Blackjack? Are we fightin'?"

Blackjack gave Brendan one of his fearsome glares, "We aren't paid to have these guns and go dancin'."

Greer echoed, "Yeah, we can take him! There's four of us now!"

The oncoming rider now had realized what he was getting into and quickly turned to high tail back over the rise while the men talked. By the time all of them were now armed and dangerous, the man was out of sight.

Blackjack was disappointed,  figuring Cantrell was riding away now as fast as his horse could take him. That assumption proved incorrect.

"BOYS! I JUST WANT GREER! HE TOOK A SHOT AT ME!...I DON'T HAVE A QUARREL WITH YOU ALL!"

Billy glared at Greer, "Jeezus, I figured so!"

Greer glared right back, "He's lyin'."

Blackjack hushed them both, "It don't matter none now. I know this Cantrell from a past we shared. He is gonna kill us all. Don't you think he's gonna just take us back inta town where it's our words against his. No, he is a killer...I oughtta know. I'm one too."

Now he shouted back as loudly as he could.

"HEY CANTRELL !  IT'S ME!  BLACKJACK LAINE! YOU REMEMBER ME!  I REMEMBER YOU!"

"YOU WANT GREER? THEN COME AND GET HIM! WE ARE GONNA BLAST YOU TO HELL N' BACK! UNLESS YOU TURN TAIL AND RUN LIKE A COWARD!"

Blackjack hushed them both, "It don't matter none now. I know this Cantrell from a past we shared. He is gonna kill us all. Don't you think he's gonna just take us back inta town where it's our words against his. No, he is a killer...I oughtta know. I'm one too."

Now he shouted back as loudly as he could.

"HEY CANTRELL !  IT'S ME!  BLACKJACK LAINE! YOU REMEMBER ME!  I REMEMBER YOU!"

"YOU WANT GREER? THEN COME AND GET HIM! WE ARE GONNA BLAST YOU TO HELL N' BACK! UNLESS YOU TURN TAIL AND RUN LIKE A COWARD!"

Cantrell's head reared back a bit as he thought about what the man said. After a few seconds his eyes widened in recognition.

"JACK?...NOBODY CALLED YOU BLACK JACK BUT YOURSELF! YOU CAN'T STOP PICKING THE WRONG SIDE, CAN YA?" Quentin took another breath

"THIS IS A LONG WAY FROM KANSAS, JACK! DON'T YOU BE A DAMN FOOL!"

Blackjack smirked then yelled back, "WHO IS THE FOOL HERE? IT'S ONE AGAINST FOUR!  WE LIKE OUR CHANCES!"

Greer started up a disturbing chuckling.

Quentin's eyes narrowed. "THERE WERE FIVE OF YOU IN ABILENE, JACK!...HOW DID THAT WORK OUT?"

Billy stared at their self-appointed leader so Blackjack turned to the others and explained, "He and his bushwhacked us."

Brendan shook his head resignedly and adjusted his grip on his rifle. "Hell, why'd you get us into this, Greer?"

Greer huffed, "I got bushwhacked too!"

Brendan searched the rise with his eyes to see if he could see where Quentin was hiding. "Ain't you gonna answer him, Blackjack?"

Blackjack now raised his Winchester to his shoulder and looked down the sights, aiming it up along the crestline, "I'll answer him alright. Let's give the sonofabitch a reply he'll understand!"

Then he opened fire, pumping three rounds up there as fast as he could work the lever and bring the rifle up to aim the next shot. Greer joined in too, firing a couple shots too.

Quentin was just raising his head back up to take a look when the first shot rang out. It was joined by others and what had to be at least one more rifle. He ducked back down as he heard a few faint snaps as the rounds passed nearby but not too near. It looked like they had no idea where he was at the moment and were just fishing. Quentin rolled onto his stomach and crawled up just to the crest. He rested the Winchester on the edge, left hand cradling the forearm as he settled behind the stock. Quentin looked the wagon over and saw the drifting smoke from two spots...figuring that might be Greer and Jack. Quentin kept watching and soon saw at least two more movements. He nodded to himself. Those two might not be so eager to participate in a gunfight.

