"You want to head out the back and get clear of town, mister?" the store owner asked.
"I would if I thought that would do any good," Frank replied. "But you can bet they've got the back covered."
"You can't fight them all!"
"I don't see that I've got a choice in the matter." Frank patted the sack of supplies on the counter. "I'll be back for these."
"If you say so."
"I say so." Frank looked at the shotgun the shopkeeper was holding.
The man smiled and handed it across the counter. "Take it, mister. I don't know you, but I sure don't like that fellow who was bracin' you."
"Thanks. I'll return it in good shape." Frank stepped to the front door, paused, and then turned around and headed toward the rear of the store. The shopkeeper walked around the counter and closed and locked the front door, hanging up the closed sign.
At the closed back door Frank paused, took a deep breath, and then flung open the door and jumped out, leaping to one side just as soon as his boots hit the ground. A rifle blasted from the open door of the outhouse, and Frank gave the comfort station both barrels of the Greener.
The double blast of buckshot almost tore the shooter in two. The Biggs brother took both loads in the belly and chest and the bloody, suddenly dead mess fell forward, out of the outhouse and into the dirt.
Suddenly, another Biggs brother came into view -- a part of him, at least: his big butt.
That's where Frank shot him, the bullet passing through both cheeks of his rear end.
"Oh, Lordy!" he squalled. "I'm hit, boys."
"Where you hit, Bobby?"
"In the ass. My ass is on far, boys. It hurts!"
"In the ass?" another brother yelled. "That ain't dignified."
"The hell with dignified!" Bobby shouted. "I'm a-hurtin', boys!"
"Hang on, Bobby," a brother called. "We'll git Morgan and then come to your aid."
"Kill that no-count, Billy Jeff!" Bobby groaned. "Oh, Lord, my ass end burns somethang fierce!"
"Can you see him, Wilson?" Billy Jeff called.
"No. But he's down yonder crost the street from the livery. I know that."
"I know that better than you do," Bobby yelled. "I got the lead in my ass to prove it! Ohhh, I ain't had sich agony in all my borned days."
Some citizen started laughing, and soon others in the tiny town joined in.
"You think this is funny?" Wilson Biggs yelled. "Damn you all to the hellfars!"
Morgan had changed positions again, running back up past the outhouse and the mangled body of Wells Biggs. He was now right across the wide street from Wilson Biggs.
He had picked up the guns from Wells and shoved them behind his gunbelt. He holstered his own pistol and, using the guns taken from the dead man, he emptied them into the shed where Wilson was hiding. The bullets tore through the old wood, knocking great holes in the planks.
Wilson staggered out, his chest and belly blood-soaked. The Biggs brother took a couple of unsteady steps and fell forward, landing on his face in the dirt. He did not move.
"Wilson!" Billy Jeff shouted. "Did you get him, Wilson?"
"No, he didn't," Frank called. "Your brother's dead."
"Damn you!" Billy Jeff called. "Step out into the street and face me, you sorry son."
"And have your butt-shot brother shoot me?" Frank yelled. "I think not."
"Bobby!" Billy Jeff called. "You hold your far and let me settle this here affair. You hear me, boy?"
"I hear you, Billy Jeff. You shore you want it thisaway?"
"I'm shore. You hear all that, Morgan?"
"I hear it, but I don't believe it. You Biggs boys are all a pack of liars. Why should I trust you?"
"Damn you, Morgan, I give my word. I don't go back on my word, not never."
"Step out then, Billy Jeff."
"I'm a-comin' out, Morgan. My gun's holstered. Is yourn?"
Before Frank could reply, Bobby said, "I'm a-comin' out, too. Let's see if he's got the courage to face the both of us!"
"Bring your bleeding butt on, Biggs!" Frank yelled. "If all your courage hasn't leaked out of your ass, that is." He checked to see his own pistol was loaded up full, then slipped it into leather, working it in and out several times to insure a smooth draw.
Bobby was hollering and cussing Frank, scarcely pausing for breath.
Frank walked up to the mouth of the alley and stepped out to the edge of the street.
Bobby stopped cussing.
Billy Jeff said, "Step out into the center of the street, Morgan, and face the men who is about to kill you."
"Not likely, Biggs. The only way scum like you could kill me is by ambush."
That started Bobby cussing again. He paused every few seconds to moan and groan about his wounded ass.
The residents of the tiny town had gathered along the edge of the street to watch the fight. Some had fixed sandwiches; others had a handful of crackers or a pickle.
This was exciting. Not much ever happened in the tiny village, which as yet had no official name.
"Make your play, Biggs!" Frank called.
Billy Jeff fumbled at his gun and Frank let him clear leather before he pulled and fired, all in one very smooth, clean movement. The bullet struck Billy Jeff in the belly and knocked him down in the dirt. Frank holstered and waited. He smiled at Bobby Biggs.
Bobby was yelling and groping for his pistol, which was stuck behind his wide belt. Frank drew and shot him in the chest, and forever ended his moaning and griping about his butt. Bobby stretched out on the street and was still. The bullet had shattered his heart.
Frank never knew what made him do it, but on that day he twirled his pistol a couple of times before sliding it back into leather. He did it smoothly, effortlessly, and with a certain amount of flair.
A young boy in the crowd exclaimed, "Mommy, did you see that? Golly!"
"I never seen no one jerk a pistol like that," a man said to a friend.
"He sure got it out in a hurry," his friend replied. "And a damned fancy way of holstering that thing, too."
Frank was certainly not the first to utilize a fast draw, but he was one of the first, along with Jamie MacCallister and an East Texas gunhand whose name has been lost to history.
Frank looked over at the crowd to his left. "This town got an undertaker?"
"No," a man said. "We ain't even got a minister or a schoolmarm."
"We just get the bodies in the ground as soon as we can," another citizen said. "Unless it's wintertime. Then we put 'em in a shed where they'll freeze and keep pretty well 'til the ground thaws and we can dig a hole."
"They ain't real pretty to look at after a time, but they don't smell too bad," his friend said.
"If you don't stay around 'em too long," another man added.
"You can have their gear and guns for burying these men," Frank told the crowd. "And whatever money they have. Deal?"
"Deal," a man said. "Sounds pretty good to me. They had some fine horses. The horses is included, right?"
"Sure."
"I hope they ain't stolen," a townsman said. "Say, I heard them call you Morgan -- you got a first name?"
"Frank."
"You just passin' though, Frank?" There was a rather hopeful sound to the question.
"Just stopping in town long enough to pick up a few supplies," Frank assured the crowd.