Bad Men Die

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Authors: William W. Johnstone
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Luke said. “Thank you for telling me, Señorita Diaz. That way I won’t say anything to the marshal that might be awkward.”
    â€œOf course. You would have no way of knowing.” She pointed along a hallway that led toward the back of the house. “You can go out that way, Señor Jensen.”
    Luke nodded his thanks, put his hat on again, and found the back door. He thought about what he had just learned from Consuela Diaz. It seemed the young marshal was a widower and had a mighty pretty housekeeper and cook to help him raise his son.
    Whatever else she might help him with was none of his business, Luke told himself, but he was human enough that he couldn’t help wondering about it.
    When he stepped out into the yard, he spotted Marshal Hatfield and the boy standing under a cottonwood tree, facing away from him toward a fence about twenty feet from them. Empty cans were balanced on three of the fence posts. It was obvious to Luke what Hatfield and Bucky were doing.
    For one thing, Bucky was wearing a gun belt and holstered revolver, too. The gun was a Smith & Wesson. 32 with no trigger guard, lighter, with a shorter barrel than the Colt Peacemaker Hatfield carried, and more suited to the youngster.
    Neither of them seemed to have noticed Luke.
    As he approached, Hatfield said to his son, “All right, Buck, let’s see your draw. Remember, you want it to be fast, but it needs to be smooth, too. That’s even more important. Don’t jerk the gun. It’s liable to throw off your aim if you do.”
    Bucky nodded, concentrating on the cans atop the fence posts. His right hand was poised for a hook and draw. He grabbed the .32 and pulled it from the holster.
    The draw was pretty swift for a kid, Luke thought, and clearly Bucky had been listening to his pa’s advice because the gun came out slick and smooth. He lifted it, thumb curling over the hammer and drawing it back, and when the gun came level Bucky squeezed the trigger.
    The hammer clicked as it fell on an empty chamber. Bucky cocked and dry-fired the revolver twice more, rapidly shifting his aim each time.
    Hatfield clapped him on the shoulder. “Not bad, son. Not bad at all. I think you might’ve gotten all three of those cans.”
    â€œI agree,” Luke said.
    Hatfield looked back at him casually. His lack of being startled made Luke realize the marshal had been aware of his presence all along.
    Bucky looked around quickly, though, and exclaimed, “Mr. Jensen! The bounty hunter!”
    â€œSome men don’t like being called that, Bucky,” his father advised.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Luke said with a little wave of his hand. “That doesn’t bother me. It’s exactly what I am.”
    â€œHave you been by the jail?” Hatfield asked.
    â€œJust a little while ago. Your deputy seemed to have things under control.”
    Hatfield nodded. “Fred’s a good man. He hasn’t been packing a badge for very long, but he’s eager to learn and he’s taken to the job well.”
    Bucky spoke up. “My pa’s teachin’ me how to be fast on the draw, Mr. Jensen.”
    â€œI saw that,” Luke told him. “It looks like you’re learning, too. I don’t think many youngsters your age could get a gun out that slick.”
    â€œYou should see Pa draw and shoot. He’s the fastest there is!”
    Hatfield said, “Don’t exaggerate, Bucky. There are plenty of men faster than me.”
    â€œShow him, Pa,” the youngster urged. “Show Mr. Jensen your draw.”
    â€œNo, I’m sure Mr. Jensen has better things to do than stand around and watch me shoot.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact,” Luke said, “I don’t. I’m just waiting for supper to be ready, and your housekeeper talked like it would still be a few minutes.”
    Hatfield’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t be wanting to get some idea

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