Quentin sighted and exhaled, then his finger curled around the trigger. The Winchester puffed a small cloud of white smoke as he fired at the one with what looked like an old muzzle loader. He glimpsed wood fly as the round struck near him but Quentin wasn't looking to kill anyone who didn't buy a ticket to this dance. He worked the lever a few more times, sending a total of three rounds into the wagon side and frame. After the last shot he crawled back below the crest and began crawling to the right, taking his hat with him because he knew bullets would be coming back at the spot the smoke came from.

So far only Blackjack and Greer were firing. Billy was just standing behind the wagon, taking in this first time situation for him, he was in an actual gunfight where people were trying to kill people? It was a lot to grasp.

A shot now struck the wagon, much closer to Brendan though than him. Still, he couldn't help but flinch. Another two shots whacked into the wooden sides of the wagon then. One of them caused a few splinters to fly and one struck him in his bare chest.

"Ow!" it stung but nothing more than a scratch as he glanced down. Still he knelt then by the back wheel.

Blackjack snapped at the pair, "Don't just stand there you idiots. Gonna let yerself get shot down like dogs. Shoot back!"

Billy now took a deep breath, cocked back the Spencer and popped up. Resting the carbine on the wagon he then fired at the smoke on the horizon. Since his was a single shot he ducked back down to lever it and recock it.

Meanwhile Greer blazed away like a madman, he was using up his magazine capacity at a quick rate.

Brendan heard the whine of a bullet and flinched as a few splinters grazed his cheek. "Shit!" He fired a shot in the direction of the smoke from Quentin's shots and then ducked down behind the wagon and swiped his arm across his face. His bicep was bloody in two places when he looked at it: one from his face and one from a splinter in his arm.

Greer and Blackjack seemed to be holding down the fort all right, so he edged around them to the front of the wagon and started undoing the harnesses of the horses. He didn't think any of the other men would think about the horses, but he didn't want them in harm's way. He slapped their rumps to get them moving and then crawled back beside Billy, working to reload his gun.

"We shoulda just given him Greer," he muttered quietly.

Billy noticed Brendan got hit with splinters too, the drawback of using the wagon for cover it seemed. As for the man's opinion...

"Not gonna happen," Billy didn't like Greer much and hadn't for a long time now but he wasn't prepared to turn on him.

Quentin lifted his head up from the rifle, moving his finger from the trigger as he watched the young man shooing the wagon's team out of danger. He exhaled....No, that one isn't in this for the fight. Another round came from the wagon and Quentin's eyes narrowed. He swung the rifle around and fired off a few rounds, sending them at Greer with a lot less worry about where they will hit.

Greer now ducked as bullets whizzed close to his position, that finally stopped his mad firing.

"He's too far away, we can't hit him from here!" he carped to Blackjack.

"Oh, it's a hard shot but not impossible. It's not the range though, he's in a good spot up there, we're gonna have to flank him then catch him in a crossfire," the veteran gunman now figured aloud.

He also spared a few precious seconds to berate Brendan, "Never mind the goddamn horses! Cantrell's out to kill US not THEM, you idiot!"

Billy popped up then and snapped off a barely aimed shot in the direction of the latest smoke puff on the rise, figuring just maybe he'd get lucky. Not that luck was something that hung around much with him in his young life.

Blackjack followed up that shot with one of his own, although considerably better aimed before dropping down behind the wagon once more. He well knew it was a real risk to expose oneself for too long with a shot like Cantrell. He had to think now on a plan to change this standoff.

Quentin lay below the level of the ridge, thumbing rounds into the Winchester to refill the magazine. He then eased back up slowly to look back at the wagon. He could see just a little motion as the four men milled around in the dubious shelter of the wagon. Quentin smiled to himself and pushed the rifle forward again. He aimed, then lowered the barrel before he fired two more times. His rounds kicked up a spout of dirt between Greer and Laine, then the other round smacked into one of the wheel spokes near Greer.

