He waited for a couple of minutes, watching the body sprawled facedown in the middle of the street to make sure Billy was no longer a threat. Hawk got up from his knee when the patrons filed out of the Last Chance to look at the body. He walked back to the saloon just as the sheriff arrived on the scene. Porter Willis looked up at Hawk when he came up to stand before the body. “I heard you were in town, Hawk. I mighta figured there’d be a shootin’ pretty soon.” He bent down and took Billy by the shoulder and pulled him over far enough to see his face. He looked back at Hawk then. “Who is he?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” Hawk answered, “and I ain’t got any idea why he came after me.”

“Hawk’s right,” Sam Ingram spoke up. “That fellow tried to pick a fight with Hawk in the saloon, tried to get him into a gunfight, right in my saloon, but Hawk wouldn’t do it and walked out.”

“After Hawk gave him a lick where he was most vulnerable,” Bertie piped up, causing a few snickers among the spectators.

“Well, how did the shooting out here in the street get started?” Porter asked.

“I was on my way to the stable,” Hawk said, “and he threw a couple of shots at me. I reckon he still wasn’t walkin’ too steady, ’cause he missed me and hit the barbershop. I had to stop him before he got his aim straightened out.”

“I reckon you didn’t have much choice,” Porter decided. “There’s been a lot of nameless drifters passin’ through town since summer. Most of ’em don’t cause this kind of trouble.” He looked around the circle of spectators. “Anybody know who he is?” No one did. He looked at Fred Carver, the undertaker, who had happened to be in the saloon when the trouble started. “Reckon you oughta go get your cart and haul him over to your place. When I get back to my office, I’ll look through my notices and see if there’s any paper on somebody that fits his description.”

Another spectator, who unfortunately had an interest in the incident, stepped forward then. “How about checking in his pockets to see if he’s got any money?” Alan Greer suggested. “He oughta have to pay for the window he shot outta my shop.”

“That ain’t a bad idea,” Fred Carver answered before Porter could. “I’ll check him out when I get him ready for burial. Course, I’ll have costs to cover as well.”

Unable to resist, Sam Ingram spoke up. “And he owes the Last Chance for that drink he never paid for.” His comment brought a chorus of chuckles from the people gathered round the body.