Free A Bullet for Billy by Bill Brooks Page A

shared his grub and whiskey with us. I guess he was about to put an end to all that hospitality. They took a single step forward toward the shed and I shot the old man, the flash of light blinding my night vision for a moment.
    I heard a yelp and the Cap’n crawled over quickly and said, “What’s going on?”
    But instead of answering him I kicked down the loose boards of the wall and fanned the hammer of my pistol into the body of the man with the ax who’d paused and bent to his fallen comrade. I was pretty sure I hit him four out of four becauseevery shot coming in rapid fire as it did caused his body to jump and jerk. He dropped the ax with the second round, spun completely around with the third, and went down with the fourth. The old man was on the ground moaning. The Cap’n was right there, his gun held straight out in front of him, cocked and ready.
    â€œGet a lantern if you would, Cap’n,” I said. He crossed the yard to the house and took a bull’s-eye that had been hanging next to the door on a nail and struck a match to the wick, then lowered the glass and brought it near the two shot men.
    One, the one holding the ax, was a younger version of the old man. He was shot through the belly and writhing on the ground, groaning through clenched teeth.
    â€œBring your light over here to this other one,” I said, and the Cap’n walked it over and lowered it to the old man’s face. His eyes were crossed in death as though he’d been trying to look down his nose at where my bullet struck him—top button of his shirt. Cap’n flashed the light around the ground till it fell on the double barrel. He bent and picked it up and looked at it close. Then he looked at the one moaning and groaning and said, “You chickenshit son of a bitch. How many others you done this way?”
    He gasped and said, “I need a doctor, oh…oh…”
    â€œYou’re gut shot, among your other wounds,” I said. “A doctor won’t do you any good.”
    It was a mean goddamn thing to say to someone dying, but I owed him no sympathy for trying to waylay me and the Cap’n.
    â€œOh…help me…”
    â€œYou bought the ticket, now do the dance,” I said and stood away.
    Cap’n, still carrying the shotgun in his hand, his pistol now tucked down in his holster, said, “The old man must have thought we had money we were going to use to buy horses,” he said. “I wonder who this other’n is.”
    â€œLooks enough like the old man I’d say he was kin, son or something.”
    â€œI don’t guess it really matters, does it?”
    â€œNo sir, I don’t suppose at this point it really does.”
    â€œWhat do you want to do about him?” Cap’n said, pointing the barrels of the shotgun at the dying man, whose boot heels kept digging for purchase into the ground.
    â€œLeave him,” I said. “He’ll not make it till daylight.”
    â€œCan’t just leave him like that, Jim. Wouldn’t hardly be Christian.”
    I looked at the Cap’n as he handed me the shotgun.
    â€œNo, I’m not going to kill him,” I said.
    â€œI know,” the Cap’n said. “I know you ain’t, Jim.” Then the Cap’n stood over the wounded man and drew his pistol quickly and shot him through the skull, and reholstered his revolver.
    â€œI didn’t see no other way, did you?” the Cap’n said.
    â€œNone at all.”
    â€œWhat time you figure it is?”
    â€œTwo, three in the morning,” I reckon.
    â€œStill can catch a few hours of rest and head out first light,” he said.
    â€œAll right, if you think you can after all this.”
    â€œMight just as well make use of that bed inside,” he said. “Beats hell out of sleeping in the shed like a couple of dogs.”
    â€œBe my guest. I’ll wait out here ’case there’s any more