Greer yipped, "Dammit! He almost hit me!" then tried to move more to the center behind the wagon. This place was getting less safe by the minute.

Brendan glared back at Blackjack. "Don't mean he might not accidentally hit 'em!" He kept a grip on his rifle and hunkered down against the side of the wagon, away from Greer and Blackjack, who seemed to be the target for more of Quentin's shots.

"How're you figurin' on flankin' him if we're stuck here?" he asked after the next barrage of Quentin's faded away. That would require someone or multiple someones to leave cover and get around behind Quentin, and he didn't fancy that. He glanced to where his horse stood, only partially tethered with the rest of the mounts that hadn't been attached to the wagon.

"We're too bunched up here, like fish in a barrel. We got the numbers but we need to make use of 'em," Blackjack remarked.

"Alright, here's the plan! Just lissen up and do what yer told," he now began.

"Billy, you go left and try to get up there ...stay among the trees and work your way up on his flank. Brendan, same thing only you go right. You both got cover on the way up, just use it. Me'n Greer got the repeaters so we will give ya coverin' fire. Then once you get over the rise he'll be trapped like the meat in a sandwich."

Greer nodded, "Makes sense, good plan!"

Billy frowned, "You don't have to be the one doin' the flankin'."

Blackjack snapped, "You two are faster, we got the better guns. Don't be a coward, boy. Steelgrave won't tolerate no cowards."

Billy nodded, "Fine! I'll do it."  He was young and quick and agile, yeah he could make it up there by going from tree to tree.

Blackjack turned to Brendan, "Enough talk!  GO! "

The veteran gunman now stood and began firing at a rapid rate up where he believed Cantrell to be. Greer was up there a few seconds later also blazing away.

Billy took a deep breath, gripped his carbine and broke for it from the wagon toward the closest tree trunk maybe twenty yards away.

Quentin's eyes narrowed as he watched from a different spot than his last shots. He heard the random rounds passing over the crest or kicking up dirt. He saw one younger one take off to his left heading for the dubious cover of some trees and he glimpsed that young hand from that night in town heading in the other direction. Quentin considered the flanking taking place and decided on the simplest solution...fall back.

Quentin turned and stuckhis hat on his head and hop/slid down to the bottom of the hill. He hopped into Paladin's saddle and spurred the horse up the next roll of ground behind the crest he had been firing from. He spared a quick glance to each side but could not see either man. Paladin topped the crest and Quentin reined in and dismounted. He patted Paladin to send him down the hill once more but this time Quentin took off, moving along the hill to one side where he had seen the hand who had protected the horses moving to encircle him. Quentin kept moving until the hill rolled lower. He then stopped, going to one knee and watching for his target to appear around the next curve of ground ahead of him.

Brendan scowled at Blackjack's back and then shrugged. He was in this mess now, he might as well try to help the rest of the hands out. He counted to three in his head and then bolted from behind the wagon to the nearest tree. He knew he had time to move while Greer and Blackjack were keeping Quentin pinned down, but he didn't know how much time he had.

He crested the rise and saw no one.

By now both Blackjack and Greer had halted their covering fire, in fact Greer was muttering as his Henry was out of ammo.

 Brendan's spine prickled as he reluctantly left the cover of the trees and inched his way downward, trying to use the few shrubs and spindly trees for cover. He gripped his rifle in one hand and slid it along next to him. Then, as he rounded a hill, he came face to face with Quentin. He started to bring his gun up instinctively, then realized that he was too late. Quentin had the jump on him.

Quentin had been looking over to his left checking to see if Billy was getting near when he heard a sound and he looked back to his front to see The young hand come around the side of the hill. The younger man's eyes locked with Quentin's and he moved to bring up his breech loader.

