years to do it. There was a time or two I thought she was trying to do


me in." Cole drank his coffee while Norton ate two large helpings of


food. When the older man was finished, he restacked the dishes inside


the basket, covered it with his soiled napkin, and stood up.




"I believe I'll mosey on down to Frieda's restaurant and get me a piece


of her pecan pie. You want to come along? " "No, thank you. I'll


wait here for Ryan." One thought led to another.




"What did you do with my guns? " "They're in the bottom drawer of my


desk. That's a right nice gunbelt you've got. It makes it easy to get


to your guns, doesn't it? I expect that's why Marshal Ryan wears


one.




" As soon as the sheriff was out the door, Cole got his gunbelt out and


put it on. All of the bullets for the two six-shooters had been


removed.




He scooped them up, filled the chambers of one gun, and was working on


the second when Norton came rushing back inside.




"I expect Marshal Ryan could use your help. Those two gunslingers are


waiting at both ends of my street, and he's strolling right smack


across the middle. He's gonna get himself killed." Cole shook his


head. "They want me, not Ryan, " he said as he slammed the loading


chamber into place and shoved the gun in his holster.




"But that's the problem, son. Ryan ain't gonna let them have you. If


one of them kills you, then you won't be able to help him get the


Blackwater gang, and he's said more than once he needs your special


kind of help." Cole didn't have the faintest idea what the sheriff was


talking about.




What special kind of help could he give? He guessed he was about to


find out, though. His suggestion that the sheriff remain inside was


met with resistance.




"Son, I can lend a hand. Granted, it's been a while since I've been in


a shoot-out, but I figure it's like drinking out of a cup.




Once you've learned how, you never forget. I used to be considered


quick with a pistol too." Cole shook his head. "Like I said, they


want me, but thanks for the offer." Norton rushed forward to open the


door for him, and before Cole stepped outside, he heard the older man


whisper, "Good luck to you." ţLuck didn't have anything to do with


it.




Years of hard living had prepared Cole for these annoying nuisances.




Cole took everything in at once. The gunslingers were waiting at


opposite ends of the dirt street but he didn't recognize either one of


them. Gunslingers all looked the same to himţGod, how many had there


been, chasing after the empty dream of being the fastest gun in the


West? Dressed alike in leather chaps, the two men shifted from foot to


foot, letting Cole see their eagerness. They weren't boys, which was


going to make killing them easier, Cole supposed. He had already


figured out exactly how he would do it. The plan called for him to hit


the dirtţbut damn, he really hated diving and rolling around in the


mud, especially today, since his stomach was acting so persnickety.




Still, he would do what he had to do in order to survive.




Marshal Ryan was the fly in his ointment, however. The lawman was


standing stock-still in the center of the street, and that would put


him right in the middle of the gunfire.




Cole was about to call out to him when Ryan motioned for him to come


forward. Keeping his hands down and loose at his sides so he wouldn't


spook the eager-to-die gunslingers, he stepped off the boardwalk and


headed for the marshal. His fingers itched to reach for his gun. He


didn't particularly want to shoot the lawman, just hit him on the back


of his head with the butt of a gun so Ryan would have an inkling of the


pain Cole had endured because of his order to keep him in town.




As he sauntered closer, the gunslingers, like rodents afraid of the


light of day but craving the prize between them, edged forward.




Cole decided to ignore them for the moment. He and Ryan were both safe


. . . until one of the gunslingers went for his gun. The challengers


were there to build their reputations, and the only way they could do


that would be to shoot it out in a draw with witnesses watching. Fair


and square. Otherwise, the kill didn't count.




Sheriff Norton peered through the crack of the doorway, watching. He


smiled at the sight before him, for it was something to behold, and


remember. The two marshals, both as big and mean-looking as Goliath,


were sizing each other up like contenders in a boxing ring. They made


a striking pair, just like Josey said. She'd been afraid of Daniel


Ryan when she'd first met him, and later on she'd had the very same


reaction when she met Cole Clayborne, though she did a decent job of


masking it.




The two marshals spooked her, she'd confessed, and Norton remembered


vividly her exact words when she'd tried to explain why she felt the


way she did. "It's in their eyes. They've both got that cold,


piercing stare, like icicles going right through a body. I get the


feeling they're looking into my head and know what I'm thinking before


I do." She also admitted that, in spite of her timidity, she couldn't


help but notice what handsome men they were . . . as long as they


didn't stare directly at her.




Cole shouted to Ryan, drawing the sheriff's full attention.




"Get the hell out of the street, Ryan. You're going to get killed. "


The marshal didn't budge. His eyes narrowed as Cole moved closer.




Cole stopped when he was a couple of feet away. He stared into Ryan's


eyes.




Ryan stared back. He was the first to break the silence. "Are you


thinking about shooting me? " There was a hint of laughter in his


voice Cole didn't particularly like. "The idea crossed my mind, but


I've got other things to worry about now. Unless you want to catch a


stray bullet, I suggest you move."




"Someone's going to die, but it isn't going to be me, " Ryan announced


in a lazy drawl.




"You think you can take both of them? " Cole asked with a nod toward


the gunslinger on his left, who was slowly creeping closer.




"I'll find out soon enough."




"They want me, not you."




"I'm just as fast, Cole."




"No, you're not." Ryan's smile took Cole by surprise, and he would


have asked Ryan why he was so amused if the gunslinger on his right


hadn't shouted at him.




"My name's Eagle, Clayborne, and I'm here to take you out. Turn and


face me, you lily-livered bastard. I'm gonna draw on you, damn your


hide." The competing gunslinger wasn't about to be left out. "My


name's Riley, Clayborne, and I'm the man who's going to kill you. "


The gunslingers Cole had encountered so far had all been stupid. This


pair, he decided, wasnwt the exception.




"I should probably do something about those two, " Ryan said.




"Like what? Are you thinking about arresting them? " "Maybe." His


casual attitude was irritating. "What kind of a marshal are you? " "A


damned good one." Cole clenched his jaw. "You're sure full of


yourself."




"I know my strengths. I know yours, too." Cole's patience was gone.




"Why don't you go on inside with the sheriff, and you can tell me all


about your strengths after I'm finished here."