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never been so scared in my life, and it took all my will to keep my pace casual and my eyes straight ahead. With relief, I reached the hotel steps without anyone shooting me. Two paces inside the hotel, I started running as I dug into my pocket for my room key. I took the stairs two at a time, but my shortness of breath came from more than the physical exertion.

    Entering my room, I threw open the bureau drawer, but this time I strapped on my gun. After jostling it into position, I drew it, opened the loading gate and inserted a sixth cartridge. I spun the cylinder before holstering my Colt. The precision movement and perfect holster fit reassured me. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, took two deep breaths, and tried to wipe the frightened look off my face.

    When I reached the so-called lobby, I saw no one. Evidently, the hotelkeeper had found a safer place to watch the impending showdown. I glanced out the window. Nothing had changed, except that nobody was in sight but Sharp and the Cutlers.

    I casually stepped out of the hotel, and, without pause, nonchalantly strolled toward the Cutlers, giving them a friendly wave.

    Big smile. “Howdy.” I had safely gotten within five feet. Steady.

    “What the hell do you—”

    The gun came to my hand as easy as scratching my ear, and my thumb pulled the hammer back without the slightest thought. Two shots fired so quick it sounded like one. Never breaking stride, I continued toward the two contorted men, who now leaked blood into the dirt. I had hit each brother center-chest, but one of the Cutlers gurgled and squirmed for a bit before he finally became still.

    This was worse than I had imagined. The dead bodies lay in unnatural positions, and their shirtfronts smoldered from the close gun flash. Blood had already spread around the bodies like grotesque wings. The pools may have looked like angel wings, but I doubted these two were destined for heaven.

    Recovering some of my composure, I kicked their guns free of their holsters. As I scanned my periphery, I opened the loading gate, ejected the spent cartridges, drew two bullets from my gun belt, and reloaded in a smooth, practiced motion. Assuring myself that no additional danger lurked, I holstered my gun.

    I paused a moment to tilt my face until I could feel the last rays of a dying sun. Unexpectedly, I felt exhilarated. Was it because I was still alive or because I had assuaged my guilt? Too complicated.

    Exhaling slowly, I turned my back on the once-vile Cutler brothers.

    I walked the length of the street toward Sharp. Jenny stepped from a building, and I thought I saw the barest of nods, but I could have been mistaken.

    Sharp’s expression remained fixed as I approached. “I could have handled it,” he said.

    “I never doubted you could.” I glanced back at the Cutlers. “I doubted I could.”

    Sharp’s next words startled me. “Some would say you murdered those boys.”

    “It was self-defense. They drew on me.”

    After a long moment, Sharp said, “I can testify to that, if it comes to it.”

    “So will others.”

    “Suppose so.” He gave me an odd look. “You’re a shopkeeper?”

    “A gun shop.”

    Sharp looked a bit startled. “You mean you’re a gunsmith?”

    “Of sorts. Three smiths worked for me. I mostly dealt with the customers. Played with the new models and tested our repair work.”

    “You got handy.”

    “Two, three hours a day’ll do that.”

    Sharp just nodded, so I turned back toward the print shop. I walked slower than normal so my shaky legs would not collapse under me. I had never shot anyone before, and I had trouble figuring out why I felt so elated. The most startling thing was how vivid this dirt-colored town suddenly appeared.

    I glanced toward the print shop. Doc, Richard, and Jeremiah stood on the boardwalk looking bewildered. I strode right by them, took my seat at our card table, and fanned out the thirteen cards that sat on the table