Quentin had hoped to speak to the young man but seeing the Sharps coming up he swore to himself and brought up the Winchester. He moved the sights from the man's chest at the last moment and fired to the side. He saw a puff of red erupt from the man's left arm. The shot spun him as he had already been trying to retreat. Quentin knelt in case of a return shot but couldn't see him now. Quentin looked around before he spoke.

"Boy! I don't want to kill you...my fight isn't with you!"

By this time a good hundred yards off, Billy had now reached what he had hoped would be a good flanking position and cautiously crouched as he went over the crestline, Sharps leveled for any sight of the Lost Lake gunman. But nothing? What the hell? Had Cantrell just plain rode off and decided to live to fight another day?  That's when he heard a single shot. The direction was way to his front now and seemingly behind yet another rolling hillside.

Where was Brendan? Was that Brendan who fired that shot? Maybe he got lucky and killed Cantrell. God, Billy sure hoped so!  Of course there was another possibility. Cantrell had shot Brendan.

Billy dropped to one knee to think of what to do next? Should he stand up again on this crest and yell down to Blackjack and Greer to tell there is no sign of Cantrell. Though one of them might open up on him by mistake.  Or should he try for the next crest? Check to see if Brendan or Cantrell were on the other side? For the moment he slapped at a pesky mosquito that had landed on his bare chest and did nothing.

Blackjack was shoving some further cartridges into his Winchester at least while Greer just stood there, both men listening. They too only heard quiet, one single shot, then quiet again.

"What do we do now? Go up there?" Greer asked.

"No, we wait. Patience. We got two of ours who went up and over," Blackjack decided.

Brendan went down with a muffled cry as the shot from Quentin's Winchester tore into his arm. The impact of the bullet spun him around and left him face-down in the prickly grass. He lifted his head, his heart pounding, and stared dazedly at the blood coming from his arm. It hurt. It really hurt.

As he grabbed his arm below where the bullet had gone in, he heard Quentin's voice. If Quentin's fight wasn't with him, then why had the man shot him? Brendan gritted his teeth and tried to scoot backwards a little bit. There was no way he could use his rifle now with only one good arm. Luckily he had thought to fasten on his holster before he left the wagon, so he had his Colt if he needed it.

The smart thing to do would be get away as fast as he could, but for some reason he found himself thinking about Billy. What if Quentin tried to ambush him the same way? He sat up as much as he could without showing his head over the rise and put his back against the hill. He eased his Colt from the holster and cocked it, rested it over his legs. It was hard to focus on anything but his arm.

"What about Billy?" He called to the unseen Quentin. "You lookin' to kill him?" If he could keep Quentin distracted, there was a possibility that Billy could sneak up on him. A slim possibility, but a possibility just the same.

"You and Billy need to be quit of the likes of Greer and Jack..." Quentin said as he eased closer, trying to see over the curve of ground. He knew Billy had gone down almost where he had seen him. "...Those two idiots are only out for themselves. You two keep following them and it's only going to end up with a cell, a bullet, or a rope...you understand what I am telling you?"

"Looks like I already got the bullet...but I understand," Brendan called grudgingly. He knew Quentin was trying to tell him to get while the getting was good. He scowled at his pistol and then stuck it back in its holster.

As the two exchanged words, Billy had decided he needed to do something, anything rather then remain where he was. For one thing he was rather exposed in the open. So he decided to take his chances over the next crest. He wanted to find Brendan and it seemed very possible Cantrell had ridden off anyhow. Gripping his Spencer once more and ready to fire at the slightest provocation, he now made his up to the crest then mumbled to himself, "This is so stupid."

And then he was up and over. Couldn't have been more than thirty forty yards away to his right there was Cantrell! From where he was he still couldn't spot a prone Brendan. Immediately Billy raised his carbine and fired way too fast. There was a sapling not ten yards from him so he raced to that and tried to scrunch behind the rather dubious cover it provided.

