Read Online This Violent Land by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online

wanted a beer to get some of the trail dust out of his mouth first.
    â€œI can’t rightly say,” Clell replied, purposely baiting the young man. “I don’t know. Last year, I guess.”
    â€œLast year? You haven’t had a bath since last year?”
    â€œMaybe the year before. Why do you ask?”
    â€œYou’re stinkin’ up the place. You need a bath.”
    â€œWell now, I admit that you’re a fine-looking young man. I mean, what with wearing that black outfit with all those silver geegaws and all. But if you’re looking for some man to get naked and take a bath with, I have to tell you that I’m just not your type. I’m afraid you’re gonna have to look somewhere else, because I’m not interested.”
    At the unexpected reply from the man who was being challenged by The Concho Kid, the others in the saloon laughed. At an angry glare from the gunfighter, they choked their laughs off.
    Concho turned his attention back to Clell. “Mister, that smart mouth of yours may have just bit off more than you want to chew. Do you know who you’re talkin’ to?”
    â€œYes, of course I know who I’m talking to,” Clell said.
    A proud smile spread across Concho’s face.
    â€œI’ve run into people like you from Laramie to Laredo—young punks who think they can draw fast and shoot straight and who want to run up a reputation by adding another notch to the handle of their gun. How many notches do you have now?”
    â€œTwelve,” The Concho Kid replied with a sneer.
    â€œTwelve. My oh my, that’s just awfully impressive. Maybe they’ll put that on your tombstone. Here lies . . . what is your name?”
    â€œThey call me The Concho Kid.”
    â€œYou mean you don’t have a regular name like everyone else in the world?”
    â€œI’m The Concho Kid, damnit! That’s all you need to know. Are you tryin’ to tell me that you’ve never heard of me?”
    â€œCan’t say as I have,” Clell replied with a wry smile. He had heard of The Kid, but he had no intention of giving the young punk the satisfaction of knowing that. “But if that’s the name you want on your tombstone, I imagine you can be obliged.”
    Clell held his hand out, as if gesturing toward a tombstone. “Here lies The Concho Kid. He had twelve notches on his gun when he was killed. It’s rather ironic, don’t you think, that you’d get killed on your thirteenth try?”
    A collective gasp of surprise erupted from the others in the saloon. Did the stranger in the dirty clothes really not know who he was talking to?
    The arrogant smile left Concho’s face. “What? What did you say?”
    â€œYou heard what I said, sonny. Of course, if you want to shut up now, and mind your own business, you might live long enough to get another notch someday. But I can guarantee you, boy, you aren’t going to be putting another notch on that gun today. Not here, anyway.”
    â€œMister, I was just goin’ to fun with you a little bit,” The Concho Kid said. “But now, I think I’m going to kill you. What’s your name, anyway? I wouldn’t want to kill somebody without even knowing their name.”
    Clell’s smile broadened, and that smile unnerved Concho, who was used to seeing fear in the faces of the men he faced.
    â€œWell, I’m afraid I don’t have a fancy name like yours. My name is—”
    â€œDraw!” The Concho Kid shouted, his hand already dipping toward his pistol as he shouted the challenge.
    His gun didn’t even clear leather before a pistol appeared in Clell’s hand, his draw so fast it was a blur. Clell fired once, the bullet hitting The Concho Kid in the middle of his chest.
    With an expression of surprise on his face, he took a step back, dropped his own gun, then slapped his hand over the wound. Blood streamed through his