A little mist of blood sprayed from Gentry’s earlobe, and he dropped the glass, then slapped his right hand to his ear.
“What the hell? Are you crazy?”
Pogue put his pistol back in his holster as quickly as he had drawn it.
“Draw,” Pogue said again.
“I ain’t a’ goin’ to draw ag’in you.”
Again, Pogue drew and fired. This time he clipped Gentry’s left ear. Gentry let out a cry of pain and slapped his hand to his left ear.
“Next time it will be a kneecap,” Pogue said.
With a yell of rage and fear, Gentry made an awkward stab for his pistol. With the macabre smile never leaving his face, Pogue waited until Gentry made his draw and even let him raise his gun.
For just an instant, Gentry thought he had won, and the scream of rage and fear turned to one of rage and triumph. He tried to thumb back the hammer of his pistol, but his hand was slick with his own blood, and the thumb slipped off the hammer. He didn’t get a second try because by then Pogue had drawn his own pistol and fired.
As the bullet plowed into Gentry’s chest, he got an expression of surprise on his face. Then his eyes rolled up and he fell, dead before he hit the floor.
“You killed him!” the bar girl Gentry and Pogue had been arguing over shouted.
“Hell, yes, I killed him,” Pogue replied. “He threatened me.”
“He threatened you? How did he threaten you?”
“He told me he was goin’ to break my neck.”
“That’s right,” one of the other men said. “I heard him say that very thing.”
“Is there anyone here who didn’t see him draw first?” Pogue asked.
“No, sir, you give him plenty of opportunity,” yet another saloon patron said. “You not only let him draw first, you was goin’ to let him shoot first.”
“I want all of you to remember that,” Pogue said.
“Surely, he will not get away with that,” Malcolm said to Shaw, speaking quietly.
“Yeah, he will. All the law will ask is who drew first.”
“But he clearly goaded the other man into a fight.”
“They was already a’ fightin’ when we come in. The killin’ didn’t commence until that Gentry feller drawed on him,” Shaw said.
It took about three minutes before a couple of Denver policemen arrived, wearing the blue uniforms, domed hats, and huge badges of their profession.
“What happened here?” one of the police officers asked.
Everyone began speaking at the same time, and one of the policemen had to hold up his hand to call for quiet.
“One at a time. I’ll start with you,” he said, pointing to the bartender. “Who shot this man?”
“I did,” Pogue said, before the bartender could answer. “If you want to know anything about what happened here, all you got to do is ask me.”
“All right, I’ll start with you.”
“This here fella drawed on me,” Pogue said. “I didn’t have no choice but to defend myself.”
“Are you saying he drew first?”
“That’s right,” the bartender said. “I’ll vouch for Pogue on that. You can see the gun is still in Gentry’s hand.”
“Anyone else have anything different to tell?”
“I . . .” the girl who had been the subject of the fight started to say, but she stopped when Pogue glared at her.
“What?” the policeman asked.
“I was just going to say that Pogue is right. Mr. Gentry drew first.”
The two policemen spoke to each other quietly for a moment, then the spokesman of the two turned back to Pogue.
“From all we can determine, this was a case of self-defense. I reckon it doesn’t have to go any further than this. But, barkeep, we are going to keep an eye on this place, and if too many things like this happen here, we are going to close you down. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” the bartender replied.
“What did I tell you?” Shaw asked after the two policemen left.
“You were right. I never would have believed you, but you were right.”
“Seems to me like this man Pogue would be someone we might want to recruit,” Shaw suggested.
“Yes,” Malcolm said enthusiastically. “See if he will come talk to us.”