Quentin was trying to move closer to Brendan when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He saw Billy a moment before he disappeared in a cloud of white smoke. Quentin threw himself flat as the round passed by near him. He raised the Winchester and covered Billy as he ran to try and cover behind a thin tree on the hill side. "Dammit, Billy, drop that gun!..."

Quentin swore to himself as he could see BIlly still trying to work the lever of the Spencer. He threw a glance at Brendan's location to make sure he wasn't trying something foolish also. He then aimed at Billy and fired, the round tearing a chunk from the sapling before digging a deep crease in Billy's thigh.

"Owww!" Billy winced then glanced down to where the pain was coming from, his trousers were torn and there was blood.

Brendan was about to open his mouth again when he heard a shot. He threw himself back down a second time, jarring his wounded arm. As he lay there gritting his teeth against the pain, he had heard Quentin's exclamation and another shot. Did that mean Billy was shot, too? "BILLY!?" He risked a peek over the edge of the rise, his heart pounding again.

Billy heard the familiar voice but pinned behind the pathetic cover that the sapling was providing he obviously could not see where Brendan was or even how close? Least he was still alive. That was some encouragement.

"I hear ya, Bren!" he yelled out then decided to do some yelling back at the Lost Lake man.

"I ain't droppin my guns, Cantrell! I don't trust you. You were ready to shoot me in town that time and I hadn't even done nothin'. Now we been shootin' at you. If you want my guns, yer gonna have to kill me!"

Billy adjusted some so his injured leg wasn't at all visible but the sapling still wasn't covering all of him. Despite his defiant words Billy was scared and desperately trying to think of what he could do to get out of this mess. If he could only manage to get a few decent shots at the man, he might still wiggle his way out of this. Or if Blackjack and Greer would get their asses up here.

Quentin curled his arms up, knuckles white on the rifle as he shook his head in disgust. "I judged you by your company, Billy! Even you can't be that big an amigo of Greer's to not understand..." Quentin took a glance in both men's directions. "...Please don't make me kill you...either one of you."

Billy heard the man but his mind was so jumbled up with what to do next, it was hard to concentrate. He was angry, he was scared, he was now bleeding even. And his situation was a poor one. The Spencer was too big (rather long) for being used behind this sapling. He still has his revolver though. He thought of something then.

"Hey! If I throw down my rifle, you put yers down too?" he shouted out an offer.

Quentin sighed. He had heard this ploy more than once, but he was willing to give anything a try to keep Billy alive. He lowered the hammer on the Winchester and set it on the ground in front of him. He stood as his right arm moved over and pushed the hammer loop off the Smith, leaving it ready to draw as he spoke.

"Okay Billy...We'll play it your way. I put my rifle down..." Quentin closed his eyes a moment in defeat before he opened them back to watch Billy's next move...

Now Billy had been lied to most of his young life and he pretty much expected that's how people were. In truth he lied plenty himself. So he considered what he was about to do just the best possible move he had to try and turn the tables on this gunman. Some might call it a double cross. But he was desperate.

Billy now peered worriedly around the tree half fearing a rifle shot aimed at his head. But the man had laid his rifle down! That was a break in his favor. Billy now stepped out with one hand, his left, up in the air, though his right held the just cocked SA Army Colt behind him.

"See.....we can settle this peaceable like," Billy tried to flash that charming grin of his but he was too nervous to make it convincing.

He took a couple of steps closer, wanting to close the range as much as possible.

Quentin could see it the moment the young man came out from behind the tree. The stuttering walk, the nervous expression...then Quentin's eyes caught his right arm and hand held down and behind his leg, Quentin's expression hardened.

"Billy, put the gun down or I will kill you where you stand. I am not joking...do it now!" Quentin's hand closed on the butt of his Smith but he did not draw, his body partly crouching, the familiar stance he had perfected over the years until it was second nature...

"Billy, put the gun down or I will kill you where you stand. I am not joking...do it now!" Quentin's hand closed on the butt of his Smith but he did not draw, his body partly crouching, the familiar stance he had perfected over the years until it was second nature...

