“Taken,” Louis told him.
“How much did she pay you, Utah?” Smoke asked the man.
“Several big ones, boy.” He grinned nastily. “She’s a whoor, you know.”
“So I heard.” Smoke knew the killer was trying to anger him, throw him off, make him lose his composure.
“Yeah, she is,” Utah said, still grinning. “I tole her, as part of the payment, I’d have to have me a taste of it.”
“Is that right?”
“Shore is. Right good, too.”
“I hope you enjoyed it.”
“I did for a fact.” This wasn’t working out the way Utah had planned it. “Why do you ask?”
Smoke drew, cocked, and fired twice. Once with his right-hand Colt, that slug taking Utah in the chest and staggering him backward. The second slug coming from his left-hand gun and striking the gunslick in the stomach, dropping the killer to his knees, his left arm looped around the center railing of the corral.
Smoke holstered his left-hand Colt and waited for Utah. The killer managed to drag his Colt out of leather and cock it. That seemed to take all his strength. He pulled the trigger. The slug tore up the dirt at his knees.
Utah dropped the Colt. He lifted his eyes to Smoke. Just as the darkness began to fade his world, he managed to gasp, “How come you axed me if I enjoyed it?”
“’Cause you damn sure ain’t gonna get no more, Utah.”
Utah died hanging onto the corral railing. He died with his eyes open, staring at emptiness.
Smoke holstered his pistol and walked away.
11
The undertaker’s hack rumbled past Louis Longmont’s tent just as the gambler and the gunfighter were pouring tumblers of scotch.
Louis lifted his glass. “May I pay you a compliment, Smoke Jensen?”
“I reckon so, Louis.”
“I have seen them all, Smoke. All the so-called great gunfighters. Clay Allison, John Wesley Hardin, Bill Longley, Jim Miller. I’ve drank with Wild Bill Hickok and Jim, Ed, and Bat Masterson. I’ve gambled with Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp. I’ve seen them all in action. But you are the fastest gun I have ever seen in my life.”
The men clinked glasses and drank of the Glenlivet.
“Thank you, Louis. But I’ll tell you a secret.”
Louis smiled. “I’ll bet you a double eagle I already know what it is.”
“No bets, Louis, for I imagine you do.”
“You wish you were not the faster gun.”
“You got that right.”
The men finished their drinks and stepped out onto the boardwalk. The photographer had set up his equipment at the corral and was taking his shots of Utah Slim. The duded-up dandies had gathered around, managing to get themselves in almost every shot the man took.
“Fools!” Smoke muttered.
“Look at them with their hands on the butts of their guns,” Louis pointed out. “They’ll be bragging about that picture for the rest of their lives.”
“However short they may be,” Smoke added.
“Yes.”
Ralph walked up, joining the gambler and the gunfighter. Louis smiled at him.
“I would offer you a drink, Mister Morrow, but I’m afraid I might offend you.”
“I’m not adverse to a cool beer, Mister Longmont.”
Louis was more than slightly taken aback. “Well, I’ll just be damned!” he blurted.
“Oh, I think not, sir,” Ralph replied. He met the man’s cool eyes. “How is your orphanage up in Boulder doing? Or that free hospital out in San Francisco?”
Louis smiled. “For a man of the cloth, you do get around, don’t you, Ralph?”
“But I wasn’t always a preacher, Mister Longmont,” he reminded the gambler.
“Tell me more,” Smoke said with a grin, looking at Louis.
“Don’t let the news of my…philanthropic urges get out,” the gambler said. “It might destroy my reputation.”
Smoke looked at him and blinked. “Hell, Louis! I don’t even know what that means!”
Laughing, the men entered the gaming tent for a cool one.
And the photographer’s flash pan popped again.
And Utah Slim still clung to the corral railing.
The town of Fontana had begun to die, slowly at first, and then more rapidly as the gold vein began to peter out. More businesses shut down,
