Gun

I had a safe that needed opening.

I reckoned that Soapy owed me a favour, seein’ as how I’d sprung him from the jail in Empire a couple o’ weeks previously and I also reck’nd that Soapy was the best man for the job – as a matter of fact, that was one of the reasons he was in the jail in the first place, but that’s a whole other story. Last I’d heard he was in Dodge City, running some sort of scam, so I rode out that way to round him up.

It was just shy of noon when I reached the bridge into Dodge. I knew things were going sour when I found the Sheriff, one Pat Denton by name, hog tied by one of the trestles.

“Jeezum, Pat – what are y’all doing thar?”

“It’s McGruder’s boys – they rode into town, shootin’ the place up and fixin’ to lynch Soapy. Reckon you’ve got a couple of minutes to save his scrawny neck.”

We snuck into the town and climbed up onto the water tower to get the lie of the land. Soapy was up on the scaffold outside of the Alhambra saloon and getting ready to swing. I had one chance to save him, and one only. I took sight with my rifle – a Sharps 1874, the finest this side of the Pecos – and drew a bead on the rope. Soapy dropped, the rope went tight and I squeezed the trigger.

Everything seemed to slow to a crawl. The rope snapped and Soapy dropped through the trap like a sack of corn. Mc Gruder’s boys went for their guns, but I had the high ground, the sun at my back and a fine pair of Peacemakers. No contest.

Things are going to be hot around here for while – there’ll be a price on my head, but it’s worth it to find out what my paw stashed in the safe of the riverboat before it went to the bottom of the river. McGruder is goin’ to be mighty riled, but that’s a reckoning for another day.

Let’s ride!