Nobody said a word. Simp took it as encouragement. He yawned, pulled out his pistol, and casually let fire. His first shot exploded the bottle the great Hill Coe had just missed.

“I always hit the first one, but then my aim gets jerky,” Simp said. He proceeded to demonstrate the truth of his statement by missing the next five shots—part of the trouble may have been that he was trying to tuck his shirttails in with his free hand.

One shot ricocheted off the wall and came so close to Happy Jack that he swatted wildly at it with his hat. Then he looked sheepish.

“I thought it was a bumblebee for a minute there,” he explained.

But the fact that Simp Dixon, half-asleep, had hit the very bottle he had missed finished poor Hill Coe. He seemed almost too weary to drop his gun back into its holster—I saw him fumble twice before he got it in.

The gunfighters, primed for battle, all looked at him, but he wouldn’t help them. They had followed him from town to town; had deputied for him, fought at his side, taken their cues from him—some of them for years. His pride supported their pride, such as it was, and now his pride was lost, with that one errant bullet.

“Pretty shooting,” he said again to Katerina Garza, handing her two fifty-dollar gold pieces.

“Thank you,” Katie said, careful not to rub it in.

Hill Coe still had a look of faint puzzlement on his face as he headed down the path for Greasy Corners, walking like a man who had just turned ninety.

One or two of the gunfighters would have liked a fight, but Simp Dixon’s behavior gave the whole thing a silly twist; and then, Hill Coe left. He had been their pillar, but he had crumbled.

Pleasant Burnell maintained his dark look, but he left without another word, and the others followed.

“You’ll answer for that insult someday, little Bill,” Wild Horse Jerry said as he was leaving.

15.

“I should shoot that Wild Horse Jerry,” Billy muttered, once the gunfighters were out of sight.

“I’ve known him to be ill-tempered,” Joe Lovelady admitted.

“Would you call him out or shoot him in the back?” Katie Garza asked in a tone of light curiosity.

Questions involving ethics always made Billy uncomfortable, and Katie’s was no exception.

“Well, I hate a card cheat,” he replied.

“Do you approve of shooting them in the back?” Katie asked bluntly.

La Tulipe chuckled—I think she enjoyed the two youngsters.

“A killer can’t be particular,” she said.

“It’s what I maintain!” Billy said, happy to have an ally. “A man shot face to face is just as dead.”

Katie watched Billy thoughtfully. Her quiet scrutiny seemed to make him nervous.

“Kill your man and get the job done,” he said. “Best not to waste time worrying about front or back.”