The world felt like everything moved in a slow motion haze. I spun toward him and whipped out my pistols, but before I pulled my trigger a bullet zinged past my head and struck the large angry man in the throat. Blood gushed from his neck as he instinctively covered the gunshot with his hand. He tried to speak, but fell to his death before he could get out his first word.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the doctor held the sheriff’s pistol in one hand and continued to work on getting out the bullet with the other. A thick stream of white smoke billowed from the barrel for a moment before the doctor placed the weapon down on the table next to Henry.
“C’mere boy,” the doctor ordered.
I put up my guns and walked over close to where everyone stood and noticed that blood was everywhere—from all over the table and the floor, to the men who held down the Sheriff. The old practitioner looked over at me. I saw that his eyes were clear and his life had fully returned to him. “Son,” he said, “cup your hands together and hold them right above where I’m cutting.”
I did what he told me to do, and watched as he dug a bit deeper into the Sheriff’s body. Eventually, he reached down into the gunshot wound and pulled a small metal slug out of Henry’s stomach. He dropped it into my hands. It was odd—I never saw a bullet after it went into somebody before; it reminded me of a tiny mushroom of some sort.
My attention was taken away from the bullet as I heard a familiar voice. “Well, well… if it ain’t Doc Parker.”
When I turned in the direction of the voice, I saw it was Wallace. He must have slipped away from us as I brought the Sheriff into the saloon. He was walking down a flight of stairs and I noticed that his arm was in a sling. In his other hand he held a bag full of money. I could only assume it was money, but with the large green dollar sign on the bag I was fair certain there was currency inside.
Wallace walked across the saloon and stepped over the dead man on the floor. “Well old man, is my sheriff gonna live?” he asked as he came up to us.
The Doctor looked up from stitching up the belly wound. “Henry will be fine, Wallace,” he said. “He’s tough as nails—something your father should have taught you to be.”
Wallace scoffed aloud as he turned to me with that fake grin on his face again, and at that very moment I knew he was up to something no good.
“Well, good sir, here’s your payment for bringin’ in Dirty Paco, and for taking out that lunatic boy outside,” Wallace said. He paused for a moment and then spoke again, almost shouting this time. “Here it is, over one thousand dollars in bounty reward!”
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