Dialogue

The poacher stopped and looked directly at Claxton’s hiding spot. He dropped his own rifle and raised his hands, “All right, all right. You gonna shoot an unarmed man? That you, Claxton?”

Claxton felt like he’d been hit in the face with a 10-pound hammer. “I reckon it is, Joe.” he shouted back. “Whatd’ya mean, coming on my property, takin’ my cattle?”

“I’m mighty shamed t’be doin’ it, John, but I needed bait for that Grizzly yonder.”

“How ya gonna explain that to the Sheriff, Joe?” Claxton kept his sights on Joe Potter, one-time friend, but more recently known for murder and part-time outlawry, drinking, and debauchery. But the moon kept shifting in and out of clouds, creating darkness and shadows, making it hard to shoot at anything with accuracy.

“I don’t think I will, John,” Joe murmured, reaching slowly down his leg, tensing for quick movement. In a moment he was racing to hide behind the calf and firing bullets at Claxton, who had time only for a quick dive behind some brush. One bullet hit his horse in the shoulder, making it scream, while others hit trees and earth all around him.

“That’s quite a transformation,” whispered a low, sinister voice from the shadows, “You must have worked on it for quite some time.”

“Indeed,” the man stood straighter and shook his body, as if that would release the rest of his disguise. “It’s made me quite a pile over the years.”

A low chuckle reverberated through the alley. “That’s why I contacted you. You might be just what I need for my… endeavor.”

“Well, you called, and I’m here. I don’t reveal myself for just anyone. Make it quick. How much are you willing to pay, and what’s the job?” asked the beggar-king.

Entering the inn, he shambled to the bar.

“Whiskey,” he rasped, flopping into a stool.

“You stink, like a three-days-old carcass,” muttered the man sitting next to him, dressed all in black, with two guns strapped to his waist.

“Yo mama stinks!” answered the stranger. They both rose at the same time, reaching for iron, when they heard an audible click of the bartender’s shotgun.

“Take it outside, gents,” the bartender moved his gun back and forth between the two men, “I gots buck shot in this here gun… I can git both of yas with one shot.”