Sunday's Colt & Other Stories by Randy D. Smith

yourself down like that.”
    Print smiled weakly. “Thank you for that. I think we’ll just head home in the morning. This damned place can run itself. I need to go home and be with Louisa.”
    Sam nodded. “I know she’d like that.”
    Print smiled. “She’d have me for breakfast if she knew about this Sparrow deal.”
    Sam grinned and nodded. “Yes, sir, I think she would for a fact.”
    They were up early and met with John Travers when he opened the livery. Print was in especially good spirits. He laughed and joked with Travers and complimented him on the appearance of the livery and the corrals.
    As they left he handed Sam a five dollar gold piece. “Go down and buy our tickets. I’ve got some business at the dry goods, then I’ll say goodbye to Tom. We’ll have breakfast before heading back to Dodge.”
    Sam nodded and started for the train station.
    â€œAnd, Sam!” Print called.
    Sam turned to see Olive smiling broadly.
    â€œThank you for last night. Louisa would have been as proud of you as she would have been put out with me.”
    Sam grinned. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He turned for the station.
    Joe Sparrow watched them from the window of the Trail City Saloon. He had been up all night drinking. “There’s Olive. He’ll probably come over here next.”
    Tate was trying to sleep it off in a table chair and growled an incoherent response.
    Tom Bennet poured coffee into two cups and set them on the bar. “You better get out of here, Joe. I’m sure you don’t want to run into Print Olive this morning.”
    â€œHow many men has he killed?” Sparrow asked as he watched Print go into the general store.
    Bennet shook his head. “Don’t know for sure. Some say fifteen. I’ve heard counts as high as twenty.”
    Sparrow nodded. “And he wants to make me number twenty-one.”
    â€œDrink your coffee, Joe, and get out of here. Chances are that Print has forgotten all about it now that he’s sober.”
    â€œThreaten my life, will he? Just who the hell does he think he is?” Joe gave a cup to Tate and sipped his own. “What’s he think he’s gonna do? Lynch me like Mitchell and Ketchum in Nebraska? Hell, burn my corpse so’s not even my family can recognize me?”
    â€œI’d be careful about that kind of talk,” Bennet said. “Olive won’t stand for it. He did his time for that. Those bastards murdered his brother. You will end up in a hole in the ground for sure.”
    Tate finished the coffee then set his cup on the table. “Olive’s coming across the street now. We better go out the back door, Joe.”
    Joe shook his head. “Where you going? You lost your nerve?”
    Tate nodded. “Damned straight. I don’t want nothing to do with no showdown with Print Olive.”
    â€œCome on, Joe,” Bennet said. “We don’t want no trouble this morning.”
    Print stepped through the door and smiled when he saw Joe. “I was wanting to talk to you.”
    â€œThe hell you say!” Sparrow yelled as he drew his revolver and fired three times.
    Print clutched his chest, stumbled back to the doorway, and slid to the floor.
    â€œOh, my God,” Tom Bennet yelled. “What have you done?”
    Joe Sparrow walked calmly across the room and looked down at Olive.
    Print sat upright against the doorway. He looked up at Sparrow. “Oh, Joe, don’t murder me.”
    Joe looked down without emotion, cocked his revolver, aimed carefully, and put a round into Print’s forehead.
    Tate ran past his partner and through the door. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
    Sparrow nodded and followed Tate to their horses. They mounted and rode out of town.
    ***
    Sam and Tom Bennet waited by the boxcar as men loaded the crude coffin containing Print’s body for the trip back to Dodge