Rusty nodded. “He’s on his way. May already be here. I’d advise you boys to go out the back door and not let your shirttails touch you ‘til you’re in the next county. Maybe two counties over.”

Clyde’s voice was shaky. “How come you tellin’ us?”

“Because I want to keep you alive, at least ‘til you sign my farm back to me.”

“That’ll be a cold day in hell.” Clyde jerked his head. “Come on, Buddy.” He started for the back door.

Buddy did not follow. Stubbornly he said, “I ain’t scared of Farley Brackett. Almost got him a couple of times. Get him now and maybe they’ll take us back into the police. Even if they don’t, there’s a reward on him.”

Clyde was halfway to the back door. “I never seen a dead man collect a reward. Come on, Buddy, let’s go while we can.”

“No. I’m takin’ Farley Brackett.” Buddy started for the front. Clyde trotted after him and grabbed a handful of Buddy’s shirt. Buddy jerked loose and went out the door.

Trembling, Clyde started after him but stopped, still inside the saloon. “Come on, you men,” he called. “Buddy don’t stand a chance. You got to help him.”

Nobody seemed much inclined to move. Rusty said, “He’s your brother. You stop him.”

Clyde’s hands shook as he surveyed the men in the room, some of them state police. “If we work together we can get Brackett this time. We’ll split the reward, even money for everybody.”

Nobody moved.

Clyde drew his pistol and shuffled uncertainly out the door. Rusty and Andy followed.

Andy asked Rusty, “Ain’t you goin’ to stop them?”

Rusty answered gravely, “It’s gone out of our hands. The only thing that’ll stop Buddy now is a bullet.”

Buddy stood in the center of the street, pistol in hand, waiting. Farley was riding toward him. Other men, sensing what was building, hurried out of the way. As Farley dismounted and dropped his reins, Buddy shouted, “Farley Brackett, you are under arrest in the name of the law!”

Brackett did not reply. He walked toward Buddy. Buddy shouted at him to stop, but Farley kept coming. Buddy raised the pistol and fired.

Farley did not even flinch. He drew his revolver and put two shots into Buddy’s chest. Buddy buckled forward and fell on his face. He twitched a couple of times and was still.

Clyde made a noise that was almost a scream. The hand that held the pistol shook uncontrollably. He tried to raise the weapon, but he could not lift it. It was as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

Farley strode past Buddy and bore down on Clyde. Clyde cried out, “No!” His whole body was shaking. The pistol fell from his hand, and he sank to his knees.

“For God’s sake, don’t kill me.”