“You’ve heard of him, have you, mister?” Billy said. “Well, then you can verify what I’m saying about the type man he is.”
“I’ll tell you what I know about him,” the man in black said. “I know him to be a lying, back-shooting coward.”
Upon hearing that unexpected description of Smoke, Billy slammed the glass down hard on the bar, then turned to face the man who had spoken.
“What did you say, mister?”
The man at the bar turned to face Billy. “You heard what I said. I said that Smoke Jensen is a yellow-bellied, lying coward.”
“Mister, maybe you don’t know this, but Smoke Jensen is a friend of mine,” Billy said. “And I’ll be askin’ you to take that back.”
“And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t, you’ll be answerin’ to me,” Billy said.
“Are you challengin’ me to a gunfight, boy?”
Billy had not intended for the altercation to go this far. He had thought that a few harsh words, if necessary even few punches, would be called for. He had no idea that it was being pushed to a gunfight.
“Well, no, not that,” Billy said, thinking quickly. “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of wipin’ up this here saloon floor with your hide. I mean, you spoke some harsh and even rude words, but I’m not ready to get into a gunfight over it.”
“Mister, it’s too late for you to back out now,” the man said. “You’re the one who invited me to this ball. Now either dance with me, or admit that you are a yellow-bellied, lying coward just like your friend Smoke Jensen.”
Those were killing words and everyone in the saloon, including Lucy, moved out of the way to give the two men room.
“Pardeen, the boy’s been drinkin’,” the bartender said. “Ease up on him.”
“You stay out of this, barkeep,” Pardeen said.
Billy’s face went white. “Pardeen?” Billy said. “Did he call you Pardeen?”
“Yeah, he called me Pardeen ’cause that’s my name,” Pardeen said. “You got a problem with my name, boy?”
“No, it’s not that—it’s just that…” Billy took a deep breath. “Well, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” Billy tried to force a smile. “Why don’t we just both forget about some of the things we’ve said and go back to drinkin’ in peace?”
“Too late for that, boy. You should’a thought of that before you called me out.”
“I didn’t exactly call you out,” Billy said. “I just said that you would have to—answer to me,” he finished, barely saying the last three words.
“I’m going to count to three,” Pardeen said. “When I get to three, I’m going to kill you. So I expect you had better draw your gun.”
“No—I…”
“One.”
“Look, I don’t want to do this!”
“Two.”
Suddenly, Billy made a desperate grab for his pistol. He had the gun out and was coming up with it before Pardeen even started his draw. For just a second, Billy actually thought that he might have a chance, and he felt a surge of hope.
That hope was dashed, even as it was forming in his mind, when he felt a sudden crushing blow to his chest. Pardeen had drawn and fired so quickly that by the time Billy realized Pardeen had the gun in his hand, he had already been shot.
The impact of the bullet knocked Billy back against the bar. He dropped his pistol and slapped his hand over the wound in his chest. Then, turning his hand out, he watched in horror as the palm of his hand filled to overflowing with his blood.
Billy looked around the saloon, into the faces of those who had just witnessed this. He saw horror and sadness in Lucy’s face. He held his hand out toward her, tried to take a step, then collapsed.
The knocking was loud and insistent and even as Smoke was waking up, he was drawing his pistol from the holster that hung over the bedstead. He motioned for Sally to get out of bed and get into the corner.
“Yeah, who is it?” he called. Immediately after he called out, he moved to one side so as not to be where his voice had been.
“Mr. Jensen, my name is Joe Titus. I’m the deputy sheriff. I need to talk to you.”
“What about?” Smoke called. Once more he moved after he had called out.
“Do you have a man working for you by the name of Billy Cantrell?”
Smiling, Smoke sighed and lowered his gun. He opened the door. The deputy was an older man, tall and weathered, with gunmetal-gray hair.
“What kind of trouble has Billy got himself into?” he asked. “A barroom fight?”
“No, sir,” the deputy answered. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Jensen, but Billy Cantrell is dead.”
“What? Are you serious?”
