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with him. Shane was able to place him now that he knew his name. Kip Kutcher was one of a dozen or more wild young men who had made a name for themselves tearing up the Comstock Lode. He was a renowned fast draw. Supposedly, not once in over fifteen gunfights had he been the first man to draw. He was handsome and clean-shaven and dressed fine with a shiny Colt Peacemaker slung from his belt.
‘The sixth match will be fought between Evan Drager and John MacMurray and will take place at half-past three.’ Nathaniel announced
Drager nodded his approval. MacMurray, an engineer in the US Army, went back to cutting into the tips of his bullets with a pocket knife. He was renowned for his signature-kill ammunition. He cut a cross into the tip of each bullet he fired. This caused them to deform on impact, inflicting massive tissue damage. One shot was nearly always enough to kill, the massive weight of impact literally dragging the victim’s blood from his heart. The cross incisions had led most people to call him ‘The Christian’.
Shane tensed as Nathaniel reached into the bag for the fourteenth time, knowing that his own name was sure to be drawn soon.
‘The seventh match.’ Nathaniel announced. ‘Will be between Valentino Rodrigues and the Gentleman, and will be held at half-past four.’
Whisperer chalked their names up on the board. Rodrigues was a Mexican assassin and the Gentleman was one of a new breed of city gunfighters from the streets of New York. A shy and neatly-dressed man with tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, he looked more like a banking clerk than a gunfighter.
Nathaniel drew the last pair of names. At half-past-five the next day, Shane would fight John Devlin.
After six years abstinence, he would either kill or be killed.
    The meeting ended as soon as the last pairing had been called. Vendetta kicked back her chair and was the first to leave. One by one, the saloon began to empty. John Devlin made a point to make eye-contact with Shane before he left. He was a young man, not much in his twenties but he had eyes as deep and cold as gun barrels.
‘He shot fifteen kids in a schoolhouse.’ Buchanan told Shane. ‘Killed their teacher and half the posse they sent to find him. That man sure likes to kill.’
Shane had already heard Devlin’s story and likened him to a lesser Jacob Priestley. He did not think that he would lose against him, although the thought of winning made him feel cold with dread. He began to think of what would happen to him but was distracted when Kip Kutcher walked up and stuck out his hand in greeting. Shane ignored him but Kutcher had the sort of ego that glossed over small details like rebuffal.
‘Wow, it sure is an honour to meet you Mister Ennis. I’d like to introduce myself, my name is Kip Kutcher. That’s Kip with a K, Kutcher with a K. And this here’s my girl, Madison.’
The girl ducked her gaze, feigning bashfulness. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mister Ennis.’
Shane fixed her with a withering stare. He knew her kind: gunfighter groupies. They clung to a man like lice, drinking up his fame to compensate for their own lack of character. Shane had tolerated a few in his time but never one as striking as Madison. Towards the end he had grown to scorn them for they had distracted him from what he had believed was the purity of the kill.
The girl had no place being in Covenant and Kutcher should have known better than to bring her along.
‘It’s not often that a man gets to meet a bona fide legend.’ Kutcher told Shane. ‘So I’ll understand if you’re feeling a little shy.’
He laughed at his own joke. ‘Seriously, I thought you’d retired. Don’t you know that gunfighting’s a young man’s game now?’
Shane did not rise to him, only turned and reached for his whisky glass. He was wondering if getting drunk would go any way to solving some of his problems. He decided not.
Madison dragged her boyfriend away and they left the saloon, laughing. Nathaniel came over.