The Duel

Outside Campbell Creek, New Mexico, 1880

“All right, on the count of three. One... Two... THREE!” Stevie yelled.

Two pistol cracks split the hot air, one a half second before the other. The can Billy was aiming at flipped into the air while the one Stevie was aiming at didn’t move—there was only a spray of sand behind it.

“Shit,” Stevie said while a wide, goofy grin spread across Billy’s face. “Billy, Hell, I think you just might be the fastest gun in the West.”

Billy held the barrel of the Colt up to his mouth and blew across the barrel before laughing and stuffing the revolver into his holster. “Thank you, Stevie. I ain’t found nobody that can out-shoot me yet.”

“Duellin’ is an awful lot different than shootin’ cans. Think you’d be so sharp if you got someone tryin’ to shoot back atcha?”

Billy gave Stevie a shove. “Now, just what the Hell—” Billy’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “What the Hell do you mean by that?”

“Shit, Billy, didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Just sayin’ is all.”

“I don’t gotta worry about nothin’. I don’t think there’s a man alive that’s faster than I am. Another feller won’t even get his iron out of his belt before I’ll have a bullet in ‘im.”

“You really think you can shoot a man dead just like that?”

Billy stared out East over the land, watching the sun creep higher in the sky, thinking. “I think as long as I’m shootin’ fer honour, I’d be all right to gun a man down. But I ain’t no cold-blooded murderer like Jack McCall or somebody like that.” Billy turned to Stevie and put his hand on his shoulder. “Stevie, if I ever do get into a proper duel, I want you as my second. I trust you with my life.”

A big smile spread across Stevie’s face. “Hell, Billy, I’d be honoured to be yer second.” He hawked into his hand and held it out. Billy took his hand from Stevie’s shoulder and hawked into it and they shook.

“All right,” Billy said, taking his hand away to wipe it on his pants, Stevie doing likewise. “Remember our bet. Start breakin’ camp.”

“All right, all right, all right. We gotta play a different game for breakin’ camp. You ain’t broke camp once,” Stevie said as he set to work.

Billy sat down on a rock. “You just hurry up about breakin’ camp ‘cause I need a proper meal. I’m tired of yer piss-poor cookin’.”

Stevie just grumbled and kept packing up while Billy pulled his revolver out of its holster, spit on it, and started polishing it with the sleeve of his shirt. He thought about how many times he stared at the revolvers in the general store window in Wichita, and how many nights he’d laid awake dreaming about wearing one on his hip, ready to duel like his heroes did in his brother’s Beadle’s novels that he read as a boy.

He hadn’t bought the Colt he had now, but he’d taken it off a dead man he found down by the creek one afternoon while looking for a horse they had that had a tendency to wander. The man had been dead for a few days Billy guessed, judging by the smell of him, and the coyotes and buzzards had been at him.

When Billy first found him, he’d almost been sick to his stomach—he’d never seen a dead man. He almost turned around, looking to get as far away from the grisly scene as possible, promising himself that he wouldn’t tell a soul about what he’d seen. But that was when he saw the Colt in the dirt, inches from the man’s pale, outstretched hand.

He knew he’d never be able to buy one, not as long as his parents had anything to say about it. Taking the dead man’s was the only way he’d get one until he was off on his own. So he screwed up his courage, held his breath, pulled his shirt over his nose, and grabbed the revolver as fast as he could. He smuggled it home and hid it under the porch.

“Billy,” Stevie said.

Billy looked up, “What?”

“Camp’s broke.”

“’Bout damn time, slowpoke,” Billy said getting up and holstering his revolver. He stepped into his Sorrel’s stirrup and swung himself into the saddle while Stevie did the same on his Bay. “We’re gonna have to make some money in Campbell Creek. We’re down to our last few dollars.”

“Maybe we can find some work muckin’ stalls or somethin’,” Stevie said.

