If you let me pass, I’ll be on my way.”
“Hardly.” he laughed, “No one messes with Bar B.”
“Well, I’m not about to be stomped by Bar B boys, that’s for sure.”
“I’ve no intention of stomping you.” he said. “I deal in lead.”
“And you’ll be the first to die.” I replied.
“What name do you want on your tomb stone?” he demanded.
I could see in his eyes he had intention.
“Cal Cole.” I sneered, and my pistol was out, cocked, and dead on his head.
“Cal Cole?” he repeated and his hands were going up. His counterpart was doing the same.
“Mr. Cole, we are so sorry, so sorry. Boys, drop your pistols, drop them now. Now! You have the road Mr. Cole. I’ll tend to the boys; you’ll have no more problem from the Bar B.