old.” A hoarse laugh followed as the nasty critter smirked at Jon.
“I’m plenty close enough, Sledge,” Jon growled.
“Got a bead on ’im, Red,” Sledge yelled at his partner, trying to distract Jon.
“Stay out of this, Red,” Marshal Brown bellowed.
“Ain’t my fight.” Red raised his hands and stepped backwards.
“That’s okay, Marshal. I can kill two snakes as easy as one!” Jon barked.
The snake comment enraged Sledge. His skinny hand dropped down as he went for his gun.
Jon drew like a flash, cocked the hammer and pressed hard on the trigger. Yellow flames shot out from the barrel; smoke filled the air. He fired two more quick shots. The crowd screamed as Jon’s bullets blasted into Sledge’s chest. Wide-eyed, he blew backward, skidded on the dusty street and fell still. His head dropped to the side as blood oozed from the smoking bullet holes in the center of his chest. The shocked crowd was numb as Marshal Brown rushed out to the street, gun drawn. He swung it toward Red.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he shouted.
Red pushed his hands even higher at the marshal’s command.
Jon ran toward Sledge’s lifeless body, six gun smoking. He looked down at the fallen man, his face red with anger. For a horrifying moment as he gazed at Sledge’s lifeless face, he saw his own father’s narrow evil face instead—the same face that had terrified him as a boy. A firm slap on the back brought him out of the excruciating trance.
“Great shooting, Jon!” Marshal Brown exclaimed.
Eyes glazed over with anger, Jon tried to compose himself. “Th…thanks, Marshal.”
“Take the body down to the coroner’s office,” Marshal Brown shouted at his fast approaching deputy.
Sledge’s shaken partner mounted up and turned to ride out of town. “Here!” Jon shouted as he tossed him the Peacemaker. Red caught the warm gun in midair, stuck it back in his holster and spurred his steed forward to the edge of town.
The marshal looked back at Jon. “Are you okay, Jon?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Jon said quietly.
“How about a drink?”
“Sounds good.”
The two men turned and walked toward the Oasis. They pushed through the doors and Marshal Brown nodded to the right. “Over there.” He pointed to a table in the corner of the room, slightly elevated and bordered by a shiny gold banister. “That’s kind of my little slice of heaven.” The marshal smiled. “Jess made it for me and my deputies. He likes to have the law around here as much as possible.”
As the two men ambled over to Ned’s special table, Jon thought of the promise he had made to his true love Elizabeth, back in the Arizona Territory. Contemplating marriage and tired of all of the violence, he had promised the lovely saloon owner that his gun fighting days were behind him. Jon’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the approaching barkeep as the two men stepped up on the red carpet and sat down.
“Whiskey?” Jess asked.
“Sounds good,” the marshal replied. Jon nodded his approval.
“Let me know when you want to order dinner.” Jess said as the two thick glasses banged against the tabletop. The bartender splashed in the whiskey and hurried back to the bar.
Jon pushed his hat back on his forehead, reached inside his vest pocket and pulled out a Havana. “Smoke?” he offered as he lifted it toward the marshal.
“No thanks, Jon. I’m tryin’ to quit,” he laughed.
“Do you mind?”
“No, no. Please, go right ahead.”
“Thanks.” Jon lit up, took a hard drag and exhaled.
“That Sledge fella seemed like a real bad sort,” Brown said.
“Yeah, he was a bad hombre all right, and he needed killin’. It’s just…” Jon hesitated.
“Just what?” The curious marshal leaned forward.
“Well, it’s just that I made a promise never to fight again to a very special someone back in Arizona.” Jon’s brow furrowed as he watched the brown liquid swirl in his glass.
Brown looked sympathetically toward Jon. “Is that why you’re not packin’ and all?”
Jon frowned. “Sure enough is.”
“A noble gesture indeed, my friend,” the marshal replied, “but it seems a little risky for a man of your reputation. It only stands to reason that there are going to be a few more Will Sledges out there.”
Jon grimaced. “I guess so, Ned. I’m just hopin’ that when I get over those mountains that most of the bad stuff will stay behind me.”
“Well, let’s hope so, my friend,” said the marshal, lifting his glass. “Here’s to you and that pretty girl back in Arizona!” The two men downed their shots.
“You ridin’ out in the morning?” Ned asked.
“I’m plannin’ on it, Marshal.”
“It’s been a pleasure gettin’ to know ya, Jon!”
“Same to ya, Ned.” Jon smiled warmly. “And since you got my room, it’s my turn to fork over for dinner.”
“I give up Sheriff.” The marshal playfully raised his hands above his head.
The flickering light of the kerosene lamp danced over the faces of the two tough men as they drank and broke bread together. The room darkened as they spoke of mutual acquaintances and past adventures. It was in the wee hours of the morning when Jon reluctantly bid farewell to his new friend and retired to his room at the Far End Hotel.
He staggered as he climbed up to the boardwalk and shoved through the partially open door of the Far End. The banister creaked as the big man pulled himself up the stairs and wobbled down the hall to his room. He fumbled for the key, stuck it in the slot, and the door fell open. The dull light from the street lamps spilled through the milky window frame and formed yellow squares on the floor. The back of his foot banged the door shut as he stumbled over and fell on the soft bed. Conflicted by his broken promise to Elizabeth, he stared blankly at the ceiling. Drunk and tired, he soon fell fast asleep.
- - - - -
“Hiya! Hiya! Get movin’, you damn stubborn mules,” the loud voice bellowed from the street below, waking Jon from a deep sleep. It was late morning; the weary gunhand had overslept. He rolled out of bed and quickly washed up. He gathered up his things, hurried downstairs and hustled over to the livery stable.
As Jon approached the stables, he could see Babe prancing nervously out front as the stable hand ran a dandy brush through her coat. She was groomed, fed and ready