A part of Billy screamed to do just that, drop the damn gun and throw his hands up. But he was committed now, giving up would mean his job at Evergreen would be gone and even worse, the gunmen who worked for Steelgrave might decide to kill him for chickening out. And Billy was no coward, he didn't want people thinking he was a coward, he had a bad enough reputation as it was.

"Oh...this?" Billy brought the revolver up into sight from behind his back and held it up, still smiling and trying to act all friendly, even as he took a further few steps, "It's jammed, it missfired."

Billy was about fifteen yards away now, close enough to clearly see the rivulets of sweat trickling down his bare chest and a slight shaking of his gun hand. Billy himself felt like his heart was pounding so hard that it was going to explode. But he was close enough now for a chance...

The smile disappeared in a flash as Billy suddenly leveled the pistol at Cantrell to fire, "Sorry!"

Quentin's pistol roared from waist level. He didn't even feel the draw but he knew it had happened. Years of practice and then use of the skill had caused it to be something he could let happen based on what he saw in front of him, sometimes even before his conscious mind had processed the need to do it.

The first bullet hit Billy in the belly, just under his rib cage.  Billy jerked, it felt like a hard punch only much sharper.

Quentin's draw continued up until his arm was extended, his eyes falling along the barrel and sights as he covered Billy.

Stunned not just by the wound but by the sheer speed of his opponent's  reflexes,  Billy gamely tried to fight back, once more trying to level to squeeze off his own shot.

He saw Billy stagger back a step, then he began to straighten, arm unsteady but trying to swing back up to fire his pistol. Quentin's thumb dragged back the hammer and he fired again.

Billy was hit again, the bullet making a deadly hole in his right chest just below his nipple. The impact was enough to drop the weapon, the still unfired Colt landing on the ground with a thump and thankfully not firing as the hammer had been fully cocked.

Billy's hand went to his chest, clutching it as if that was going to do any good, his eyes caught Quentin's thru the rising smoke carried away in the light breeze.

"Oh ....jeezus! " there was real fear in his eyes as he took another unsteady step backwards and collapsed on his back.

Quentin watched Billy fall back. He knew there was nothing to be done for Billy...he let the revolver drop down to aim at the ground and his eyes flicked over in the direction Brendan was laying. He blinked and then spoke. "Brendan! See to your friend...I won't fire..."

It took Brendan a moment to realize what Quentin had said. He shook his head quickly, then pulled his pistol out of his holster, tossed it on the ground near his rifle, and raised his good arm so Quentin could see he wasn't going to try anything like Billy had. "I'm comin', Cantrell." His voice was unsteady and he felt like he was going to be sick.

He stumbled over the hill, past Quentin, and over to where Billy lay. Gosh, that was a lot of blood. It had to hurt something awful. Getting gutshot was supposed to be one of the worst ways to die. Lucky for Billy, Quentin had shot him twice.

"H-hey, Billy." He knelt beside his friend uncertainly. He'd watched animals die before, but never a person. "Ya did good," he said after a second in a soothing tone. "I didn't even get a shot off at 'im."

Billy winced up at his friend but it was plain he was still coherent -even thru the pain - to recognized Brendan though his tell tale grin did not appear as he barely nodded.

"It did...not go like it was....supposed to..." he replied in a soft voice, "I'm an idiot."

Then a spasm of intense pain gripped him and he writhed in agony, it was a whimper though not a scream. Billy was a tough young man and his body was plainly fighting the inevitable with all it had.

"Bren.....if he let's ya...you need to get outta here......oh god..." another spasm caused him to puff out his chest and gasp for air.

His eyes remained locked on the other cowpoke, "Leave me. I know I'm not gonna......you know..."

