A Bold Claim

Jesse stirred, moaned, and reached for his head. He winced as his fingers found the bloody groove Slocum had laid on his temple.

“Damnation, that popskull you serve’s powerful,” Jesse James said. He sat up, held his head in both hands, and then looked up. For a second his eyes didn’t focus. And then they did. He went for his six-shooter.

“Go on, Jesse,” Slocum said, lounging back, both elbows resting on the bar. “It’ll be real interesting to see if you can get your gun out before I can draw.”

“Mister,” the barkeep muttered. “He’s a killer.”

Over his shoulder, Slocum said, “He’s not the only one. Might not even be the best killer in this room . . .”