude Miller had one hand around her shoulder. In his other hand, down by his leg, he held a rifle.
The door to the jail opened and Coffin stepped out, followed by Jubal, who had his gun in his hand and Coffin’s gunbelt over his shoulder.
“Stop,” Jubal said, and Coffin stopped.
Sam turned so he was half facing Burkett and Coffin. Some of the townspeople had gotten brave and had come out onto the boardwalks to see what they had been waiting all week to see. Burkett’s men, seeing all the witnesses, began lowering their rifles.
“Give him his gun,” Sam told Jubal.
“But Sam—”
“Do it, Jube.”
Jubal, shaking his head, took Coffin’s gunbelt from his shoulder and handed it to the man. Coffin grabbed it and buckled it on, then faced Sam.
“This is a big mistake on your part, McCall.”
“This is what you’ve wanted all along, Coffin, so let’s just do it.”
Coffin stepped down into the street and said, “You can’t fool me, Sam. You’ve been wanting this, too. You want to see which of us is better just as much as I do.”
Sam didn’t answer. He watched Coffin carefully as he walked out into the middle of the street.
Jubal, relieved of the responsibility of watching Coffin, chose now to watch Lincoln Burkett and his foreman closely. If and when Sam killed Coffin, Jubal didn’t think Burkett was going to accept it.
Burkett, watching as the two men squared off, said to Conners in a low voice, “If McCall kills him, I want him dead.”
“Right, boss.”
Conners turned and indicated to his men that they were to watch him. He had kept the men he could be sure of—Priest, Granger, and some of the others who had chased McCall that day—on the ground with him.
Except for Jubal, who was watching Burkett and Conners, all eyes were on the two men in the street.
“Who calls the play?” Coffin asked.
“Never mind that,” Sam said. “You just move when you’re ready.”
They were close enough that Sam could watch Coffin’s eyes. If they’d been further apart he would have kept his eyes on his right shoulder, waiting for it to dip.
The eyes, though, would narrow even before the shoulder clipped.
Even though Coffin’s eyes did narrow before he moved, Sam was surprised at how fast he was. Coffin had possibly the fastest move he’d ever seen, and even as he drew and fired his own gun he couldn’t help but admire it.
Sam’s bullet struck Coffin high in the chest. Coffin—sfinger spasmed, jerking the trigger of his own gun, firing a round into the ground by his foot. For a moment time stopped for Coffin and he stared at Sam, admitting to himself the fact that the man had not only outdrawn him, but had done it by a wide margin. Even though he had seen Sam McCall’s move twice before, he was shocked.
“Shit,” he said, and died before he hit the ground.
Jubal raise his rifle and shot Chuck Conners as he was drawing his gun.
“Fire!” Lincoln Burkett shouted…
It’s easy to get thirty men to agree to fight rather than lose their jobs. It’s easy to get them to fire their rifles at a building, at a jail with two men inside it. It’s harder, however, to get thirty men to fire their guns at another man. Killing a man isn’t an easy thing to do, and men who make their living punching cattle or breaking broncs can’t moved so easily into killing.
When Burkett shouted “Fire!” thirty men heard him, but only about eight actually drew and began to fire. The others lowered their rifles and watched.…
The minute Burkett shouted, Dude Miller pushed Serena into a doorway and raised his rifle. He fired at the nearest man with a gun in his hand.
Ed Collins came out of his gunsmith shop with a rifle in his hands and ran toward the action. If there was ever a time for this town to get out from under Lincoln Burkett’s thumb, this was it.
Swede Hanson had known since the day the McCalls arrived that it would come to this, lead flying in the
