From his prone position on the ground, Smoke fired at the new gunman and hit him in the kneecap. The gunman let out a howl and went down, but he still had his gun and he was still shooting.
Smoke threw another shot toward the gunman, but as his attacker was lying in the street now, he made a more difficult target.
“Boomer! Boomer! Are you still alive?” the gunman lying in the street shouted.
There was no answer.
Not knowing if there was anyone else after him, Smoke got up and ran three buildings down the street, bending low and firing as he went. He dived behind the porch of the barbershop, then rose to look back toward his attacker.
His attacker had also managed to get out of the street, and now he fired at Smoke. The bullet sent splinters of wood into Smoke’s face, and Smoke put his hand up, then pulled it away, peppered with his own blood.
“Listen to me!” the gunman shouted. “This here fella is a murderin’ bastard! He kilt mine and Boomer’s brother for no reason at all! I’ll give a hunnert dollars to anyone who helps me kill the son of a bitch!”
“That’s your battle, Clint, not our’n,” someone shouted back. “Do your own killin'!”
Smoke stared across the street, trying to find an opening for a shot, but Clint had managed to crawl behind the porch of Miller’s Feed and Seed Store. Smoke saw him get behind the porch, but there was no good shot for him. But that was a double-edged sword. He had no shot at Clint, which mean Clint had no shot at him, unless he showed himself. Smoke calculated the place along the length of the porch where he knew Clint would have to show himself. He took slow and deliberate aim, cocked his pistol, and waited.
Just as he expected, Clint’s head appeared above the edge of the porch. As soon as it did, Smoke squeezed the trigger. His pistol roared and a cloud of black powder smoke billowed up, then floated away. When the cloud cleared, Smoke saw Clint lying on his back, dead in the dirt.
Smoke heard someone running toward him then, and he swung around ready, if need be, to take on someone else. When he saw that it was Bobby Lee, he smiled in relief, then stood up. Bobby Lee joined him and the two men, with pistols drawn, moved to the middle of the street, looking around for any others who might be gunning for them. They saw several people looking at them from the positions of safety they had taken, but not one soul presented an additional threat.
“Damn, brother-in-law, I can see right now that traveling with you is going to be just real excit-in',” Bobby Lee said.
* * *
It was early afternoon and quiet in the Gold Strike Saloon. Nate Nabors was sitting at the piano playing the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven, Paul was behind the bar polishing glasses, Doc Baker and Byron Hughes were engaged in their eternal game of chess, sitting near the piano enjoying the music, and Minnie was reading the newspaper.
“Where is she?” a loud voice called, disturbing the quiet afternoon and bringing Minnie out of her reverie.
Looking up from the paper toward the batwing doors, Minnie saw Sheriff Wallace standing there.
“Ah, there you are,” Wallace said, looking directly at Minnie.
“Shh, Sheriff,” Doc Baker said. “Enjoy the music.”
“I don’t want to enjoy the music,” Wallace said gruffly.
“Well, maybe some of the rest of us do,” Byron Hughes said.
“What are you doing here?” Doc Baker asked. “Why aren’t you out looking for your escaped prisoner?”
“I am looking for him.” Sheriff Wallace pointed to Minnie. “And you are going to help me find him.”
“Me? How am I going to help?” Minnie asked.
“I want to talk to you.”
“All right, Sheriff, have a seat,” Minnie invited. “You won’t even have to buy me a drink,” she added with a smile.
“No, not here. Down at the jail.”
“What?” Minnie gasped.
The music fell off with a couple of resonant chords and Nabors turned on the bench to look at Wallace. “What’s going on here, Sheriff?” he asked. “Are you arresting Minnie?”
“Not now,” Sheriff Wallace said. “But if she won’t come down willingly, I’ll arrest her.”
“On what charge?” Nabors asked.
“For interfering with an investigation,” Wallace replied. “And if any of you give me any more of your lip, I’ll arrest you too.”
“Now, by damn, you just hold on there, Sheriff,” Doc Baker said. “You can’t just—”
“Never mind, I’ll come,” Minnie said.
“I thought you might.” Wallace made a motion toward the front door. “Let’s go.”
With a wan look toward her friends, Minnie followed the sheriff out of the saloon.
When they reached the jailhouse, Minnie noticed that the door was open between the front of the building and the cell area. Glancing through the door, she saw a bricklayer hard at work, repairing the hole.
“Have a seat, Miss—Smith, is it?” Sheriff Wallace began.
“Yes.”