Quentin had moved away from the two to give them time. He broke open his Smith and dumped the empty shells, reloading from his belt and then holstering the pistol. He then bent and picked up his Winchester and began thumbing shells into the loading gate. Once he finished he cradled the rifle in his left arm so it was angled away and posing no threat. Quentin then turned and watched Billy and Brendan...silently cursing Greer and Jack for causing this to happen.

After a few minutes Quentin began to feel like he was an intruder on Brendan and Billy. He  walked over a few steps and spoke to Brendan when he looked up.

"You stay here with Billy. You're safe. I will bring back the wagon for you to use..." Quentin looked down at Billy and met his gaze. "I'm sorry, Billy. I wish this didn't have to happen..."

Quentin then spun and began walking away. His lip curled and he let out a sharp whistle. A minute later Paladin came trotting up from the small valley behind the hill. Quentin patted the horse and shoved his Winchester into the scabbard and he swung up into the saddle. He reined Paladin around and kicked the horse into a steady lope, circling around the lower curve of the hill and moving off in the direction of the wagon.

"You ain't no idiot," Brendan said fiercely. He grabbed Billy's hand and held it tightly so the other man could have something to squeeze on. He could almost forget the pain in his arm now.

Billy moaned again at another another wave of pain but tried to smile up at his friend, his only real friend. Too many people thought that Greer and him were friends, they never really were. They worked together a lot and that was the only actual tie.

There was someone else speaking, thru the haze of pain and shock Billy looked up at the speaker. It was the man who shot him. He said he was sorry.  Billy slowly nodded, "You n' me both..."

Brendan was startled by Quentin's words and looked up at the gunman, his mind swirling with out-of-control emotions. If Cantrell was so sorry about shooting Billy, why'd he go and do it in the first place? "Thanks," he said finally in a tight voice, then looked away.

He adjusted Billy so his friend's head could rest on his legs. "Hear that, Billy? I'm gonna stay with you." He tried to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah.....ohhh, goddammit..." Billy closed his eyes for a few seconds, wincing before half whispering, "Bren...I want....I need you to do me one last favor."

"Name it," Brendan said, giving Billy's hand a squeeze. "You got any folks you want me to write to?" Not that he would be able to manage that, but he'd give it a go.

"Nobody to write to..." another pained wince as he tried to expand his chest for air, the one bullet had pierced a lung.  Though the belly wound was causing the most pain.

"Bren....you gotta....shoot me....put an end ta this....please," he now begged.

Billy had watched an old cowboy die of a bullet in the guts once and that old fella suffered for hours before finally fading away.  He didn't want to end up going thru all that. He didn't have to be no doctor to know nobody survives bullets and in the chest and in the belly.  If there was no hope, why drag it out?

"Not in the face though," Billy had always gloried in his handsome features and even now it was important to him, "Only good thing God gave me......ohhh, damn....was my good looks."

He coughed then and spit up some blood.

Brendan got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he mustered a smile. "Sure, Billy. Not in the face." He let go of Billy's hand and moved his head gently from off of his legs. "Gimme a minute. Gotta get my gun."

He ignored Billy's pistol lying not too far off and instead went back to get his own, half-hoping that if he drew it out long enough, the bullet to Billy's chest would finish him off, even though he knew it was too much to hope for.

Billy was now writhing as the stomach wound seemed to worsen but sadly his body refused to give in to the inevitable. His one hand almost clawed the bullet hole in his belly, to no avail of course.

"You sure about this, Billy?" Brendan asked as he came back and knelt beside his friend, the pistol dangling from one hand.

"You n' I both know I'm dyin'! Please, I can't stand it no more..." Billy once more spasmed in agony.

"Then you.....owwwww, you don't go back ta the ranch! Get away from there before ....." he gasped, "before you die too."

"All right, all right. I won't go back." Brendan realized as he said the words that he did need to get away before something like this happened again. He might not make it through a second gun battle.

He straightened up and pointed the gun at Billy's chest, right where his heart should be. "My damn hand's shakin'," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna count to three."