“I ain’t muckin’ no—” his voice broke and he cleared his throat hard. “—No goddamn stalls. I mucked enough goddamn stalls to last me a lifetime. No, we’re gonna find us a card game and make some real money.” He kicked his horse and started for the road.

Stevie spurred his horse after him. “But, Billy, what if we lose all our money?”

“We won’t. I’m too good a card player,” Billy said over his shoulder. “And besides, if it comes to it, I’ll rope some poor Jake into shootin’ cans for money. Ain’t nobody can beat me at that.”

* * *

Lonnie nudged Doug when the door to the saloon opened. It was a little after six.

“What?” Doug said. He was rolling a cigarette on the table while Tam, the dealer, shuffled the deck for the next round.

“Look at the pair of cow patties that just walked in here,” Lonnie said.

Doug looked as he popped the cigarette in his mouth and smiled. “Where in the Hell did they come from? Tam, have a look at ‘em,” Doug said, lighting a match and pointing with his chin.

Tam looked over his shoulder. “Jeepers,” was all he said before going back to shuffling.

The two men (boys) that walked in were young—no older than nineteen, Doug guessed. The one was tall and skinny with a pimply face and a sparse beard. The other one was small with a pinched face and beady eyes.

“Those boys wouldn’t know cheatin’ if it bit ‘em,” Doug said.

“They're just kids,” Lonnie replied. “They probably ain’t got two dimes to rub together.”

“They wouldn’t be in here if they didn’t have a couple dollars. Look, they just ordered a couple whiskies. They got somethin’ on ‘em.”

“Yer not gonna hustle two little piss-cutters like that, are ya Doug?”

“Yer goddamn right I am,” Doug said, blowing out smoke. “I wasn’t that old when Ol’ Tom Foley cut my fingers off. We’ll be doin’ these boys a service, teachin’ ‘em the consequences of gamblin’. And when someone provides you a service, you gotta pay for it. Doncha Tam?”

“Mm-hmm,” Tam replied, riffling the deck.

“See?” Doug said to Lonnie. “The three of us’ll have their pockets empty in no time.” He stood up and walked over to the bar.

* * *

“Well, now what?” Stevie said, taking a sip of whisky and trying not to cough.

“Well, now we watch a few games from the bar and try to pick a table with a couple of suckers,” Billy said, taking a sip and pretending it didn’t burn. “Whoo, that is good,” he said, rolling the amber around the glass and watching the legs drip down the sides.

A man who was seated at one of the tables walked up to the bar next to Billy and signalled for the Bartender. “Keep,” he said. “Put on another pot of coffee if you’d be so kind,”

“Sure like yer coffee,” the bartender said as he set to make a fresh pot.

“Coffee’s good fer cards,” the man said. “Better’n whisky. Whisky dulls the mind and you gotta be sharp. You remember that, son,” the man said, turning to Billy. “Wouldn’t give out bad advice.” The man was handsome, with sun-kissed skin and eyes that were lightened from staring over the plains.

“Whisky don’t dull my senses,” Billy said, taking a sip for emphasis “But I appreciate the advice, friend.”

“Hell, you must be able to hold yer spirits better’n I can. You a card player, mister?”

“I been known to play a hand’er two.”

“What about you, friend,” The man said to Stevie. “You ever play Faro?”

Stevie just shook his head.

“Hell, you should try. It’s a good time. Name’s Sawyer,” the man said, holding out his hand to Billy.

“I’m Billy and this here’s Stevie,” Bill said, taking the man’s hand. Then the man leaned around Billy and shook Stevie’s hand.

“Pleased to make yer acquaintance. Me and my buddy Huck over there have been waitin’ fer someone to play with. Y’all wanna join us?”

“I’d be mighty pleased, Sawyer,” Billy said.

* * *

Billy slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Yer, cheatin’—” Billy said, his voice breaking. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. “I saw that! I saw you move yer bet, you cheatin’ scoundrel!” Billy could feel his face going red—everybody in the saloon was looking at him.

