Death In Helltown by John Legg

discourage him. He pushed me too far, like tryin’ to put a bullet in me, I ended his days for him.”
    “You’ve never faced more than one man before?”
    “I have.”
    “Then what’s the difference?”
    “When I’m huntin’ men, I don’t have no one to concern myself with but me. I don’t have to watch over a stage full of travelers, like as not none of them who’d ever been near a gun, or outlaws.”
    Lawson considered that for some seconds, then resignation began to settle on his shoulders. “There’s no way I can convince you to stay?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Well, Mr. Bloodworth, I thank you for your service. You’ve served Carleton very well. I’m glad you told me as soon as you got back. It gives me time, no matter how short, to find another man for the job, but I have no idea who might be available — and capable.”
    “You might try a couple of Redmon’s deputies. Two of ’em don’t seem be eager to work at their job. The other three ain’t quite as lazy, but one of them might be interested too.”
    “They reliable?” Lawson asked hopefully.
    “Doubt it. You mind if I keep the scatter gun?”
    Lawson shook his head. “You’ve earned it. Well, if you ever change your mind, I’d be plumb pleased to have you back.”
    “I’ll keep that to mind.” He paused, then asked, “How’s Gil?”
    “Not much better since you’ve been gone, but the doc thinks he’ll make it.”
    “The company takin’ care of him?”
    Lawson hesitated, and Bloodworth’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the right thing to do. The man gave you good service and did so for a number of years. You even said so just before I left for Clay Center this time. He deserves for the company to take care of him.”
    “Perhaps you’re right,” Lawson said thoughtfully.
    “No perhaps about it.” Bloodworth turned and left. Five minutes later he walked into Redmon’s office.
    “I hear you had a spot of trouble on the road,” the Marshal said.
    “News travels fast. Let me see what handbills you got. I reckon there’s rewards on all those fellahs.”
    “How do I know you just won’t pick out a few of the ones with the most money on ’em and claim those’re the ones you killed?”
    “You can ride on out there and check once I pick ’em out, if you have paper on ’em. ’Course, I expect the wolves and coyotes and buzzards will have been at ’em pretty good, but that’d be your concern.”
    “You are a pain in my ass, Bloodworth,” Redmon said as he handed over a sheaf of papers.
    Bloodworth shrugged and began looking through the stack. He tossed one on the desk, then another, then a third. “Fourth one I can’t say. A load of buckshot in the face tends to make identifyin’ a man a lot less than certain,” he said. “Those’re the others. A hundred on one, fifty on the other two.”
    “You’re getting’ to be a rich man, Bloodworth.” His voice betrayed some bitterness mixed with envy.
    “Hell of a way for a man to make a livin’. I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the cash. Have it ready.”
    Redmon sighed. “I don’t suppose it’d do any good for me to ask you to leave town again.”
    “It wouldn’t. I’ll leave when I’m of a mind to.”
     
    **  **  **  **  **
     
    Sam Wattes slapped a beer and a jigger of rye on the bar just as Bloodworth arrived. “Heard about what happened,” the barkeep said. “Thought you might have use for these.”
    “I do.” He reached into a shirt pocket and started to pull out some money.
    “No need for that. ‘Least on the first one.”
    “Obliged.” Bloodworth raised the shot glass and threw it back. “Ah, that’s good.” He sipped some beer and looked around.
    “Sally’s upstairs,” Wattes said.
    A sour look crossed Bloodworth’s face. “Reckon that’s understandable.”
    “Pearl!” Wattes bellowed.
    A dark-haired, plain-looking young woman with a hard cast to her face, looked over from where she was sitting on the lap of a slightly drunk