Day of Independence

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Authors: William W. Johnstone
descending on Egypt, or get the Ranger to read it to you.”
    â€œNo need for that. I remember the story.”
    Hacker’s smile was unpleasant. “Well, now you know my plan,” he said.
    â€œAs far as I’m aware, there are no locusts in this part of Texas,” Dupoix said.
    â€œWell, that’s where you’re wrong, ain’t you?” Hacker said. He nodded in the direction of the door. “Now get out of here. And remember, I want that Ranger dead. Smother him with a pillow if you have to, but kill him.”
    â€œYou’re the boss,” Dupoix said.
    And Nora looked at him and smiled.
    Â 
    Â 
    Baptiste Dupoix tapped on Hank Cannan’s door, then stepped inside when the Ranger said, “Come in.”
    Dupoix halted in his tracks, staring at the unwavering muzzle of Cannan’s gun.
    â€œA Colt pointing at his brisket is hardly a friendly way to greet a man,” he said.
    â€œYou’re not my friend, Baptiste,” Cannan said.
    â€œBut I’m not your enemy. Abe Hacker is your enemy.”
    â€œA man who draws gun wages from my foe, is my enemy,” Cannan said. “Isn’t that how it goes?”
    â€œFoe. I’ve only seen that word in poems when I was a boy.”
    â€œIt fits,” Cannan said. He lowered the Colt. “But you didn’t come here to kill me today, did you?”
    â€œI’ve already killed a man today, Cannan. I don’t much feel like killing another.”
    Dupoix stepped around the bed, picked up the Old Crow, and held the bottle up to the light of the oil lamp.
    â€œThere’s enough,” he said. He poured whiskey into the glasses and handed one to Cannan. “Like old times, huh?”
    Dupoix reached into his coat pocket, and Cannan tensed and moved his hand closer to his Colt.
    The gambler smiled. He threw a sack of tobacco and papers on the bed.
    â€œI don’t think you cared for my brand of cigars much, so I brought you the makings. Oh, and you’ll need these lucifers,” he said, handing over a box of matches.
    â€œWho did you kill, Dupoix?” Cannan said, his face like stone.
    â€œNot one of your friends, I assure you,” the gambler said. “I disposed of that fine gentleman Dave Randall.”
    â€œHe was one of the men who tried to kill me,” Cannan said.
    â€œIndeed. And now they’re both dead.”
    â€œJess Gable was murdered, and not by my hand,” the Ranger said.
    â€œCan you murder a man who’s already dead, or at least dying?”
    â€œYes, you can. Who cut his throat, Dupoix? You?”
    The gambler shook his head. “Not my style. No, I suspect it was Hacker.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause Gable failed him. I mean, you’re still alive and kicking, aren’t you? Hacker doesn’t much like that.”
    â€œYou’re sunburned, Dupoix. Did Hacker send you out after Randall?”
    â€œNo, it was my own idea. Dave didn’t go far, and he wasn’t difficult to track, even for a gambler. When it came down to getting our work in, I got lucky. Dave’s gun misfired.”
    â€œIt happens sometimes,” Cannan said. He looked down at his fingers busily building a cigarette and said, “Why did you feel the need to kill him?”
    â€œBecause I knew he’d come back here to the hotel and finish the job to get himself in good with Hacker,” Dupoix said.
    â€œWhy are you so concerned for my welfare?” A match flared, and he lit his cigarette.
    Dupoix smiled. “Because I like you, Cannan. You’re an honorable man and one meets so few of those in the gambling profession. Besides, you always look like a big ol’ angry walrus and that makes me laugh.”
    Cannan inhaled deeply, then let the smoke drift out with his words. “Amusing to you or not, you know I’m duty-bound to hang you, Dupoix.”
    â€œAnd I may be duty-bound to gun you, Ranger. But let’s not

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