CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Garfield! Hold it right there!”

Jake’s voice was loud enough to attract the attention of the men who had just left the palace. The three of them stopped and stared.

Garfield stopped and turned toward the voice. When he saw Jake he stiffened momentarily, then seemed to relax.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “Is that you, Big Jake?”

“It’s me.”

Garfield was standing in the bright light given off by the show palace. Jake was in the shadows in the street. He could see Garfield’s gun also tucked into his belt.

Jake knew that a gun battle between two men usually resulted in an exchange of fire with most of the lead landing harmlessly in a wall, or breaking some glass and bottles in a saloon, or occasionally hitting an innocent bystander before one of the men finally struck home with a shot. The days of civilized duels, with men standing back to back, taking ten paces, and then exchanging a single shot, were long gone.

This threatened to be a mess, but at least there were only the three men watching, and Curly, who had come down from the casino doors.

“You kill Seaforth?” Garfield asked.

“I did. I put a hole in him. But not before he told me it was you who shot my friend.”

“On his order,” Garfield said. “Did he tell you that?”

“It don’t matter,” Jake said. “You put a bullet in my friend’s chest.”

Garfield grinned.

“And it was a helluva shot, wasn’t it?”

Jake didn’t answer.

“And what about you, Big Jake?’ Garfield asked. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fine,” Jake said. “Got it seen to good and proper by a sawbones.”

“Hmm,” Garfield said, “guess that’s why you’re looking better than the last time I saw you.” The man looked around. “You alone? Or you got backing?”

“This is between you and me, Garfield,” Jake said. “Nobody else.”

“Then I’m not going to get one in the back?”

“Only if you run from me, like a coward.”

“And what are you planning here, Jake?” Garfield asked. “A dime novel shoot-out in the street?”

One of the three men stuck his head back in the palace door, shouted, and more people began to appear. Now there were plenty of witnesses to this fight being fair.

Curly leaned against a post to watch, his hand on the gun in his belt. Jake hoped the young man would be able to resist getting involved.

“This ain’t a dime novel, Garfield,” Jake said. “This is real life.”

“That it is, Big Jake, that it is,” Garfield said, “and in real life, you don’t have a prayer against me.”

“I tell you what, Garfield,” Jake said. “I’m gonna figure that since you’re such a good shot with a rifle, you probably can’t hit a thing with a handgun.”

“Is that the way you figure it?”

There was enough light for Jake to notice Garfield’s eyes suddenly darting about, and he realized he’d struck a nerve. It had been a guess, but it turned out to be a good one.

“I tell you what, Big Jake,” Garfield said. “I’ll give you a chance to walk away from this and forget the whole thing. How’s that?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Garfield,” Jake said. “I’ve got too much invested in this, already. And too many men have died.”

“Well then, fill your hand, Big Jake.”

They both drew their pistols from their belts, and later witnesses would comment that it was hard to choose who was slower, since they had both pretty much fumbled their weapons out.

They each pulled their triggers over and over again, hoping at least one shot would strike home. The men standing in front of the show palace scattered, as many of Jake’s shots went wild. Glass broke, at least one horse cried out in pain while the others yanked at their reins, pulling them loose from the hitching posts, where their riders had carelessly looped them as they rushed to get inside.

The horses bolted, some of them running between Jake and Garfield.

Garfield could have stepped away from the horses before drawing his gun, but his intention actually was to use them as cover. Big Jake’s guess was right; Garfield was a genius with a rifle, and a dolt with a handgun.

As all the horses scattered in fear, the only one who stood his ground was the sorrel.

The horses ran off, the onlookers ducked back into the palace, and it was suddenly quiet enough for the sound of both guns’ hammers falling on empty chambers to be heard.

Jake had to reload.

Garfield dropped his handgun into the street and lunged to pluck his rifle from the sorrel’s back.

“Jake!”

He turned toward his name and saw Curly standing there, holding his gun.

“Catch!”

As Curly tossed his pistol in the air Jake dropped his and reached out to catch it, knowing he had a fifty-fifty chance of actually grabbing it as it flipped end over end toward him.

Amazingly, the grips landed right in his hand. As he turned to point the weapon at Garfield, the man also turned, bringing his rifle to bear on Jake.

Jake had fired six shots wildly and missed Garfield completely. But this time he pulled the trigger once, and the bullet struck Teddy Garfield right in the chest. All the strength went out of the man’s arms before he could pull the trigger of his rifle, which then dropped from his limp hands. He fell onto his face in the street, dead.

“Stand right there!” Jake heard a voice behind him say. “Drop the gun.”

Jake did, and raised his hands.

“Law?”

“That’s right.”

The speaker came around in front of him, holding his gun, and wearing a sheriff’s badge.

“There’s a story here, Sheriff,” Jake said, “and I wanna tell it to you.”

“You’ll get your chance,” the lawman said.

The witnesses came back out from the palace now that the shooting had stopped, and Curly came walking over to where Jake and the sheriff were standing.

“It was a fair fight, Sheriff,” Curly said.

“The kid’s right, Sheriff,” one of the onlookers called out. “We saw it. That feller on the ground called for the other feller to fill his hand.”

The other onlookers began to nod their heads.

“Well,” the sheriff said, staring at Jake from beneath bushy white eyebrows that matched his mustache, “that may be, but it looks to me like we got some property damage to take care of.”

The sheriff picked up Curly’s gun from the ground and stuck it in his belt.

“Let’s take a walk, mister,” he said to Jake.

As the sheriff marched Jake off to his office, Curly grabbed Jake’s gun from the dirt and stuck it in his belt.

The onlookers were now gathering around Garfield’s body, taking a closer look.