Day of Independence Read Free Page A

Randall. Yes, I know.” Dupoix read the question on Cannan’s face and said, “He’s here in Last Chance.” The gambler smiled. “And so is Mickey Pauleen.”
    That hit Cannan like a fist to the belly. “What’s a killer like Pauleen doing here?” he said.
    â€œHim, and Dave Randall. And Shotgun Hugh Gray. And a half-a-dozen other Texas draw fighters. But Mickey is the worst of them, or the best of them, depending on your point of view. The day after he arrived he shot the town marshal.”
    â€œAnd where do you come in, Dupoix?” Cannan said.
    â€œI’m here for the same reason Mickey and them are here. For gun wages. Two hundred dollars a day until the job is done.”
    â€œWhat job? And who’s paying you?”
    Dupoix, elegant in a black frockcoat, boiled white shirt, and string tie, stepped to the window, then turned and said, “You’ve never forgiven me for that time in... what the hell was the name of the place?”
    â€œHorse Neck,” Cannan said.
    â€œYeah, Horse Neck. A benighted burg at the end of a railroad spur, as I recall.”
    â€œIt was a hell-on-wheels tent town and I was sent there to keep the peace, Dupoix,” Cannan said. “You ruined it for me and nearly got me kicked out of the Rangers.”
    â€œCannan, those three gentlemen playing poker with a marked deck were asking for trouble. They took me for a rube.”
    â€œThat’s why you shot them, Dupoix, because your pride was hurt.”
    â€œThey were notified.”
    â€œYou left three dead men in the saloon, then lit a shuck on a stolen horse.”
    â€œThe buckskin I left at the livery was a superior animal in every way to the one I... borrowed. Its owner got the best of that bargain.”
    Cannan held up his cigar, showing an inch of gray ash at the tip.
    Dupoix picked up an ashtray from the table and laid it on the bed.
    â€œYou did take a pot at me, you know,” he said. “My right ear felt the wind of your bullet. Now why did you do that?”
    â€œI was aiming for the hoss,” Cannan said. “My shooting was off that day.”
    â€œAh, yes, as I recall you’re no great shakes with a revolver.”
    â€œI wish I’d brought my rifle along. Then I would have hung you for sure.”
    â€œSuppose I tell you that those three Irish gents drew down on me first?”
    â€œWouldn’t have made any difference, Dupoix. You took me for a rube and my pride was hurt.”
    The gambler smiled. “Touché, Ranger Cannan.”
    Dupoix refilled Cannan’s glass then his own. He stepped to the window again and lit a cigar.
    â€œYou never answered my questions, Dupoix,” Cannan said. “Why—”
    â€œAm I here and who’s paying my wages?” Dupoix said.
    â€œWell?” Cannan said.
    The gambler pulled back the lace curtain. “Look out there,” he said. “A fair town with a schoolhouse and a church with a bell in its tower. It’s got a city hall where the flag flies every single day of the year and the people dress in their best of a Sunday and go to worship.”
    Dupoix turned his head to Cannan and spoke over his shoulder.
    â€œLast Chance was started by tin pans,” he said. “They came here looking for gold, found none, and most of them left. But a few decided to stay and set down roots. In the early years they went through hell, but in the end they built something worthwhile.”
    â€œYou still haven’t answered my questions,” Cannan said.
    â€œPatience, Ranger, I’m answering them. Unless you’re planning on going somewhere?”
    â€œFunny, Dupoix. Go ahead.”
    â€œAll right. Now, where was I?”
    â€œYou were talking about folks trying to build a town in a wilderness where there shouldn’t be any town,” Cannan said.
    He suddenly felt irritable, from the whiskey or the pain of his still-healing wounds, he