The Drifter

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The Last Gunfighter: The Drifter

by William W. Johnstone

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Copyright (c)2000 by William W. Johnstone

         _To Debbie and Dent Sigh_

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         *One*

       'Boy,' the older man said, 'I strongly advise you not to pull on me.'

       It seemed to those in the barroom there was not only a great weariness to the man's voice, but also a great sadness. Some of the spectators wondered about that. A few thought they knew why the sadness was there.

       Outside, the early spring winds still had a bite to them on the late-afternoon day.

       'You're nothin' but a damned old washed-up piece of coyote crap,' the young man replied.

       _Old is right_, the man thought. _Both in body and soul_.

       'And you're a coward, too!' the young man added.

       The older man smiled, but his eyes turned chilly. 'Boy, you should really learn to watch your mouth.'

       The young man laughed. 'You gonna make me do that, you old has-been?'

       'I would rather not have to do that, boy. Besides, that's something your mother and father should have taught you.'

       'I never paid no mind to what they said.'

       'Obviously.'

       'Huh? Old man, you talk funny  --  you know that? You tryin' to insult me or something?'

       'Not at all, boy. Just agreeing with you.'

       'I don't like you, old man. I mean, I don't like you at all. I think you're all talk and no do. And I don't believe all them stories told 'bout you, neither. I don't think you've kilt no twenty or thirty men.'

       'I haven't.'

       'I knowed it!'

       'Closer to forty.'

       'You're a damn liar!'

       'Boy, go home. Leave me alone.'

       'Naw. I'm gonna make you pull on me, Morgan. Then I'm gonna shoot you in the belly so's I can stand right here and watch you beg and cry and holler like a whipped pup 'til you die. That's what I'm gonna do.'

       'Is that really Frank Morgan?' a man in the crowd whispered to a friend.

       'That's him.'

       'I thought he was a lot older.'

       ''Nuff talk, old man!' the young man yelled. 'Grab iron, you old buffalo fart!'

       Frank Morgan did not move. He stood and watched the much younger man. 'If you want a shooting, boy, you're going to have to start it.'

       'Then I will, by God!'

       Frank waited.

       'You think I won't?'

       'I hope you don't, kid.'

       'I ain't no kid!'

       'Pardon me?'

       'I'm known around here as Snake.'

       'There is a certain resemblance.'

       Someone in the crowd laughed at that.

       'What?' the young man yelled.

       'I was just agreeing with you,' Morgan said.

       'Yore gonna die, Morgan!'

       'We all die, kid. Some long before their time. And I'm afraid you're about to prove me right.'

       The kid cussed and grabbed iron.