The veins in Biggs's neck bulged in scarcely controlled anger. He cursed, balled his fists, and took a step toward Morgan.
The store owner said, 'I'll spread you all over the front part of this store, mister. Now back out of here.'
'I'll be right behind you, Ugly,' Morgan told him.
Cursing, Biggs backed out of the store and walked across the street to the saloon.
'You want to head out the back and get clear of town, mister?' the store owner asked.
'I would if I thought that would do any good,' Frank replied. 'But you can bet they've got the back covered.'
'You can't fight them all!'
'I don't see that I've got a choice in the matter.' Frank patted the sack of supplies on the counter. 'I'll be back for these.'
'If you say so.'
'I say so.' Frank looked at the shotgun the shopkeeper was holding.
The man smiled and handed it across the counter. 'Take it, mister. I don't know you, but I sure don't like that fellow who was bracin' you.'
'Thanks. I'll return it in good shape.' Frank stepped to the front door, paused, and then turned around and headed toward the rear of the store. The shopkeeper walked around the counter and closed and locked the front door, hanging up the closed sign.
At the closed back door Frank paused, took a deep breath, and then flung open the door and jumped out, leaping to one side just as soon as his boots hit the ground. A rifle blasted from the open door of the outhouse, and Frank gave the comfort station both barrels of the Greener.
The double blast of buckshot almost tore the shooter in two. The Biggs brother took both loads in the belly and chest and the bloody, suddenly dead mess fell forward, out of the outhouse and into the dirt.
Suddenly, another Biggs brother came into view -- a part of him, at least: his big butt.
That's where Frank shot him, the bullet passing through both cheeks of his rear end.
'Oh, Lordy!' he squalled. 'I'm hit, boys.'
'Where you hit, Bobby?'
'In the ass. My ass is on far, boys. It hurts!'
'In the ass?' another brother yelled. 'That ain't dignified.'
'The hell with dignified!' Bobby shouted. 'I'm a-hurtin', boys!'
'Hang on, Bobby,' a brother called. 'We'll git Morgan and then come to your aid.'
'Kill that no-count, Billy Jeff!' Bobby groaned. 'Oh, Lord, my ass end burns somethang fierce!'
'Can you see him, Wilson?' Billy Jeff called.
'No. But he's down yonder crost the street from the livery. I know that.'
'I know that better than you do,' Bobby yelled. 'I got the lead in my ass to prove it! Ohhh, I ain't had sich agony in all my borned days.'
Some citizen started laughing, and soon others in the tiny town joined in.
'You think this is funny?' Wilson Biggs yelled. 'Damn you all to the hellfars!'
Morgan had changed positions again, running back up past the outhouse and the mangled body of Wells Biggs. He was now right across the wide street from Wilson Biggs.
He had picked up the guns from Wells and shoved them behind his gunbelt. He holstered his own pistol and, using the guns taken from the dead man, he emptied them into the shed where Wilson was hiding. The bullets tore through the old wood, knocking great holes in the planks.
Wilson staggered out, his chest and belly blood-soaked. The Biggs brother took a couple of unsteady steps and fell forward, landing on his face in the dirt. He did not move.
'Wilson!' Billy Jeff shouted. 'Did you get him, Wilson?'
'No, he didn't,' Frank called. 'Your brother's dead.'
'Damn you!' Billy Jeff called. 'Step out into the street and face me, you sorry son.'
'And have your butt-shot brother shoot me?' Frank yelled. 'I think not.'
'Bobby!' Billy Jeff called. 'You hold your far and let me settle this here affair. You hear me, boy?'
'I hear you, Billy Jeff. You shore you want it thisaway?'
'I'm shore. You hear all that, Morgan?'
'I hear it, but I don't believe it. You Biggs boys are all a pack of liars. Why should I trust you?'
'Damn you, Morgan, I give my word. I don't go back on my word, not never.'
'Step out then, Billy Jeff.'
'I'm a-comin' out, Morgan. My gun's holstered. Is yourn?'
