EXCERPT
The gambler’s first mistake was trying a bottom
deal. It was slick and when that card popped up, he looked at me. There were no words spoken. He knew I’d caught
him and then he decided to shoot me before I could name him a card cheat. It was
close. For a skilled man there is no faster draw than
a sleeve gun.
His last mistake was in thinking I hadn’t already
drawn my pistol. Hidden under
the table, it pointed right at him. When he raised his hand like pointing at the
ceiling, I knew what was coming. The hand dropped, pointing right at me. When his
derringer came into sight I shot him. Fair? Depends on your viewpoint.
He wasn’t good at his chosen vocation. Normally,
the town marshal would run men like that out of town with a stern warning accompanied
with a few bruises and a dimple in his hat.
I didn’t want to shoot him. Given a little time,
and us being close together, I’d have tried for a shoulder wound. But he was quick with that derringer
and gave me no time at all. The gambler was left with a belly wound. If he was lucky,
he might be dead by now. A wound like that was a sure ticket to hell, and it takes
days to make the passage. I’ve heard laudanum does no good against the pain.