“Jeez, man, I must’ve done something to make you this hostile.”
“Not a damn thing,” the fellow assured him. “I just don’t like smart-ass United States deputy marshals.”
“Ah, that old reason. Now I feel better, knowin’ what this here is all about. Mind if I ask you something else?”
“I reckon a man ought to be allowed a last question, same as a condemned man gets a last meal.”
“Who the hell are you?” Longarm asked.
“William Beard. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Mister Beard, I hate to be such a complete disappointment to you, but I never in my life until this very minute heard anything about you, not even your name.”
“My point exactly,” Beard said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nobody has heard about me. I’ve killed eight men in standup fights, fair as fair can be, and no-damn-body has ever heard of me. I mean, it isn’t fair, is it? Some fool in Dodge City kills two, three men and he’s famous. Why? Because there are big city newspapermen who come to Dodge to write about stuff, and there’s a local newspaper of their own that writes stories and sells them to the big papers back east and in Kansas City and the like. But here? Dammit, I could shoot down half the men in this jerkwater bar and there wouldn’t be anybody ever hear about it outside this county. Might not pay attention in the county seat even if our good for nothing sheriff was busy getting laid that day. So what is a man to do, I ask you? It will take something big to be heard about here.” Beard smiled. “And here you are. Famous. Well, more or less. Most famous lawman that ever stopped in Sorrel Branch, I can tell you that. You’re a godsend, Long. I swear you are.”
“Mister Beard, I’m always happy to accommodate a man, but dying for the sake of your reputation seems a mite more than is reasonable to ask. I hope it’ll be all right with you if I demur.”
“I wouldn’t expect less, Longarm. Be a shallow victory indeed if you wasn’t to fight back, now wouldn’t it.”
“Shallow indeed, Mister Beard. Uh, how d’you want t’ go about this? Formal rules of the duel, maybe?”
Beard grinned. “And give you a choice of weapons, Mister Long? I think not. You see, I do know more than a little about you, and I suspect you would try to do something silly, like tell me you want to fight with sharpened tongue depressors or ass’s jawbones or something like that. something that would mock and make light of my triumph and my honor.”
“I got to admit, Mister Beard, I always been fond o’ the idea of a fight with the jawbones of some asses. I mean, it ain’t reasonable that this don’t happen all the time. You know? Asses an’ assholes bein’ so thick on the ground an’ all.”
“Don’t try to make light of this, Mister Long. I do sincerely intend to kill you in fair and open combat. Please understand that.”
“Oh, I do, Mister Beard. I surely do.” Longarm pushed the situation just a bit by reaching—with his left hand, however—for his mug and taking a swallow of the tepid beer, his eyes locked on Beard above the rim of the glass.
“As for the rules, I propose that Morris here count backward from, say, ten. On the word Go we draw and fire. Nothing could be fairer than that, I daresay.”
“He goes ten, nine, an’ so on down t’ one and then says Go?” Longarm asked.
“That’s right. Would that be all right with you?”
“What if I’d like him t’ count from twelve instead o’ ten? Or from four. Would four be good for you?”
“Goddammit, Long, you’re starting to piss me off now. You aren’t taking this at all seriously.”
“Sorry.” Longarm shrugged, drank another sip and put the mug down again. “I’ll try an’ get in the spirit o’ things.”
“Thank you.”
“Looka-here,” Longarm said. “If we’re going t’ do this we really oughta do it right. Honorable and aboveboard. You know what I mean?”
“I’m not sure that I do,” Beard admitted.
“No funny business with choice of weapons, mind. I mean, we both are carrying our own favorites. Be kinda dumb to take up anything else. But except for that, well, there’s something extra special honorable an’ right about a proper duel. Especially the part where the two men stand back to back an’ pace off a distance between them. Takes a perfectly honorable man t’ turn his back on a fellow who’s declared to kill him. Don’t you agree?”
“I do, Mister Long. By God, I do. Thank you for understanding.”
“I won’t say it’s my pleasure, Mister Beard, but I do understand.”
“You would do that, then? You would stand with me back to back and pace off the distance while Morris counts our steps?”
“That I would, Mister Beard.”
“Nobody could ever say a fight like that wasn’t fair, could they?”
“No man alive could make a false claim like that, Mister Beard. The victor would be above reproach.”
“I like it, Mister Long. Morris, you will count the paces for us. At the last number then we turn and fire at will. Is that the way you see it, Mister Long?”
“It is, Mister Beard.”
Beard frowned and looked from one end of the bar to the other. “Ten is the traditional number of paces if I
