hurry!”
“Crazy farmer!” Monte yelled, running toward a saloon. He could see a crowd gathered on both sides of a man standing out in the street. He recognized the man as Colby, and with a sick feeling realized he was not going to be able to stop it. He just knew that Colby had started it, and if that was the case, he would not interfere. It was an unwritten rule in the West—and would be for about a decade to come—that a man broke his own horses and killed his own snakes. If one challenged another to a gunfight, and it was a fair fight, few lawmen would interfere.
The gunslick, Donnie, was standing on the boardwalk, laughing at the farmer. Colby was standing in the street, cursing the TF rider.
Monte stopped some distance away, halting both Johnny and the miner. “Who started it?”
“That farmer. He called Donnie out and started cussin’ him. Ain’t you gonna stop it, Sheriff?”
“There is nothin’ I can do, mister,” Monte told the man. “If Colby wants to back off, I’ll see that he gets that chance. But I can’t stop it. There ain’t no city or county law agin a one-on-one fight.”
“Colby’s gonna get killed,” the miner said.
“I reckon,” Monte agreed.
“What’s the matter, Pig-farmer?” Donnie taunted the older man. “You done lost your nerve?”
“No,” Colby said, his voice firm. “Anytime you’re ready, draw!”
Donnie and his friends laughed. “Hell, Nester,” Donnie said. “I ain’t gonna draw on you. You called me out, remember?”
“You raped my Velvet and killed my boy.”
“I didn’t rape nobody, Nester. Your daughter was sellin’ and we’uns bought. Cash money for merchandise. Your boy busted up in there and started throwin’ lead around. We fired back. And that’s the way it happened.”
“You’re a goddamned liar!” Colby shouted.
“Now that tears it, Nester,” Donnie said, his hands over the butts of his guns. “You make your play.” He grinned nastily. “Sorry ’bout Velvet, though. She shore liked it, the more the merrier.”
Colby went for his old Navy Colt .36. Grinning, Donnie let the man fumble and then with a smooth, practiced motion drew, cocked, and fired, the slug taking Colby in the right shoulder. The farmer spun around, dropping his Navy Colt onto the dirt of the street.
Colby reached for the gun with his left hand and Donnie fired again, the slug striking Colby in the stomach. The farmer was tossed to one side and Donnie’s Colt roared again, the slug raking Colby flush in the face, just above the nose and below the eye sockets. Colby’s face was shattered. He trembled once and was still.
“That’s it!” Monte shouted. “Holster your gun and ride out of town, Donnie. Right now. Git gone, boy, or face me. Make your choice.”
“Hey, I’m leavin’, Sheriff.” Donnie grinned, returning his Colt to leather. “I mean, you saw it—I didn’t start it.”
Louis Longmont had watched the whole sickening show from across the street. But, like the sheriff, he had made no attempt to stop it. Such was the code demanded of those who braved the frontier.
Longmont tossed his cigar into the street and walked back to his gaming tent. Then a truth made its way into the light of his mind: he was sick of the whole damned mess. Tired of late hours and tired of taking other people’s money—even if his games were honest—tired of sweat-stinking miners and cowboys, tired of the violence and dust and heat and intense cold. Tired of it all. Just plain tired of it.
The gambler realized then that this was to be his last boom town.
That thought made him immensely happy.
From his table in his gaming room, Louis watched the undertaker’s black hack rumble past.
He heard a voice saying, “This poor wretch have any family?”
He could not hear the reply.
Louis poured a tumbler of scotch and lifted the glass, silently toasting the dead Colby.
“Not much money in his pockets.” The undertaker’s voice came to Louis.
“Mike!” Louis called.
The bouncer stuck his big head around the corner “Yeah, Boss?”
“Go tell the undertaker to prepare Colby’s body and do it up nice—the best he can offer. I’m paying.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell Johnny North to come see me.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few minutes later, Johnny North stepped into the gaming tent. “You wanna see me, Louis?”
The two were not friends, but then neither were they enemies. Just two men who were very, very good with a gun and held a mutual respect for each other.
“You know where Colby’s spread is located, Johnny?”
“I can probably find it.”
“Someone needs to ride up there and tell his wife that she’s a widow.”
“You tellin’ me to do it, Louis?”
