by P McCormac
Monday wiped a sweaty hand across his face. He blinked rapidly. His dark, handsome face had taken on a drawn, haggard look.
‘You ain’t Al. What’s he paying you to kill me? I’ll pay you double.’
‘What day is it?’ the scarred man asked suddenly.
The half-breed looked momentarily puzzled.
‘Day? It’s Monday.’
‘Shall I put that on your tombstone? Monday died of a Monday.’
And Monday made his move. He was lightning fast. So fast he let off a shot before the scarred man had his gun out of his holster. A bottle exploded behind the bar as the bullet hit wide. The scarred man had his gun out. He wore that death’s head grin as he pulled the trigger.
Monday got off another shot. It ploughed into the bar. He stepped back a pace and looked down at his chest. A puzzled look came over his face. He began to sway. The gun in his hand drooped. He put his hand to his chest and a crimson stain discoloured his fingers. His legs gave way and he pitched forward on to the floor. For long moments no one moved and no one spoke. The man with the scarred face put up his gun. He turned to the two men behind the bar.
‘I’ll have another whiskey,’ he requested.
The whiskered man broke the shotgun and extracted the shells. He placed the weapon on top of the bar.
‘I reckon I’ll join you.’
He walked from behind the bar and watched the barkeep serve up the drinks, the bottle rattling against the glasses as his hands shook.
‘What’ll you do now, Cogan?’ Alward Gallagher asked, as he reached for the drink.
‘I’m for the gold diggings. Got myself a mule and some equipment.’
Cogan drank up. He reached out a hand to the younger man and they shook.
‘Good luck, Al.’
‘Good luck, yourself, Marcus. When you strike it rich, you make sure and come back here and spend some of that gold in California Crossing.’
Marcus Cogan walked from the saloon without a backward glance.
Alward sauntered across and stood over to the dead body of his brother.
‘I guess you’re avenged, Pa. May you rest in peace now.’
He righted the green baize table and the chair and sat down.
‘Pete, get rid of that there carcass,’ he ordered. ‘And fetch me another deck of cards.’
