Dawn, High Noon, Doesn’t Matter

The barkeep set another beer in front of the man at the bar.

“You come in with Wright’s herd?” he asked.


“Just passing through then?”


“How’s that?”

The man leaned back and stared straight ahead. The barkeep got his first good look at him. Dark eyes, light stubble, and a mean-looking scar across his neck.

“You always ask this many questions?”

“Folks come into saloons looking for a little socializing. Part of the job.”

“I ain’t paying you to run your mouth,” he said, pulling his pistol loose. “Now, why don’t you go find the sheriff. I’ll wait.”


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