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He spread his legs, adopting a belligerent stance. "You want to put your guns down and walk away now? Take off that badge and toss it into the dirt where it belongs? Or you want to hang alongside the ex-sheriff here?"

"I'm not walking away," Lancaster said, "and I don't intend to hang, so you better come up with another choice."

"You called it," Quitman said, then shouted, "Take him!"

 Chapter Four

Lancaster had already decided that he'd have to take Quitman first, and Hennessy second. The third man was still at the horse's head, in front of the buckboard. He'd have to step clear to have a shot, but Lancaster had a split second to make his decision, and he went with it.

He lowered his pistol and fired at Quitman. The bullet struck him in the chest as he was drawing his gun. He staggered backward, his feet got tangled. And he fell onto his back, dead.

Hennessy's musculature had fooled Lancaster into thinking the man would be slow. He wasn't. He already had his gun out as Lancaster turned the shotgun on him, and Lancaster knew he was going to be too late. But whoever had hoisted the sheriff up onto the buckboard and tied his hands had left his feet unbound. They probably thought it would be fun to watch him kick as he died. Lockwood took one step and kicked Hennessy in the side of the head. It was an awkward move, but effective. It gave Lancaster time to level the shotgun and fire. He'd meant to fire one barrel, but in his haste fired both. Hennessy took most of the force of the buckshot in the belly. It took him off his feet and left him sprawled on the ground with most of his belly missing.

Now Lancaster swiveled to face the man who was stepping away from the horse, gun already in hand. He dropped the shotgun and both men were bringing their guns to bear at the same time. He had a fifty-fifty chance here of coming out alive, but he also knew this was bad for the sheriff, because no one was holding the horse. The animal was panicking because of all the shots and, once released, was preparing to run.

Two things happened at the same time. Lancaster fired a split second before the other man. His slug caught the man in the gut, while the other man's bullet skimmed across his left side, digging a deep bloody furrow and then continuing on. As this happened someone leaped forward from the crowd, grabbed the horse's head and fought to keep the animal from bolting.

Lancaster picked up the shotgun and stepped up to see who had stopped the horse. He found himself looking at the ten-year-old boy he'd badgered just moments before. Apparently, it had taken all the boy's strength and weight to steady the horse.

"Good work, son," he said. "You got him?"

"I got 'im, sir."

Lancaster nodded, and climbed up onto the buckboard to stand next to the sheriff.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Sam Quitman told me he volunteered to be the hangman," he shouted out. "Well, the hangman's dead. Are there any volunteers to take his place?"

No one answered, as men and women in the crowd exchanged puzzled glances.

"Come on, come on," Lancaster said. "You all wanted to see a hanging just a few moments ago. Who's got the nerve to step up."

"You're pushing my luck, friend," Ben Lockwood said, out of the side of his mouth.

"They're followers," Lancaster said to the man, "not leaders." To the crowd he said, "So, no volunteers? Well then, maybe you people should go on home and think about what you almost did here today. Go on! Move!"

The crowd began to disperse as Lancaster holstered his gun, set the shotgun down, slipped the noose off the lawman's neck and untied his hands.

"Mister," Lockwood said, rubbing his wrists, "I don't know who you are, but I owe you my life."

"Here," Lancaster said, taking the badge off, "this is yours--and the only thing you owe me is a beer. It's what I came into this town to get, and I never finished it."

"Mister," the sheriff said, pinning his star back on and then putting his hand out for Lancaster to shake, "you got all the beer you want in this town."

"One," Lancaster said, "one is all I want."

 Chapter Five

Lancaster walked over to the young boy who had grabbed the horse and asked, "What's your name, son?"

"Aaron."

"You did a brave thing, Aaron," Lancaster said. "You saved the sheriff's life."

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