“Whoa, hold on, friend! I didn’t move my bet! I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“I know what I saw! Dealer, you oughta kick these two out! Cheatin’ honest fellers like me!”

Stevie came over from where he’d been watching at the bar. “Billy—” he said.

“I didn’t see nothin’. You don’t like losin’? Yer welcome to leave my table, friend,” the dealer growled.

“Billy—” Stevie said.

Billy scoffed. “Well, if you won’t do somethin’ about it, I will.” He turned to the man called Sawyer. “Sir, I challenge you to a duel!”

* * *

Doug tried not to smile at the boy’s challenge and Lonnie and Tam had to put their heads down to keep from laughing. “A duel? Hell, Billy, I ain’t ever been in no duel. This ain’t that serious.”

“It is this serious, you, you cheatin’ bastard!” the boy said.

“Well, what’re the rules to duellin’?” Doug said, wondering just what the kid was asking him to do.

“You never heard of a duel? Are you some kind of turnip head? We meet at an agreed-upon place with our seconds and a doctor. If they can’t sort this out, we stand about fifty paces from each other and draw and shoot on a count of three.”

Doug smiled. “Well, why don’t you just shoot me now? I can see you got iron hangin’ from yer hip.”

“’Cause I ain’t no cold-blooded killer,” the boy said through his teeth. “I’m a man of honour and I demand satisfaction!”

“Well, what happens if I say no?” Doug asked.

“You’ll be branded a coward and be laughed outta town,” the boy said. The patrons in the saloon, quiet up to this point, all started to laugh. “Shut up!” The boy yelled, his voice breaking.

“Billy, I think this is a bad—” the small boy started to say.

“That’s enough you goddamn shit fer brains!” the bartender yelled, quelling the laughter. “Stop talkin’ about foolish things and get the Hell outta my bar!”

“No, no, no,” Doug said. “The boy’s right. He challenged me formally and I oughta be man enough to honour the duel.” Doug stood up. “I accept yer challenge, sir,’ he said.

“I’m tellin’ the sheriff!” The bartender said.

“The sheriff don’t need to know,” Doug said. “This is above the law. This is about a man’s honour.” He turned to Lonnie. “I nominate my friend Huck here to be my second.” He turned back to the boy. “Where are we meeting?”

“We meet at dawn. As the challenger, it's yer right to choose the location. Pick a good one,” Billy said, leaning over the table toward Doug,” because unless you admit to cheatin’ and apologize—” There were laughs from around the bar again. “I said shut UP!” The boy yelled.

* * *

Billy stood, watching Stevie and the man named Huck talking, while the man called Sawyer watched from the other side. Billy could feel his heartbeat through his entire body and his hands and knees were shaking. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was scared and he was mad about it. He’d wanted this his whole life. To test himself in a real duel--show off how fast and accurate he was with a gun. But on the way to the spot Sawyer had picked, a flat spot at the bottom of a small valley about five miles from town, his mouth had gone dry and he’d had to stop on the way to shit his guts out.

Stevie and Huck turned and walked back to their respective duellers. “We-we-well?” Billy said when Stevie reached him.

“He won’t admit to cheatin’,” Stevie said. “Looks like you’ll be duellin’...”

“What about there bein’ no doctor? He was all right with that?” When he and Stevie had knocked on the doctor’s door last, asking if he’d watch over the duel for a small fee and of course he could turn around so he didn’t have to watch, the doctor had scolded them.

“You get the Hell off of my property or I’ll shoot you myself!” The doctor had said.

“Yeah, they said they were all right with it. I don’t like this Billy. I think that if you skinned out, they’d let you away.”

“I ain’t skinnin’ out!” Billy said. “I’m a man of honour.” He turned from Stevie and yelled over to Sawyer., “I hope yer prepare—shit! I hope yer prepared to die! I’m lightnin’ fast and my aim is true!”

