Shot in the Back by William W. Johnstone

clothes. No longer wearing the three-piece suit he had worn on the train, he was now wearing blue jeans, a denim shirt, and a belt with two holsters and two pistols. Stepping next door, he knocked lightly on the door.
    â€œWho is it?” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door.
    â€œIt’s your pa, Billy. Open the door.”
    The door opened. “I waited here for you just like you—” Billy started, then seeing the way his father was dressed, he stopped in midsentence. “Pa, why are you dressed like that?”
    â€œI’ve come to take you to school,” Jesse said.
    â€œSchool? Pa, what are you talkin’ about? I don’t have enough education to go to college. I never got beyond the eighth grade, and at my age, I sure don’t plan on ever goin’ back. I’m damn near twenty-two years old.”
    â€œThat’s not the kind of school I’m talking about. Get your gun and come with me.”
    â€œMy gun?”
    â€œYou haven’t hocked it, have you?”
    â€œNo, I’ve still got it.”
    â€œThen strap it on and come with me.”
    â€œCome with you where?”
    â€œOut to McKamy Creek. I’m going to teach you to shoot.”
    Billy laughed. “Pa, come on, really? You are going to teach me to shoot?”
    â€œI was in the war, remember.”
    â€œYeah, I know you’ve said that. But I wasn’t always too sure you were telling the truth. I mean, sure, you were probably in the war, but I always figured that maybe you took care of the horses, or something.”
    â€œOr something,” Jesse said. “Speaking of horses, I know you said you sold Dancer. Have you got another one?”
    â€œHe’s in the hotel stable. Same as yours, I reckon.”
    â€œI don’t have a horse; I left everything with Frank. Let me take a look at your mount.”
    Billy led Jesse to the stable, where he examined the horse’s feet and legs. He also looked into the animal’s mouth.
    â€œNo,” he said. “He won’t do.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Patch? He’s a good horse.”
    â€œYou think he could do fifty miles in a single day?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œI do know. He can’t.”
    â€œWell, why would he have to?”
    â€œYou never can tell. The time might come when we’ll have to cover fifty, maybe even sixty, miles in one day. You need another horse.”
    â€œPa, even with the money you gave me, I don’t have enough to buy another horse.”
    â€œI do,” Jesse said.
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    An hour later the two men, having ridden out on the just purchased horses, were standing alongside McKamy Creek, a quickly flowing stream just north of Dallas. It was an ideal place to practice shooting, as it was over five miles from downtown.
    â€œLet me see you shoot,” Jesse said. “I want to know what I’ll be working with.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to shoot at?”
    â€œI’ll let you pick your own target,” Jesse said.
    â€œAll right. Look over there. Do you see that can?” Billy asked, pointing to a rusty can on the other side of the stream. “I’ll shoot it.”
    Billy pulled his pistol, raised it to eye level, aimed, and shot. He hit the can and turned toward Jesse with a broad smile on his face. “What do you think about that?”
    â€œYou took too long,” Jesse said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, I took too long? I aimed at it; I hit it. What more do you want?”
    â€œYou don’t always have time to aim,” Jesse said. “Most of the time you just have to pull your gun and fire.”
    â€œWhat good does it do to pull your gun and fire if you can’t hit anything?”
    â€œOh, I’ll hit something,” Jesse said.
    â€œAll right, pick the target. Let me see you pull your gun, fire without aiming, and hit something,” Billy said with a challenging smile.
    There