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Updated: June 4, 2025
Then his ambition changed. Once he had longed to shine as a gunman; now he was determined to become a prize fighter; but the old gang still saw much of him, and he was a familiar figure about the saloon corners along Grand Avenue and Lake Street.
"Doesn't it seem rather strange that a professional gunman should have chosen such a time with men arriving in cars, and the house full of women who might wander into this room at any minute to bump off his victim?" Dundee asked. "Well, there ain't no other explanation," Captain Strawn contended.
It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly glad of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for great speculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the wild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that he was a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him.
The guard had been withdrawn, probably to join the small army of plainclothesmen and patrolmen who had been foolishly and futilely searching for the New York gunman the keystone of Captain Strawn's exploded theory. With an oath, Dundee used his skeleton key to release the Yale lock with which the front door was equipped.
Into town from the chaparral drifted the enemies Clanton had made during his career as a gunman. Yankie and Albeen and Dumont and Bancock moved to and fro in the crowds at the different gambling places and saloons.
His grim face told Roush all he needed to know. There had been a time when Roush, full of physical life and energy, had boasted that he feared no living man. In his cups he still bragged of his bad record, of his accuracy as a gunman, of his gameness. But he knew, and his associates suspected, that Devil Dave had long since drunk up his courage. His nerves were jumpy and his heart bad.
Who was goin' to be first? Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a lesser man me who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad! Here's once I show you up!" The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
"I'll try to tell you straight from the beginning. I found Dan in Brownsville. I begged him to come back with me, but he wouldn't stir. This was why: A gunman had come to the town lookin' for trouble, and when he run acrost Dan he found plenty of it. No, don't look like that, Kate; it was self-defense, pure and simple they didn't even arrest Dan for it.
He gave his order with a nod and a mild flourish of the hand, indicating that he would take the same. "Oh waiter," called Rathburn. "Four eggs with mine." Sautee laughed. It was a peculiar laugh in that it seemed to convey little mirth. It was perfunctory. He gazed at Rathburn quizzically. "They tell me you're a gunman," he said in a low voice. Rathburn's brows shot up. "They? Who's they?"
"Thanks," said Waring, nodding to the assistant. Donovan heaved himself round. "Why, hello, Jim! I didn't hear you come in." Waring's cool gray eyes held Donovan with a mildly contemptuous gaze. Still the gunman did not speak. "Did you land 'em?" queried Donovan. Waring shook his head. "Hell!" exclaimed Donovan. "Then, what's the answer?" "Bill, you can't bluff worth a damn!" Quigley laughed.
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