“Go ahead, little lady,” Burkett said, “go back to your father.”
Serena threw one last glance at Sam, and then ran from the street. She didn’t go far, though. Her father had recovered and had come down the street to see what was happening. She ran into his arms, and they both stood there to watch. Dude Miller had one hand around her shoulder. In his other hand, down by his leg, he held a rifle.
The door to the jail opened and Coffin stepped out, followed by Jubal, who had his gun in his hand and Coffin’s gunbelt over his shoulder.
“Stop,” Jubal said, and Coffin stopped.
Sam turned so he was half facing Burkett and Coffin. Some of the townspeople had gotten brave and had come out onto the boardwalks to see what they had been waiting all week to see. Burkett’s men, seeing all the witnesses, began lowering their rifles.
“Give him his gun,” Sam told Jubal.
“But Sam—”
“Do it, Jube.”
Jubal, shaking his head, took Coffin’s gunbelt from his shoulder and handed it to the man. Coffin grabbed it and buckled it on, then faced Sam.
“This is a big mistake on your part, McCall.”
“This is what you’ve wanted all along, Coffin, so let’s just do it.”
Coffin stepped down into the street and said, “You can’t fool me, Sam. You’ve been wanting this, too. You want to see which of us is better just as much as I do.”
Sam didn’t answer. He watched Coffin carefully as he walked out into the middle of the street.
Jubal, relieved of the responsibility of watching Coffin, chose now to watch Lincoln Burkett and his foreman closely. If and when Sam killed Coffin, Jubal didn’t think Burkett was going to accept it.
Burkett, watching as the two men squared off, said to Conners in a low voice, “If McCall kills him, I want him dead.”
“Right, boss.”
Conners turned and indicated to his men that they were to watch him. He had kept the men he could be sure of—Priest, Granger, and some of the others who had chased McCall that day—on the ground with him.
Except for Jubal, who was watching Burkett and Conners, all eyes were on the two men in the street.
“Who calls the play?” Coffin asked.
“Never mind that,” Sam said. “You just move when you’re ready.”
They were close enough that Sam could watch Coffin’s eyes. If they’d been further apart he would have kept his eyes on his right shoulder, waiting for it to dip.
The eyes, though, would narrow even before the shoulder clipped.
Even though Coffin’s eyes did narrow before he moved, Sam was surprised at how fast he was. Coffin had possibly the fastest move he’d ever seen, and even as he drew and fired his own gun he couldn’t help but admire it.
Sam’s bullet struck Coffin high in the chest. Coffin—sfinger spasmed, jerking the trigger of his own gun, firing a round into the ground by his foot. For a moment time stopped for Coffin and he stared at Sam, admitting to himself the fact that the man had not only outdrawn him, but had done it by a wide margin. Even though he had seen Sam McCall’s move twice before, he was shocked.
“Shit,” he said, and died before he hit the ground.
Jubal raise his rifle and shot Chuck Conners as he was drawing his gun.
“Fire!” Lincoln Burkett shouted…
It’s easy to get thirty men to agree to fight rather than lose their jobs. It’s easy to get them to fire their rifles at a building, at a jail with two men inside it. It’s harder, however, to get thirty men to fire their guns at another man. Killing a man isn’t an easy thing to do, and men who make their living punching cattle or breaking broncs can’t moved so easily into killing.
When Burkett shouted “Fire!” thirty men heard him, but only about eight actually drew and began to fire. The others lowered their rifles and watched.…
The minute Burkett shouted, Dude Miller pushed Serena into a doorway and raised his rifle. He fired at the nearest man with a gun in his hand.
Ed Collins came out of his gunsmith shop with a rifle in his hands and ran toward the action. If there was ever a time for this town to get out from under Lincoln Burkett’s thumb, this was it.
Swede Hanson had known since the day the McCalls arrived that it would come to this, lead flying in the streets. He had cleaned his old Navy Colt every day since then, and now he had a chance to use it. He’d been standing in a doorway, watching the action, and now he stepped out and raised his gun…
Sam would have preferred to turn as soon as he fired, but he had to make sure that Coffin would go down. As the man started to fall he turned, saw Chuck Conners fall, and leaped for cover just as Lincoln Burkett shouted his command to his men.
Sam noticed right away that not all of Burkett’s men had obeyed his command. He also noticed that there was some covering fire coming from different directions. With a glance he identified Dude Miller and Ed Collins. He didn’t find out until later that Swede Hanson had also been firing.
Lincoln Burkett also noticed these things. He especially noticed that less than half of his men had obeyed his command.
He didn’t like the odds.
He ran up onto the boardwalk, behind his men, and started running down the street.
“Sam!” Jubal shouted. He had taken cover behind a horse trough and was now pointing at the retreating figure of Lincoln Burkett.
“I’ll get him!”
Sam got to his feet and fired as he ran. He stayed on his side of the street, passing Jubal, until he was clear of the jail and Burkett’s men, and then he crossed the street and took up the chase.
He reloaded as he ran, keeping Burkett in sight ahead of him. Burkett, at his age, would normally not have been able to stay ahead of Sam, but Sam’s leg wound kept him from running at full speed.
The thing that worked in Sam’s favor was that Burketthad chosen a direction that was away from everything.
He was running away from the livery, and the saloon, he was even running away from his ranch, which was south of town rather than north. This indicated that the man wasn’t running toward anything, he was simply trying to get “away.”
That wouldn’t happen, Sam swore to himself. Not by a long chalk.
He ignored the burning pain in his thigh and increased his speed. He was closing the gap between himself and Burkett. Burkett saw this as he looked over his shoulder, and he panicked. Gun in hand he turned and fired at Sam, but his shot was so hurried that he missed by a wide margin.
Sam saw the man riding down Main Street just as Burkett fired at him, and he saw the badge on the man’s chest. The appearance of the man slowed his reaction, and Burkett fired again. This time the bullet fell short, kicking up dirt in front of Sam’s feet. This reclaimed Sam’s attention and he fired once, accurately. The bullet hit Lincoln Burkett high on the right shoulder. It was an unhurried shot, because it was obvious that Burkett was inept with a gun, therefore it was a well-placed shot. Burkett’s hand opened and the gun fell to the ground. He went to one knee, clutching at his shoulder.
Sam reached him just as the man on horseback did.
“Marshal Carson?” Sam said, looking up at the lawman.
“That’s right,” Carson said. He was a burly man in his thirties, with a heavy mustache and steely eyes. “Are you Sam McCall?”
“That’s right.”
“And this man?”
“This man is the reason I sent for you, Marshal.”
The sound of firing was still clear from down the street but had fallen off some.
“Seems I arrived a little late,” the marshal said.
“No, marshal,” Sam said, looking down at Lincoln Burkett, “you arrived just in time”
Epilogue
With the arrival of the federal lawman, activity died down. The men who had lowered their rifles to watch now scrambled for their horses, not wanting to be involved any further if it meant jail.