Dragons Teeth Crichton 2017 (WWT)

“Can you shoot?”
“Not real good.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“But I’m going up against him anyway.”
“You want some advice, or you want to die your own way?”
“I will be grateful for any advice,” Johnson said. He noticed that his lip was quivering, his hand
shaking.
“Sit down,” Earp said. “I been through lots of these, and it’s always the same. You get a pistoleer
like Dick, he is pretty full of himself, and he has shot a man or two. He’s fast. But mostly his victims
have been drunk or scared or both.”
“I surely am scared.”
“That’s fine. Just remember, most of these gunmen are cowards and bullies, they have a trick that
works for them. You must avoid his tricks.”
“Such as what? What tricks?”
“Some of ’em try and rush you, some of ’em try and distract you—they smoke a cigar, toss it away,
expecting your eyes naturally to follow it. Some of ’em try and talk to you. Some of ’em yawn, try to
get you to yawn. Tricks.”
“What should I do?” Johnson’s heart was hammering so loudly he could hardly hear his own voice.
“When you go out there, you take your time. And never take your eyes off him—he may try and
shoot you while you’re stepping into the street. Never take your eyes off him. Then take your position,
put your feet wide, get your balance. Don’t let him engage you in talk. Concentrate on him. Never take
your eyes off him, no matter what he does. Watch his eyes. You’ll see in his eyes when he’s going to
make his play, even before his hand moves.”
“How will I see it?”
“You’ll see it, don’t worry. Let him fire first, you draw deliberate, you aim deliberate, and you
squeeze off one shot right to the middle of his stomach. Don’t do anything fancy like aim for the head.
Make it count. Shoot him in the stomach and kill him.”
“Oh God.” The reality of it was settling in on him.
“You sure you won’t back out?”
“No!”
“Fine,” Earp said. “I believe you’ll come out. Dick’s cocky, he thinks you’re a mark. You can’t ask
for better than a cocky man to go up against.”
“I’m glad to hear of it.”
“You’ll come out,” Earp said again. “Is your gun loaded?”
“No.”
“Better load it, boy.”
Johnson stepped out of the hotel into the morning light. The main street of Deadwood was deserted.
There was silence, except for Mrs. Wilson’s piano lesson, monotonous scales.
Black Dick was at the north end of the street, waiting. He puffed on a cigar. His broad hat put his
face in deep shadow. Johnson had trouble seeing his eyes. He hesitated.
“Come on out, Foggy,” Dick called.
Johnson stepped away from the hotel, into the street. He felt his feet squish in the mud. He did not
look down.