Free The Law of a Fast Gun by Robert Vaughan Page A

DOUGAL
A GRIEVING MOTHER’S SON
GATHER ’ROUND YE DEMONS OF BRAGGADOCIO
TO LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE

Chapter 5
    SHOOTOUT IN THE HOG LOT SALOON
TWO KILLED, ONE WOUNDED
COWBOY SHOT DEAD BY ACCURATE
SHOOTING
COWBOY HAD KILLED A WOMAN
BARTENDER WOUNDED IN FRACAS
    THE ISSUE OF THE BRAGGADOCIO JOURNAL THAT told of the shootout came out on the day before Cindy’s funeral, and it sold more copies than any paper Vernon Clemmons had ever printed. He had to go back to the Washington hand press several times, eventually turning out over 250 copies. Nearly everyone in town got a copy of the paper, and in the saloons and cafés of the town, the incident, and the article in the paper, were the prime subjects of conversation.
    “Who would have thought that a piano player would be able to best a cowboy in shooting?”
    The questioner was George Schermerhorn, owner of Schermerhorn Wagon Freight. The two men with him were James Cornett, who owned the general store and was also the mayor of the town, and Jubal Goodpasture, owner of the livery stable. They were having lunch at Lambert’s Café.
    “Well, have you ever paid much attention to this piano player?” Goodpasture replied.
    “Not in particular. I mean, he’s just a piano player. Who pays attention to a piano player?” Schermerhorn asked.
    “Mason Hawke is a pretty good one, though,” the mayor said. “You two might remember the one Harder had working for him before he hired Hawke. Sifferman, I think his name was. His piano playing sounded like a peddler’s wagon banging across the prairie.”
    The other two laughed at the mayor’s description of the previous piano player’s talents.
    “Yeah, but I’m not talkin’ about his piano playin’,” Goodpasture said. “I was in the Hog Lot a few weeks ago when a drunk pulled his pistol and threatened to shoot ol’ Bob Gary, claimin’ that he watered the drinks.”
    “Hell, Gary does water his drinks,” Schermerhorn said, and the other two laughed.
    “Maybe,” Goodpasture said. “But there was that drunk, waving his gun around, threatening to shoot anyone who came close. That didn’t stop Hawke, though. He walked up to him, just as calm as you please, picked up a bottle and hit him over the head.”
    “I remember that. But the man was drunk,” Schermerhorn said.
    “I was there, Schermerhorn, you was there, there was maybe a dozen more in there. But Hawke was the only one who had nerve enough to walk up to him and disarm him.”
    “Yeah, that’s true, now that you mention it. I reckon it did take some nerve to do that,” Schermerhorn admitted.
    “I’m tellin’ you,” Goodpasture said, “I think there’s more to this fella Hawke than meets the eye.”
    “Are either of you goin’ to the girl’s funeral?” the mayor asked.
    “I am,” Schermerhorn said. He chuckled. “I wasn’t, I figured my wife would give me hell for goin’ to a whore’s funeral. But she’s been readin’ the paper and she’s got so interested that she’s wantin’ to go.”
    “I think Karen wants to go,” Cornett said. “But she’s wondering how it will look to the good folks of the city if they see their mayor at a whore’s funeral.”
    “Hell, Mayor, how’s that going to be any different from you sittin’ down at the Hog Lot havin’ drinks while whores is walkin’ by, pattin’ you on the head?” Goodpasture asked.
    “They may pat me on the head,” the mayor said. “But I’ve never patted any of them on the behind.”
    Goodpasture, and even Schermerhorn, laughed at the observation.
    “What about you, Goodpasture?” Schermerhorn asked. “You goin’ to the funeral?”
    “Yeah,” Goodpasture answered. “And unlike you two, I don’t have a wife to answer to.”
    “Hell, Goodpasture, you don’t have to tell us you don’t have a wife,” Cornett said. “What woman would be dumb enough to marry you in the first place?”
    The jibe was good natured, and everyone, including Goodpasture, laughed.
     
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