The first tore a splinter from the post by Blaze’s head. The second hit the wagon wheel, shattering it. Kane cursed again, stumbling back. His aim was thrown off.
“Get outta my way!” Kane roared, kicking the broken wheel aside.
Blaze stepped from cover, breathing slowly. “It’s over, Kane.”
“Not till you’re dead,” he replied.
They stared at each other across the empty street. Dust swirled between them like smoke from a dying fire. Kane’s shirt was torn, his face streaked with sweat and powder. Blaze’s arm throbbed where the bullet had grazed him, but he barely felt it.
“You should’ve run while you had the chance,” Kane said.
“You should’ve stopped when you had the chance,” Blaze countered.
Kane smiled, teeth bright against the dirt. “You sound like your father.”
Blaze’s finger tightened on the trigger. “No. He’d have walked away. I won’t.”
Kane’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s end it.”
“Let’s.”
They drew at the same time. The first shot ripped through the stillness.
Blaze’s revolver bucked once. Kane’s did too. The air filled with smoke and the ring of steel on steel.
Blaze felt something graze his ribs, but he stayed upright. Kane staggered, one hand going to his chest.
“Not...yet,” Kane gasped. He fired again, his next shot wild and desperate. The bullet shattered a window.
Blaze took one step forward. “It’s done.”
Kane tried to raise his gun again. His hand trembled.
“I told you,” Blaze said, his voice low. “This ends today.”
He fired once more.
The shot hit clean. Kane’s revolver slipped from his grasp. He stumbled backward, his legs folding beneath him, and fell into the dust.
He lay still for a moment, then coughed, blood on his lips.
“You think you won,” Kane said weakly. “But you just—”
“Ended it,” Blaze said.
Kane’s head tilted back, his breath rattling once. Then, it stopped.
The street went quiet again.
For a long time, Blaze didn’t move. Smoke drifted past his face, rising into the bright afternoon. He could hear the faintmoan of the wind and the soft whimper of the deputy on the porch.
“Is it . . . over?” the deputy asked, his voice weak.
“It’s over,” Blaze said.
He holstered his revolver and crossed to the deputy. The man’s face was pale, sweat beading on his brow.
“You’re gonna be alright,” Blaze said.
