It is better to say nothing than to promise something that you don’t follow through on.” –Ecclesiastes 5:5 (NLT)
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I saw the welcoming committee. My eyes first caught Dawson standing with his back against the bar. When I entered he straightened up. There were two men sitting at a table in front of Dawson slightly over to his left. To the left of them was a man standing, then over to the far right were two more. It was not a good situation. I breathed a prayer.
“Come in, Marshal. We’ve been waiting for you,” came the words from one of the men sitting at the table. He was the only one that was semi-dressed up, all the others were wearing range clothes, light jackets or vests. And Dawson…he wore a black vest with a red shirt with dark pants. His thumbs were in this gunbelt and there was a smirk on his face.
I was hoping that Martin would move in to my right, but he knew I was right handed so he chose to go to the left. The Greener was in my left hand, not good. I didn’t know if I could fire off a shot holding it only in my left hand. I pulled back both hammers, just in case.
“Who do I have the privilege of talkin’ to?” I asked the man at the table. My eyes moved from him back to Dawson. I didn’t think that Dawson would make a move until the man was finished with his spiel.
He didn’t look like he had the qualities that McGinnis possessed, but I reckoned he was trying to take over the gang.
“Mike O’Brien,” he snapped while giving me a smile. “Fellow sitting beside me is called ‘Digger,’ and don’t worry about the others.” He didn’t bother to mention Dawson.
I liked the fact that he wanted to talk. Now, if I knew what I was facing when I entered, knowing that they were waiting to do me harm, I wouldn’t bother with the talking. I’d cut loose with the Greener and let it speak for me. “Always nice to know, whom I’m buryin’,” I replied, then glanced at the others. “Hope you boys have some identification on you.”
When I said that, Dawson took a step forward. O’Brian put up his hand; he wanted to talk some more. I was doing some mental planning. I’d take out Dawson first then concentrate on the table, and hoped that Martin was up to the job.
“Sure glad to know your name. I’m sure that after the trial on Monday, I’ll be back up here to arrest you.”
Slamming his hand on the table, O’Brian shouted, “McGinnis won’t make it to trial, and you’ll never make it back to Durango.” He jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over and fired a pistol he had been holding. That’s opened up the game.
I felt the bullet hit me, and it caused me to raise the Greener up. Firing, I blasted O’Brian and Digger who were still sitting at the table. I was able to hold on to the shotgun, and one thing about buckshot you don’t have to aim. I could hear other shots being fired, but my eyes went to Dawson who had drawn his gun. He fired first at Martin. That gave me time to draw my pistol and fire two quick shots at him, both hitting him square in the breastbone. He fell back against the bar, his gun going off again but the bullet hit the ceiling. My eyes went to the right. I fired, hitting one man in the neck, the other shot at me, but ran out to the back.
A sound came from my left, a man was on the floor trying to raise his gun to shoot at me. I fired, putting an end to his intentions. That’s when I noticed that Deputy Martin was on the floor, his head in a pool of blood. Glancing around at my opponents, I then dropped to check on Martin. “He stood by me, so Lord help him,” I prayed kneeling to check on him. He was still alive, but unconscious.
I raised my head to see if anyone was in the room that could fetch the doctor. I saw a man peeking his head out from behind the bar. He had been hiding there during the fight. Standing, I cocked the pistol pointing it at him. “Don’t shoot, I have nothing to do with them.”
“They call me ‘Sparky.’ I own this place.”
“Sparky, why don’t you run for Doc Minton.”
He took off, and as he passed by me, I heard the sound of…