Free The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy by Mike Resnick Page B

“Yeah. Well, when we pick up your guns on the way out, I want you to pull one of them out of its holster and keep it pointed at your friend all the way back to the ship."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Not a chance, Thaddeus."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “You do it or I’m leaving both of you here,” said Flint. “I’m not kidding this time, Dancer."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  The Dancer stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say—but he ain’t gonna hurt you."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “What makes you so sure of that?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “I passed him my knife through the air vent last night,” said the Dancer. “If he wanted to slice you, he’d have done it already."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “You gave him your knife?” repeated Flint incredulously.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Why not? I had another, and if you didn’t make his bail he was gonna have to find some other way of getting out."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  Flint shook his head in disbelief, then began walking down the corridor. When he arrived at the magistrate’s office, there was no sign of the mysterious man. He picked up the sharpshooter’s pistols and headed out the door. When he reached the groundcar he found the man sitting comfortably in the back seat.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Sorry to rush off like that,” he said pleasantly, “but jails depress me."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Right,” agreed the Dancer, climbing into the car.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “And speaking of things that depress me,” he added as Flint hit the ignition combination, “so does poverty. Billybuck tells me you might be able to use a person of my talents, Mr. Flint."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “And just what are your talents, besides ducking questions?” asked Flint as he began driving back toward the carnival.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Well, I can juggle, I can do card tricks, I’m pretty good with a knife— though not as good as Billybuck here—I’ve worked with wild animals, I’ll wager I can play a game of three-card monte every bit as good as your friend the Rigger, I can sing a song and tell a story and play a musical instrument or two. You just name what you want done and turn me loose."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  Flint smiled in spite of himself. “I think we’ll want to know a little bit more about you before springing you loose on an unsuspecting public,” he said, veering to avoid hitting a small domestic animal that had darted out between a pair of decrepit buildings.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “All in good time,” said the man. “Right now I’d just like to luxuriate in being free. Ah! Smell that fine fresh air!"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Smells like dead fish to me,” said Flint, turning sharply onto a bumpy road that passed for a Tilarban boulevard, and vaguely wondering why all the houses and stores looked as if they had been made from cheap brown plasterboard.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Well, it’s not clean Texas air, I’ll admit that—but on the other hand, it sure as hell beats what I’ve been breathing the last three days. I want to express my gratitude to you once again."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “How about being a little less grateful and a little more forthright?” said Flint. “And while you’re at it,” he added, “choose one accent and stick to it. You’re driving me crazy."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “With no disrespect to my friend Billybuck, I think I’ll use this one,” came the answer. “It seems more functional, even if it is a bit less poetic."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “What does your real language sound like?” asked Flint, spotting the highway that led out of town and back to the carnival and heading for it.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “You couldn’t