Showdown by William W. Johnstone

heading for the door.
    Doc Raven knelt down beside the fallen gunman and opened the man’s shirt. He looked at the wounds and grunted softly. Already, pink froth was forming on Utah Slim’s lips. A sure sign that the man had been lung-shot.
    â€œHow’s it look, Doc?” Slim asked. “I’m a-feared to look.”
    â€œBad,” Raven told him. “You’re hard hit.”
    â€œI’m I gonna die?”
    â€œLet’s just say if I were you, I wouldn’t be worried about lunch today.”
    â€œOh, Lord!” Utah Slim hollered.
    â€œYou want me to get a minister for you?” Raven asked.
    â€œWhat the hell good would he do?” Slim questioned.
    â€œHe could pray for your soul.”
    â€œThe preacher is stuck on the other side of the slides,” a local said. “Might get Sister Clarabelle to call on the Good Lord for him.”
    â€œClarabelle wouldn’t set her feet in a saloon,” another local said. “She don’t hold with drinkin’.”
    â€œWell, so much for that,” Raven said, standing up.
    â€œDo somethin’, Doc!” Slim yelled weakly.
    â€œNothing I can do. Make your own peace with God.” He looked at the bartender. “Pour me a cup of coffee, Phil.”
    â€œComin’ right up, Doc.”
    Raven joined Frank at the bar.
    â€œYou a sorry excuse for a doctor, you are,” Slim said.
    Raven looked at the gunfighter. “You’re gut-shot and lung-shot, boy. There is nothing I can do.”
    â€œI hear the angels’ chariots comin’ for me!” Slim said.
    â€œNaw,” a gunslinger told him. “That’s just the rain comin’ down.”
    â€œI can hear the beatin’ of heavenly wings!” Slim insisted.
    â€œThat’s the sounds of Sam pokin’ one of the bar women in the back room,” another gunslick said. “She’s gruntin’ like a hog.”
    Frank had reloaded his Peacemaker, and Phil had poured another cup of coffee for him. He leaned against the bar, saying nothing.
    â€œHi, Mama!” Utah Slim suddenly yelled. He closed his eyes and died.
    â€œSome of you men tote him over to the undertaker’s,” Raven said. “It’ll be a couple of days before he can be buried, unless you want to plant him as is.”
    â€œI ain’t diggin’ no damn hole in the rain,” a man said.
    â€œThrow him in a ditch at the edge of town,” another suggested.
    â€œSo much for the brotherhood of the gun,” Raven muttered.
    â€œYee-haw!” the soiled dove servicing Sam in the back room yelled.
    â€œLucille ought to give Sam ten dollars for that pokin’,” Phil said to Frank and Doc Raven.

Eleven
    Bob came in with Doc’s medical bag. He looked at Utah Slim and shrugged his shoulders. “You want me to take this back to your office, Doc?”
    â€œNo, Bob. But thank you. Bring it over to me. Hell, I might need it yet.”
    Bob walked over to his friends, carefully stepping over the body of Utah Slim, and waved for Phil to bring him some coffee. He leaned close to Frank and Doc Raven. “Something mighty queer goin’ on in town, boys. Seems them hoity-toity Easterners all of a sudden got into a sweat about pullin’ out.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Frank asked.
    â€œSeems like they sent a man out to the Lassiter Ranch to buy a bunch of horses and to see about a guide to take them over the mountains out of here. And everything is supposed to be on the hush-hush.”
    â€œHow’d you hear about it?” Raven asked.
    â€œThe schoolboy who does some work for me down at the livery—Able Stover—overheered them talkin’ early this mornin’. He just now told me ’bout it.”
    â€œWell, now, it’s slowly coming into place,” Raven said. “My suspicions were quite correct, I’m thinking.”
    â€œWhat suspicions?” Bob asked.
    Doc