Instantly, Matt dropped his beer and, turning toward the direction from which the knife had come, drew his pistol even before the beer mug hit the floor. There was only one man standing behind him, and even if he wasn’t reaching for his own pistol, Matt would have known that he was the one who threw the knife.
When the man saw how quickly Matt had drawn his gun, he let his pistol fall back into his holster and held his hands up in the air.
“No, no,” he said. “Don’t shoot, Jensen. Don’t shoot!”
“Why the hell not?” Matt replied coldly. “If you were a little better with that knife, it would be sticking out of my back right now.”
“I was just—I was just tryin’ to get your attention,” Witherspoon said weakly.
“Yeah, well, you got my attention, all right.”
“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. It was just a bet, is all.”
“Nobody is foolish enough to do something like that for a bet,” Matt said.
When Witherspoon didn’t answer, Matt asked, “You the one that’s been dogging me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone took a couple of shots at me out on the road today.”
“What makes you think it was me?”
“Because whoever it was wasn’t much better with a rifle than you are with a knife.”
“It wasn’t me,” Witherspoon lied.
“All right, it wasn’t you. But this was. Why did you try to kill me? And don’t tell me again that it was a bet. That will just get me riled enough to shoot you where you stand.”
“All right, I was after you,” Witherspoon said.
“Why?”
“You may not know this, Jensen, but you’ve got a price on your head.”
Matt shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said. “There is no paper out on me anywhere. I’m not wanted by the law.”
Witherspoon smiled. “I didn’t say nothin’ about the law. I just said you got a price on your head. Someone wants you dead.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know. If you don’t know, how do you expect to collect your money?”
“I won’t be collectin’ any money,” Witherspoon said. “I’m through with it now.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I’ll give you my pistol,” Witherspoon said. “That will prove to you that I’m out of it.”
Holding his left hand out, palm facing Matt as if pleading with him to hold back, Witherspoon reached for his pistol with his right hand, moving very slowly.
“I’m just going to pull my gun out real slow now,” Witherspoon said. “Don’t go getting all excited or anything.”
Matt watched as his adversary pulled his pistol from the holster. Then he turned the pistol around so that the butt was pointing toward Matt.
“See what I mean?” he said. “I ain’t puttin’ up no fight now, and this here saloon is full of witnesses who’ll swear I was handin’ you my gun. You can’t shoot me now. If you do, you’ll hang, sure.”
“Who the hell are you?” Matt asked.
“The name is Witherspoon. Angus Witherspoon.”
“Witherspoon? Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”
Witherspoon smiled. “You have heard of me? Well, now, I’m just real flattered. I must be doin’ pretty good for the great Matt Jensen to have heard of me.”
“All right, Weatherspoon, hand me your pistol,” Matt said, holding out his left hand.
In a totally unexpected maneuver, Weather-spoon executed a border roll, as fast as if he were drawing the pistol from his holster. Matt suddenly found himself looking down the business end of a Colt .44.
Matt had relaxed his own position to the point where he let the hammer down on his pistol, and had even lowered his gun. Now he had to bring his pistol to bear, while at the same time drawing back the hammer. And the fact that Weatherspoon had already started his own action, put Matt at a distinct disadvantage.
The quiet room was suddenly shattered with the roar of two pistols and the saloon patrons yelled and dived, or scrambled for cover. White gun smoke billowed out in a cloud that filled the center of the room, momentarily obscuring everything.
From his position at the far side of the room, Meacham was as surprised as everyone else. He hadn’t been surprised by Weatherspoon throwing his knife; Weatherspoon had all but told him he was going to do that. But he was surprised by the way things had developed. Now, like everyone else in the saloon, Meacham stared at the cloud of smoke, waiting for it to clear enough for him to see what happened.
Finally, the smoke drifted away, and Meacham saw Weatherspoon standing there, a broad smile on his face.
