LOUDER THAN WORDS

Sam reached down, brushed Hornady’s bloody hand aside and jerked a custom Simpson-Barre revolver from a belly rig. He looked it over, admiring the ornate engraving covering its entire barrel and frame. Evening sunlight glinted soft on the gun’s ivory grips.

“Some gun,” Sam said quietly. He shoved the adorned revolver into his gun belt, then drew his long-barreled revolver from its holster and let it hang from his left hand. He stared down at the bleeding gunman as townsfolk began easing back into sight and gathering a few safe yards away.

“We—we were still talking,” Hornady said in a strained voice. He stared up at Sam in disbelief.

“You were,” Sam said quietly. “I was all through.”