"Just don't miss... you lazy..." Billy tried to force a smile but it was all just too painful, even though to the end his happy go lucky sense of humor was still there.

"One." he took a deep breath and tried to steady his hand. "Two..." He took one last glance at Billy's agonized face and then looked up at the sky.

Billy now turned his face to one side, he waited for the end with resignation.

"Three." The brightness of the sun made his eyes water - or were they already watering? - as he pulled the trigger.

Billy's chest had another hole ripped into it as his body jerked, but this third bullet had done what both young men had hoped for. Billy's eyes were still open but he had stopped breathing, he was gone.

Billy moaned again at another another wave of pain but tried to smile up at his friend, his only real friend. Too many people thought that Greer and him were friends, they never really were. They worked together a lot and that was the only actual tie.

There was someone else speaking, thru the haze of pain and shock Billy looked up at the speaker. It was the man who shot him. He said he was sorry.  Billy slowly nodded, "You n' me both..."

Brendan was startled by Quentin's words and looked up at the gunman, his mind swirling with out-of-control emotions. If Cantrell was so sorry about shooting Billy, why'd he go and do it in the first place? "Thanks," he said finally in a tight voice, then looked away.

He adjusted Billy so his friend's head could rest on his legs. "Hear that, Billy? I'm gonna stay with you." He tried to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah.....ohhh, goddammit..." Billy closed his eyes for a few seconds, wincing before half whispering, "Bren...I want....I need you to do me one last favor."

"Name it," Brendan said, giving Billy's hand a squeeze. "You got any folks you want me to write to?" Not that he would be able to manage that, but he'd give it a go.

"Nobody to write to..." another pained wince as he tried to expand his chest for air, the one bullet had pierced a lung.  Though the belly wound was causing the most pain.

"Bren....you gotta....shoot me....put an end ta this....please," he now begged.

Billy had watched an old cowboy die of a bullet in the guts once and that old fella suffered for hours before finally fading away.  He didn't want to end up going thru all that. He didn't have to be no doctor to know nobody survives bullets and in the chest and in the belly.  If there was no hope, why drag it out?

"Not in the face though," Billy had always gloried in his handsome features and even now it was important to him, "Only good thing God gave me......ohhh, damn....was my good looks."

He coughed then and spit up some blood.

Brendan got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he mustered a smile. "Sure, Billy. Not in the face." He let go of Billy's hand and moved his head gently from off of his legs. "Gimme a minute. Gotta get my gun."

He ignored Billy's pistol lying not too far off and instead went back to get his own, half-hoping that if he drew it out long enough, the bullet to Billy's chest would finish him off, even though he knew it was too much to hope for.

Billy was now writhing as the stomach wound seemed to worsen but sadly his body refused to give in to the inevitable. His one hand almost clawed the bullet hole in his belly, to no avail of course.

"You sure about this, Billy?" Brendan asked as he came back and knelt beside his friend, the pistol dangling from one hand.

"You n' I both know I'm dyin'! Please, I can't stand it no more..." Billy once more spasmed in agony.

"Then you.....owwwww, you don't go back ta the ranch! Get away from there before ....." he gasped, "before you die too."

"All right, all right. I won't go back." Brendan realized as he said the words that he did need to get away before something like this happened again. He might not make it through a second gun battle.

He straightened up and pointed the gun at Billy's chest, right where his heart should be. "My damn hand's shakin'," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna count to three."

"Just don't miss... you lazy..." Billy tried to force a smile but it was all just too painful, even though to the end his happy go lucky sense of humor was still there.

"One." he took a deep breath and tried to steady his hand. "Two..." He took one last glance at Billy's agonized face and then looked up at the sky.

Billy now turned his face to one side, he waited for the end with resignation.

"Three." The brightness of the sun made his eyes water - or were they already watering? - as he pulled the trigger.

Billy's chest had another hole ripped into it as his body jerked, but this third bullet had done what both young men had hoped for. Billy's eyes were still open but he had stopped breathing, he was gone.