Conn nodded. “You know what Moses called me?”
The man shook his head. “But I’ll start reading the Bible every day and?—”
“Do you know what the man called me?” Conn said again.
The doctor, who was leaning back with fear in his eyes, said, “He called you the avenger of blood.”
“Yes,” Conn said. “I am the avenger of blood. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.”
Tripp hunched down into himself and shook his head, and Conn could see what was going to happen.
Tripp spoke like a spirit-broken child after a well-deserved whupping. “Like I said, Mr. Sullivan, you let me go, and I’ll read that Bible every day?—”
And then he went for it. Tripp grabbed the butt of his revolver and started to pull it from his holster, and Conn shot him right through the broken nose.
One down,Conn thought, his ears ringing,ten to go.
The doctor staggered backward with shock. “You killed him.”
Conn nodded. “And now I’m going to cross the street and kill the men who brought him here.”
The doctor gave his head a shake, seeming to recover from his shock and the impossibly loud noise. “Perhaps it would be better to leave them to Marshal Andrews. He’s a good man. And I’ll vouch for you. These men are the roughest sort, and I’m sorry to hear they?—”
“Thanks for the offer, Doc, but I’m taking care of this myself,” Conn said, opening the Remington’s wheel and replacing the spent cartridge. “Right now. Just gotta stop by my horse and get the right tool for the job.”
“Good luck, son.”
“Thank you, Doc.” He nodded toward the dead man. “You can keep his gun. That should pay for the hole in the wall.”
The doctor nodded, looking very pale, and Conn walked back outside, where the boy regarded him with wide eyes.
“I heard shooting,” the kid said. “Did you kill him?”
“I did. Any sign of those other men?”
The boy shook his head. “These men, they done you wrong, huh?”
“That’s right. They killed my brother tonight.” Conn holstered his Remington and stepped to his horse, and pulled the double-barreled, ten-gauge H&R coach gun from its shortboot. Then he reached in his pocket, pulled out another dollar, and handed it to the kid. “Thanks for keeping an eye.”
“Anytime, mister.”
Conn started across the street toward the saloon, where the fiddle had been replaced by a manic piano. The stomping and laughter persisted.
Overtop the saloon’s single step, its red sign swayed back and forth in the wind, winking in the gloom.
“Good luck, mister,” the boy called after him. “I hope you kill them.”
“I will, son. I will kill them all.”
11
You walk into a place with a sawed-off shotgun, folks tend to notice.
And when Conn stepped through the doors, that’s just what the patrons of the Fairplay Saloon did: they noticed. The laughter and music cut off, and everyone stared, shocked by the sight of a man toting certain death in his hands.
Conn saw Darlene, the saloon girl he’d talked with earlier that day. She was by the bar, talking to another man. Now, Darlene stared at Conn with an open mouth and concerned eyes.
He paid her no mind and scanned the crowd for Bo and Arthur.
