DEATH OF A U.S. MARSHAL

Billy continued to hesitate. “Besides, that teller was goin’ for a gun behind the counter. I shot him in self-defense.”

“There weren’t no gun behind that counter,” Malone said. “You just flat-out murdered him.” His hand tightened on the handle of his Colt. “I ain’t gonna tell you again, Billy. Now let me see those hands on the table. We got a long ride back to Fort Smith.”

“All right, Malone, you win. I don’t wanna cause no trouble. You want ’em on the table, here they are.” He brought them out from under the table, but one of them held a Smith & Wesson .44 revolver. The silence that had descended upon the tiny barroom was suddenly shattered by the harsh report of the handgun as Billy fired two shots into Malone’s gut. The surprised deputy staggered backward, grasping for a chair back or table for support while trying to draw his weapon from its holster. Another shot from Billy’s pistol struck him in the chest, and he crumpled to the floor.