“I was to give you both barrels, from here,” I said, “blow your head off and part of your upper body.”

“You think,” the Weasel said.

He was enjoying this less.

“Yep, probably kill some folks near you, too,” I said. “With the scatter.”

I cocked both barrels. The sound of them cocking was very loud in the room. Virgil Cole always used to say, Yougotta kill someone, do it quick. Don’t look like you got pushed into it. Look like you couldn’t wait to do it. It was as if I could hear his voice as I looked at the men in front of me: Sometimes you got to kill one person early, to save killing four or five later.

I leveled the shotgun straight at the Weasel.

“Hey,” he said, his voice much softer than it had been. “What the hell are you doing. I ain’t looking for trouble. None of us looking for trouble, are we, boys?”

Nobody at the table was looking for trouble.

“I’ll be damned,” I said. “I thought you were.”

“No, no,” the Weasel said. “Just getting to know you.”

He finished his drink and stood.

“Gonna drift,” he said. “See how loose things are down the street.”

I nodded.

“See you again, Hitch,” the Weasel said.

“I imagine you will,” I said.

The Weasel sauntered out, followed, maybe less jauntily, by the rest of his party. The silence hung for a minute in the room, the sounds of the saloon reemerged. Wolfson came down the bar and stopped by my chair.

“That went well,” he said.

I nodded.

“Who’s he?” I said.

“Name’s Wickman, works for O’Malley out at the mine.”

“He’s not a miner,” I said.

“No, gun hand. Got kind of a reputation around here,” Wolfson said. “He won’t like that you backed him down.”

“Don’t blame him,” I said.

“He’ll likely come at you again,” Wolfson said.

“Likely,” I said.