“I am,” Sawyer said. “If I die, well, I’ll die with honour!”

Billy gulped. “All-all right. I’ll let yer man do the count. On a count of three!” Jesus, I’m afraid, Billy thought. I wish I was back home. Lord, keep me safe, for my mother’s sake.

“Jesus, Billy, good luck,” Stevie said, stepping away. “I’m honoured to be yer second.”

Huck had stepped away from Sawyer. “All right, gentlemen! On a count of three, draw and shoot! ONE!” he yelled.

Billy’s hands were sweating, but he didn’t dare move to wipe them on his pants.

“TWO!” Huck called, and Billy thought he might throw up.

!!! PB-EWK !!!

A revolver shot split the air and dust sprayed up at Billy’s feet; he felt urine run down his leg. Sawyer had drawn and shot before Billy had even registered what happened. Huck had his gun out too and it was pointed at Stevie. Billy was too stunned to say anything.

The two men started howling with laughter. “You goddamn fools!” Sawyer yelled. “Yer gonna git yerselves killed out here! Ya’ll’d better run on home to Mother!” He kept laughing. “Now, slowly, undo yer gun belts and let them fall to the ground.”

“You-you-you bastard!” Billy yelled. He could feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks. “This ain’t fair! Whe-where’s yer honour!?” his voice cracked.

“Son, There ain’t no such thing as fair out here. There’s the killers and the killt and that’s it. I taught y’all a lesson today and it’s best if you learn it and go home.”

“Better do as he says!” Stevie said. “I knew this wasn’t right!”

“Now, as payment fer yer lesson, we’re gonna take yer guns and yer horses. That’s fair pay fer services rendered.”

“I’ll git you fer this!” Billy yelled as he started to reach for his holster buckle.

“You oughta learn to control yer water there first, young buck!” Huck called over and he and Sawyer laughed again.

Angry, and before a second thought could cross his mind, Billy started to draw his Colt.

“WHOA!” The man called Sawyer yelled.

!!! PB-EWK !!!

Before Billy knew what happened, he was lying on the ground looking up at the sky. His stomach felt cold but he could feel something hot on his skin.

“BILLY!” Stevie yelled.

!!! PB-EWK !!!

Billy, in shock, turned his head and saw Stevie lying on the ground with his hat next to him, his revolver in his hand, and a third, red eye above his two blank and staring ones.

“Oh, Jesus, Stevie!” he said, trying to sit up, but pain shot through his abdomen and he fell back. “You sick bastards! You killed him!” He touched the cold/warm spot on his side, winced, and cried out in pain. He looked at his hand and it was covered in hot, sticky, coppery blood. “And you shot me!” he was crying now, almost wailing. “Fuck you! FUCK YOU!”

The next thing he knew, Sawyer was standing over him, but it was hard to focus on him; his vision was going fuzzy.

“Watch yer mouth you little sonofabitch” Sawyer said. “I was gonna let you walk away here today, wiser than you were yesterday, but you went and made me shoot you. And then yer stupid friend tried to follow suit and I had to shoot him too.”

“Doug!” the man called Huck yelled. “Doug we’d best get out of here.”

It was getting hard to breathe now, and Billy’s breath was coming in gasps. “You gotta take me to a doctor!” he cried.

“I’m sorry, son, but yer dyin’,” Doug said.

Billy thought of the man by the river and he blinked trying to get rid of his double vision. His lower half was numb now and he felt like he had a horse sitting on his chest. “I don’t wanna die!” he cried.

“Well, I guess—”

“MAMA!” Billy screamed as loud as he could. “MAMA! HELP ME!”

“Aw, Jesus, Doug, shut him up. I can’t listen to this no more.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” Doug said between Billy’s weakening screams while raising his revolver and cocking it, “Like I said, there’s the killers and killt out here, and yer the killt.”

!!! PB-EWK !!!