The Magic Wagon by Joe R. Lansdale Page A

knew there was going to be trouble. They might as well have been waving flags. Texas Jack was grinning like what Billy Bob was doing was the silliest and easiest thing in the world, and wasn't it a damned shame that all those people were oohing and aah-ing over him so much.
    Blue Hat would look over at Texas Jack like it was all a big joke, then back at Billy Bob the same way. But I thought I could see a little something else in his face that he was trying not to give away. Surprise and pleasure.
    Next thing Billy Bob told the crowd he was going to do was a thing I'd never seen him do before, and I felt certain that he was about to go from star attraction to jackass. It was a shot I'd heard him talk about, one Wild Bill used to make, but it was something he'd never tried, not even in practice.
    He leaned over to Albert and said something, and Albert looked at him like he was crazy, then Billy Bob said, "Go on," loud enough that I could hear him, and Albert went back to the wagon.
    "Ladies and gentlemen," Billy Bob said, "my father used to take a bottle with a cork in it, place it at thirty paces, and with a pistol shot, drive the cork into it and knock out the bottom of the bottle without breaking the neck. Never heard of no one else doing it, and I'd like to show you the spirits that guided my father now guide my hand."
    Albert came back with the bottle, walked off thirty paces and set it up, then he legged it back behind the line Billy Bob had drawn in the dirt with the toe of his boot.
    Billy Bob, without so much as blinking an eye, drew his pistol —the left one, mind you—and without so much as aiming, fired.
    The shot drove the cork into the bottle and knocked out the bottom without breaking the neck.
    The crowd cheered, and I'll tell you, so did I.
    I reckon Texas Jack and Blue Hat didn't cheer, but they had their mouths open, and even when Jack got his cranked up, Blue Hat's stayed that way. Skinny dropped his bag of peppermints. It was a shot even an idiot could appreciate. Well, that's some damn good trick shooting," Texas Jack called out.
    Billy Bob turned and looked in the direction of the voice. Texas Jack was elbowing his way through the crowd, and the crowd was stepping aside, fast.
    "Thank you, fella," Billy Bob said when Jack was up close.
    "Yeah," Jack said rubbing his chin, "that's about the best trick shooting I ever seen, except for Wild Bill himself."
    "You seen Wild Bill shoot?"
    "Yep, I did. Wasn't nobody could out-trick-shoot Wild Bill."
    Billy Bob smiled. "Reckon not."
    "But trick shooting isn't the same as facing a man with a loaded gun. That's a whole nuther thing."
    The smile went off Billy Bob's face. "He proved he could do that too."
    "With drunks and yellow bellies. He wasn't so big when John Wesley Hardin backed him down."
    "That's just one of them stories," Billy Bob said.
    "And when I backed him down."
    "You?"
    "Yeah. Name's Texas Jack."
    For a long moment Billy Bob stared at Jack, looking for that Greek god he'd read about in them dime novels.
    Jack stared back, opened his coat, and showed Billy Bob the butt of that fancy pistol. I don't think Billy Bob even noticed the pistol. He was still trying to fit that face with the one described in the books, and he wasn't having any luck at it.
    Jack let his coat fall back over his gun, then he turned and shouldered his way back through the crowd. When he reached Blue Hat he said, "Just like his pa," then the two of hem snickered their way toward the saloon.
    Billy Bob didn't even know he'd been called out, he was so amazed to see a dime-novel hero out walking around on two legs. But the truth of what happened slowly dawned on him. He turned to Albert and said, "Did that fella call me a coward?"
    "No," Albert said quickly, "he was just funning."
    "No, I think he called me a coward."
    "He did that all right," one of the men in the crowd said, helpfullike.
    Billy Bob turned to the man. "You think so?"
    "Certain," this big-mouthed fella