We were on our way to the saloon when the Sheriff rode up. He didn’t seem happy.
“Hey!” He yelled, dismounting his horse. He seemed mad. “Just who do you think you are, gringo?”
“Hang on just one minute!” Selleck raised a hand, trying to diffuse the situation.
“¡Cállate!” The Sheriff said, batting Selleck’s hand away, “I wasn’t talking to you! Reyes shot you, kid! You should be dead, but you come back into my town and think you can tell me what to do?”
“I ain’t done nothing that wasn’t the right thing!” I argued, reaching for my non-existent gun instinctively.
“Nah, I prefer not to talk.” The enraged Sheriff growled. He spit. The saliva landed on my boot. I scowled at him. “Stand and draw! Save your words and show me your pistola, idiota!”
I scoffed and looked at Selleck; he shrugged. Leona was hiding behind me a little, clutching my arm.
“I don’t have time for this.” I told the Sheriff, “We have to go do your job: catch Reyes before he hurts anyone else. I know he paid you off, but that don’t mean you gotta stop us.”
“If you ain’t gonna draw,” The Sheriff threatened, “Then I’m gonna arrest you!”
“On what charges?” He pointed at Leona. She hid behind me even more and gripped my arm tighter. “Today, a farmer out in the countryside reported some gringo cowboy stole his mule and kidnapped his daughter. I betcha that girl is her.”
“Don’t touch me!” I yelled at the Sheriff as he tried to grab me. He pulled his pistol and poked me in the stomach with it, right on my gunshot wound.
“Fight like a man or die like a dog; the choice is yours.” I looked at Selleck. He gave me a nod of approval and passed me his Schofield. The Sheriff holstered his peacemaker and walked out into the street.
The Schofield didn’t fit my holster well, but it worked. The barrel was lengthier, a seven-inch cavalry barrel as opposed to the four-inch my peacemaker had. It was heavier. I tried to get used to the weight in the few seconds before I walked onto the road. My heart pounded. The pain in my wound flared up as though to remind me of the last time I had tried to shoot anyone. I had to remind myself that the Sheriff had jabbed it with the barrel of his revolver and that it wasn’t telling me, ‘No, you’ll be shot again!’
Leona refused to let me go, so Selleck grabbed her and pried her off as gently as he could. “¡Sueltame!” She cried out, trying to free herself from the Marshal’s grip, “Let go!”
“Relax, girl.” He told her calmly, “This is just something the kid’s gotta do.”
She calmed down a little and pulled herself from his hands. She didn’t follow me or try to grab me again. I sighed and shook my head. I was scared, to be honest. My mind flashed back to the fight with Reyes in Boca del Lobo. I tried to push it out, but it kept entering my mind like a fresh burn: constantly stinging, and I could do nothing about it.
I met the Sheriff in the street. His eyes burned with hatred. He wanted to shut me up. I couldn’t beat him, at least not while thinking about my fight with Reyes. I had to make him doubt. Maybe I could trick him into running?
“Glad we came out here.” I told him, smiling painfully, “That way, all eyes are on us.”
“What are you on about, gringo?” He snapped. I laughed. It was painful, but I had to make him feel nervous.
“What, with all the people watching, at least half of them gotta understand me!”
“And what do you have to say, hm? Last words? Ain’t nothing no cowboy like you can say that is profound.”
“Maybe not,” I said, smiling devilishly. I tried to picture Fierro’s mischievous smile in my head and copy that. Even if he did turn out to be my enemy, if Reyes was telling the truth, he had plenty of charisma and a way of making people think what he wanted. “Of course, they all might want to hear what I have to say…”
The Aguacil scoffed and put his hands on his hips. He started pacing back and forth. He was getting anxious. My plan was working.
“Alright, americano,” He roared, “Tell everyone what profound and deep things there are in your small mind!” “If you insist…” I laughed and raised my head, looking at the crowd gathering, “Gente of Las Fuentes, your sheriff here is a traitor, un traiador!”
The Sheriff started sweating. “He’s sold his duty to uphold the law to the fugitive Luis Reyes, El Rey. Just look at his new hat and gun! He ain’t worthy to be your Sheriff.”
“Cállate gringo…” The Sheriff growled quietly. He placed a hand on his pistol grip. He was going to draw. I had to time this right…
“Look!” I pointed my left hand at him, “He’s getting more mad! He’s red in the face. Even if this man kills me, it’s your duty as good citizens of this fine country to hang him! He’s a traitor to you, to this town, and to your honorable presidente and his country!”
The crowd was getting restless now. I knew that at least some of them understood what I was saying, and the news was starting to spread. The dirty Sheriff was beginning to shake. His face was a tomato. He was muttering to himself.
“¡Muerate, gringo estupido!” He screamed a high-pitched scream and drew his gun. This was what I’d been waiting for.
I pulled Selleck’s Schofield out of my holster and raised it up, holding it by my hip, just in time to look down the barrel of the Sheriff’s Colt. He pulled the hammer back with his right thumb, but I was faster. I fanned the hammer three times. He managed to get a shot off, but it was too late; all three of my shots had struck his torso. The revolver fired into the ground before him, kicking up the sandy dust. He let out a groan and tried to walk to where no one knew but ended up falling facedown in the sand. I felt my lips turn into a smirk. I spun the gun around my finger once and holstered the weapon. I had won.
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