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gunman stood slumped against the front of the building. He held a hand pressed to his lower side.
    â€œOh no,” Stone said in a hushed tone, slowing to a halt as he neared the body lying in the street. “It’s Mama Belleza.” He shook his head in regret and lowered his drawn Colt back into its holster. Sam stopped four feet back, his Colt still out, still cocked. He scanned the men gathered out in front of the Palace.
    â€œDraw your horns in, Ranger. It was self-defense,” Clayton Boyle said. “She shot him by surprise when we walked out the door. Started to shoot him again—”
    â€œThat’s right, Ranger. I shot her,” Ferry called out in a pained voice. “She gave me no choice.”
    Sam looked back and forth quickly at the faces of onlooking townsfolk.
    â€œIt’s the truth, Ranger,” the town blacksmith called out. “As bad as I hate it, if he hadn’t stopped her, Mama would have emptied her pocket gun into them.”
    â€œI saw it too,” a woman’s voice said brokenly. “Mama must’ve lost her mind.”
    Sam eased his Colt down, uncocked it and let it hang in his hand. He looked at Stone, who had kneeled down beside the dead woman. Stone stared almost in disbelief at the smoking pocket-sized Colt revolver lying in the dirt beside her. When he turned his eyes back up to Sam, neither of them spoke; neither of them had to. Sam stepped aside as Dr. Tierney hurried in, kneeled beside the elderly dead woman and pressed his fingers to the side of her throat.
    â€œShe’s dead,” he confirmed with regret. He examined a bullet hole high up in the corner shoulder of her dress. Then he shook his head, stood up and dusted the knee of his trousers. Stone picked up the smoking pocket revolver and stood up beside him. He stuck the warm barrel of the gun down into his waist. The doctor gestured a couple of townsmen in and nodded down at Mama Belleza. “Please carry her to my office, gentlemen,” he said quietly.
    As the two townsmen stooped down to the dead woman, the doctor turned and walked toward the wounded gunman.
    Stone and the Ranger also walked toward the boardwalk of the Silver Palace. They kept six feet between them.
    Seeing the two lawmen coming, Clayton Boyle and Silas Rudabaugh sidestepped in between them and Donald Ferry. Stone and the Ranger stopped ten feet away. Sam held his cocked Colt down his side.
    â€œEverybody here is calling it self-defense, Sheriff,” Boyle said in a firm tone.
    â€œOut of my way,” Stone said in a cool, even tone, “or we’ll see what they call it when I blow your skull through that glass window.”
    Hearing the sheriff’s calm deliberate tone, onlooking townsmen slipped sidelong out of the way. Rudabaugh’s gun hand poised instinctively. Sam stood firm, ready. He noted the difference in Stone’s whole demeanor. There was no hesitancy, no confusion of mind, no shakiness of either hand or voice.
    â€œRanger,” said Boyle, not taking his eyes off Stone, “you heard them call it self-defense. What do you say?”
    â€œI’m backing the
sheriff’s play
, remember?” Sam said. “Get out of the way.” He looked from Boyle to Rudabaugh and cocked his big Colt.
    Rudabaugh studied the situation, the Ranger’s Colt already drawn, and now cocked and ready.
    â€œDo as he says, Clayton,” he cautioned quietly. “Let these lawman through to do their job.” He raised his gun hand slowly and touched the brim of his tilted coachman’s hat. “We don’t want any more bloodshed at the Silver Palace the same day Mr. Centrila takes over.” He gave a stiff smile and moved away a step, letting the two lawmen past him.
    Dr. Tierney, having been allowed past the two gunmen to attend Donald Ferry’s wound, was already pressing a bandage to the deep slash along the gunman’s side as Stone and the Ranger stepped