“Pay ’em no mind, Loretta,” Mutt said. “They ain’t ever been with a real woman. They wouldn’t know what to do.” She tried to give him a smile for his effort to console her.

Soon the discussion was back to the question of whether Billy was capable of doing the job he had been hired for. “Ain’t nobody faster with a six-shooter than Billy,” Mutt commented, more to reassure himself than to give the Corbins hope. He still couldn’t lose his concern for the four shots. If the shoot-out had gone the way it should have, there would have been one shot, and that was all—possibly one more if Hawk had managed to clear his holster before Billy shot him down.

Fred was gone for only thirty minutes, but it seemed like hours to Mutt. Concerned as well, though not to the extent Mutt was, Booth and Jesse passed the time in a two-handed poker game. When Fred finally returned, the expression on his face told them the news was not good. He had the immediate attention of all three, but he directed his report to his boss. “It’s bad, Mutt. He killed Billy.”

“Hawk?” Booth asked anxiously.

“Yeah,” Fred answered. “It was the feller called Hawk, two shots to the chest. The undertaker took him to his place.”

“What about Hawk?” Mutt asked. “I know I heard Billy shoot twice.” Fred related the whole story of the confrontation in the saloon as he had been told, and the shooting that followed outside. “I can’t understand how Billy missed him twice,” Mutt insisted.

“Well, what they told me was Billy weren’t too steady on his feet on account that Hawk feller hit him where it counts,” Fred explained, although reluctant to subtract from the dignity in the way Billy died. Seeing the look on Mutt’s face, he quickly said, “Nobody knew who Billy was, and I didn’t tell ’em. You can go to Fred Carver’s shop, if you wanna claim Billy’s body.”

Mutt didn’t have to think about it. “No, I reckon I won’t,” he said at once. “I wouldn’t bury him much different than the undertaker will—just dig a hole and put him in the ground.” He shook his head then in a moment of reflection. “Good thing his mama ain’t here to see how her boy ended up. She cared about things like that.” His moment of compassion passed, he said, “No, don’t tell nobody who he was—it wouldn’t be good for business.”