To the Last

“Are you going to die or what?” the ranger asked again.

“I’m going to . . . Just shut up,” said Wheeler. He lowered his bloody fingertips inside the edge of the boot well. Any second now, the ranger told himself.

Wheeler’s hand came up quickly enough for a dying man. But the ranger was ready. A knife . . . ? He saw the bloody hand try to rise and stab the blade toward him. But in Wheeler’s condition, the big knife slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

Sam’s boot stamped down onto the blade as Wheeler fumbled to grab it by the handle. “The shape you’re in, you draw a knife?” Sam said. He pulled Wheeler up by his shirt and leaned him back against the bar.

“It’s all . . . I had left . . . ,” Wheeler said, sounding weaker, his eyes looking more and more distant. “You didn’t leave me no choice. . . .”

“I didn’t come here bringing choices,” said the ranger.