Bullets Don't Die by J. A. Johnstone

The Kid’s sleeve. “How is he? What did he have to say? Is he going to be all right?”
    The others gathered around The Kid to hear what he’d learned. “I’m no sawbones, but I think the marshal will recover. He’s resting now. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to talk to him, Bert.”
    The swamper sighed and shook his head. “As long as he’s all right, it don’t really matter. It’s, uh, not like he ever talks that much to me anyway.”
    “Why did he want to talk to you, Mr. Morgan?” Constance asked.
    “To pass on a warning. Harlan Levesy’s riding to town with his men the first thing in the morning. He expects Ahern to be turned loose by then, or he’ll take it out on the town.”
    “What’d I tell you?” Bennett said. “That’s what we have to do.”
    Constance looked at The Kid. “That’s not all Levesy wants, is it?”
    “Well, no,” The Kid replied with a faint smile. “He wants me, too. I expect he wants to turn me over to Ahern.”
    “So Ahern can kill you,” Constance said heavily.
    “I’m not afraid of Ahern.”
    “Maybe not, but I say no! We don’t turn Ahern loose, and we sure as hell don’t serve you up on a silver platter.”
    “You’d better think about that, Constance,” Bennett urged. “We never even saw this man before today.”
    “I don’t care. I’m not gonna condemn him to death just because I’m afraid of Harlan Levesy.” The woman’s voice was scornful as she added, “And I’m a little surprised and disappointed that you would, Milt.”
    “I’ve got a family and a business to think about,” Bennett snapped. “Those things have to come first.”
    “What if Harlan Levesy decides he wants to take over that business one of these days? What if he comes to you, offers you a fraction of what the stable’s worth and tells you you’d better accept . . . or else?”
    “Why would he do that? He’s not interested in taking over anything here in town.”
    “Not yet, maybe,” Constance replied. “But I never yet saw a man hungry for power who was willing to back away from the table.”
    The Kid thought she was right about that.
    Her words appeared to have gotten through to Bennett, too, as he stood frowning and looking uncertain. After a moment he said, “If we don’t give in, what can we do?”
    “Fight,” Constance answered without hesitation.
    “That’s what Marshal Cumberland wanted me to do,” The Kid offered. “He asked me to get folks together and get them ready to take on the Broken Spoke.”
    “But those men who work for Levesy are killers!” Bennett ojected. “We’re just . . . just normal people.”
    “You can hold a gun, point it, and shoot it, can’t you?” Constance asked.
    “Yeah, and I can get shot, too!”
    “A horse could kick you in the head and kill you tomorrow, Milt. You just don’t know. None of us do. We risk our lives every time we get up in the morning. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to risk them for something worthwhile for a change?”
    The Kid was willing to let Constance do most of the talking. She was good at it. He had other talents, most of which involved killing.
    Those would be needed, too, before it was over.
    “All right,” Bennett said. “I don’t like being run roughshod over any more than you do. And it’s true there’s no telling what Levesy will do in the future if we don’t stop him now. If we back down from him—again!—it’ll convince him he can do whatever he damn well pleases and get away with it.”
    “That’s the spirit,” Constance said with a curt nod. She turned to The Kid. “It appears the marshal put you in charge, Mr. Morgan. What do we do now?”
    “Spread the word. Anybody who has a gun and is willing to fight needs to be somewhere downtown at sunup tomorrow. That’s where we’ll make our stand. Anybody who’s not going to fight needs to lay as low as possible. We don’t want to have to worry about them.”
    “Where will you be?”
    “I plan on being front and