Texas Iron Read Free Page B

trouble, all they had to do was ask.
    He reckoned maybe hearing about the death of his parents had affected him to some degree after all.
    He was angry and looking to take it out on someone.
    “Now what do we do?” Butler asked Weeks as McCall walked in.
    “Get up real slow-like and move to the other side of the room,” Weeks said. “We’ll catch him in a crossfire.”
    “Right.”
    Weeks put his hand on Butler’s arm.
    “Do it slow. Find a table and sit down and don’t move until I do.”
    “Right.”
    McCall saw one of the men stand up and walk slowly across the room, then sit down at another table. He realized that from
     this position they would have him in a crossfire.
    He called the bartender over.
    “Yes, sir,” the man said, eyeing McCall’s half-finished beer. “Is something wrong?”
    “You got a shotgun behind the bar?”
    The man sized McCall up for a moment and then decided to answer.
    “Sure.”
    “What kind?”
    “Greener?”
    “Side by side?”
    “Yes.”
    “Where is it?”
    “It’s under the bar, over—”
    “Don’t point.”
    The man held his hand down by his side.
    “Can I reach it from here?”
    “Yes.”
    “Walk over and stand in front of it for a moment, then move away.”
    “Is—is something gonna happen?”
    “I’d bet on it,” McCall answered. He saw the look on the man’s face and said, “Don’t worry. Just stand where the shotgun is
     and then get ready to duck.”
    “O-okay.”
    Slowly, the bartender moved about four feet to McCall’s left, stood there a moment, then walked all the way to McCall’s right.
    McCall slid his beer down along the bar until he reached the point where the shotgun was and waited, watching the two men
     in the mirror.
    At one point he thought about making for the door, wondering how far he’d get, but in the end he stayed put.
    The other people in the saloon slowly came to the realization that something was in the air. Some of them got up and left,
     others moved to tables at one side of the room or the other, until the center of the room was virtually empty. Now there would
     be no innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire.
    McCall alternately watched the man to his right and left until finally the one on the right moved. His move was the signal
     to the man on the left, who was a split second behind’there was just enough time.
    McCall turned to his right, and as he drew his gun with his right hand he reached over and behind the bar with his left, hoping
     that the bartender had been telling the truth.
    He had.
    McCall fired as the man on the right did. The man hurried his shot and missed, and McCall’s shot traveled straight and true,
     ventilating the man through the heart. With the shotgun in his left hand he pointed toward the second man, who was just drawing
     his gun, and fired bothbarrels. The impact of the blast picked the man up and tossed him against the wall. As he fell he left
     a red smear behind him.
    The bartender, who had ducked behind the bar, stood up, staring at McCall.
    McCall laid the shotgun on top of the bar and said, “Thanks.”
    “S-sure.”
    He walked over to the first man to check him. That the second man was dead was obvious, but he didn’t know for sure that the
     first man was dead until he leaned over him, his gun still in his hand. Satisfied, he stood up and looked around the room.
    The attention of the onlookers was split among the three men, two dead and one standing. McCall was waiting to see if the
     dead men had any friends before he holstered his gun. He was still standing over the dead man when the batwing doors swung
     inward and Sheriff Keller walked in, trailed by Deputy Bob Collins.
    “What the hell happened here?” Keller blustered, and then he saw McCall and seemed to withdraw a bit.
    “Bartender,” McCall said, holstering his gun, “tell the sheriff what happened.”
    McCall started for the door and stopped when he was alongside Keller.
    “I’ll be in my hotel room,