I stare across at “Kedge” Clawson. Small fellow, but steady as a rock. My hands are trembling. At this point I don’t even remember why we’re out here, ready to shoot each other in front of the saloon. All I know is I have to survive. At least until tomorrow.
My hand drifts over to the gun saddled on my hip. I don’t know if I’ll be able to grab it quickly enough, or if my sweat-covered hands will cause the gun to slip out of place as I whip the gun up to fire, causing me to miss.
It must have been the trollop in the saloon. What a whore. I spurned her advances, knowing she was the favorite of the sharpest shooter in town. I wonder what lie she told him. My nervousness fades against my anger and my hand stops trembling. My eyes are fixed on my target.