"Time we settled this, Morgan!" Jake shouted from the far end of the street.
"Suits the hell outta me, Jake," Frank heard himself say in a voice that was not his own.
"You been talkin' about how you're gonna kill me. I'll give you the chance."
Frank began taking measured steps toward Allison, his hand near his gun. "It won't be just talk, Jake. You killed that boy and his brother up on the Leon River. They were friends of mine and I don't take that sort of thing lightly."
"The sheriff ruled it was self-defense, Morgan."
"Sheriff Stokes is in the pockets of the cattlemen's association, the crooked outfit you work for."
"You can't prove a damn thing. Them Miller boys went for their guns first."
"They weren't gunmen and you know it. They'd have never gone for a gun against a rattlesnake like you."
"You talk mighty tough, Morgan," Jake said as he walked closer.
Frank grinned. "Difference between you and me is, I can back it up."
Jake stopped, spreading his feet slightly apart. "Time we quit all this jabberin'."
Frank kept moving closer, judging the distance, ready to make his play. "I'm done with words myself, Jake. I'm gonna give you the first pull. Go for that damn gun whenever you're ready."
"You're tryin' to trick me."
"How's that?"
"You damn sure won't give me the first chance at the draw an' you know it. I'm too fast for you."
A crowd had begun to gather along the boardwalks of Abilene to watch the affair. Everyone was listening to what was being said.
Frank halted his strides when they were fifty feet apart. "I'll wait till I see your hand move for the butt of that pistol," he said.
"You ain't got the nerve."
"We'll stand here until we both die of old age, Jake, unless you make your play. I won't draw on a man first, and you can take that to the bank. If you don't draw, I swear I'll give you the worst beating you ever had."
"You yellow bastard. You're bluffin'." Jake's jaw was set when he said it.
"One way to find out, asshole, is to reach for iron. I'll wait."
"If you do, you're a dead man."
"Maybe," Frank replied, sounding casual about it. "You can piss on my grave if you're right about it."
Jake's right hand made a dive for his Colt ... Frank saw the muscles in his arm tense a fraction of a second before he made the move.
Frank's hand dipped for the butt of his weapon, a practiced move, one he'd refined over many years. His gun came out, cocked and ready, before Jake could clear leather.
In a flash, Frank saw the fear in Jake's eyes when he knew he'd been beaten to the draw.
"Adios, Jake," Frank whispered as he pulled the trigger on his Peacemaker.
The thunder of a gunshot echoed up and down the main street of Abilene. For a fleeting moment, all was still until the sound faded.
Jake Allison's knees quivered. A red stain began to spread across the front of his vest. He let his pistol fall to the caliche roadway, it landed beside his right boot, making a soft thud.
A whispered gasp escaped the lips of onlookers. All eyes were on Jake as he took a half step backward on uncertain, trembling legs.
"Goddamn you, Morgan!" Jake bellowed, still full of fight even though his legs wouldn't support him.
Frank moved toward his mortally wounded adversary, still clutching his pistol. Jake sank to his knees, reaching for the hole in his chest.
Now murmurs of whispered conversation spread through the onlookers. Frank came to a halt a few yards from Allison and the puddle of crimson forming around him.
"I warned you," Frank said, lowering his weapon.
Jake rocked back on his haunches with blood pouring between his fingers. "Ain't ... nobody ... that fast," he stammered as more blood began to dribble from his mouth, proof of a lung wound that would claim his life in minutes.
"Think about those Miller brothers while you die, Jake," Frank said while bystanders edged closer to the scene of Allison's death. "They were kids. Young cowboys barely old enough to shave."
"Like hell!" Jake spat, weaving back and forth as he sat on his rump.
"No sense arguing about it now," Frank told him. "You're the same as dead."
The crowd around Frank and Jake parted as a man with a star on his shirt hurried up to them.
"Frank Morgan, you're under arrest!" Sheriff Stokes barked as he swung a shotgun up at Frank.
"What's the charge?" Frank asked.
"Cold-blooded murder."
"He drew first," Frank protested, still holding his gun at his side.
"That ain't the way I saw it, Morgan. Now drop that damn pistol an' throw your hands in the air!"
Frank glanced around him. Half a hundred people had been witnesses to what had happened. "These folks saw it. Allison went for his gun and I had to defend myself."
Sheriff Stokes was about to speak when someone from the crowd spoke up.
"That's right, Sheriff. Morgan wouldn't draw first against Allison. We all seen it."
Stokes gave the speaker a glare. "What the hell would you know about anything, Jimmy?" he growled.
Then a woman's voice came from the back of the group. "I saw it myself, Sheriff Stokes. Mr. Allison took out his gun before Mr. Morgan did."
Stokes glanced at the woman. "Are you right sure, Miz Wilkinson? I sure wouldn't question the word of the preacher's wife."
"I'm quite sure of what I saw, Sheriff, and I'll testify to it in court."
The sheriff's shoulders slumped. He lowered his shotgun and looked at Frank. "Maybe I didn't see things none too clear from where I was in front of my office," he said in a much quieter voice.
Frank holstered his Peacemaker. "All this dust, when the wind blows, can get in a man's eyes," he said.
At the same moment Jake Allison fell over on his face and let out a moan.
"I reckon somebody oughta send for Doc Weaver," the sheriff said.
"No need," Frank said absently, turning away. "He'll be dead before a sawbones can get here."
Stokes spoke to him as he was striding away.
"What makes you so all-fired sure of that, Morgan?"
Frank stopped just long enough to glance over his left shoulder. "I put a bullet through his heart. Looks like it might have nicked his lung. Either way, he's headed for an undertaker."
Curious citizens of Abilene backed away from him as he strode from the scene. He had taken another life, adding to his fearsome reputation, and yet he hadn't wanted things to end this way. He would have preferred to see Jake Allison stand trial for the murder of the Miller brothers.
It seemed trouble, and gunplay, followed him wherever he went.
He rode out of Abilene that day with a warning ringing in his ears, to stay clear of that part of Texas if he wanted to avoid trouble with the law.
* * * *
"You were dreamin'."
He heard the voice, and focused on the fuzzy face hovering above him.
"I woke you up 'cause you seemed to be real agitated about somebody named Jake."
He recalled the dream vividly. "Jake Allison," he croaked, his throat dry.
"Who was he?" Karen asked.
"A man I had to kill. It happened a long time ago. Don't know why I was dreaming about it."