Killing Halfbreed by Zack Mason Page B

years.  Tom Logan had been a good, decent family man who’d always treated him well.  He didn’t deserve to be gunned down, unarmed, by this cattle-rustling cur.  Bile rose in his throat.  Anger had pushed caution and common sense aside.
    "Yeah, and you're the one who's done all of it.  What's the matter, afraid to murder someone else?  Go ahead.  Shoot, ya yeller-belly!"
    He watched as Jake's jaws clenched and unclenched, trying to control his own temper.
    "Get outta here, Marlby. I'm not going to shoot you.  I don't want this!  Just let it go and leave me alone."
    O'Connell snorted in derision and turned to walk out the door.
    "This ain't the end of it, you hear me, Talbot?  I'm not the only one who wants to see you dead, ya know!"  The batwing doors swung shut behind him.
    Jake stared into space for a moment.
    Finally, he holstered his gun.  Would things always be like this?
    Jake's poker partners stood from the table and moved to the bar.  They'd lost their appetite for the game.  That tended to happen when you'd almost been a bystander to a possible killing.  It was best to stay away from men like Halfbreed who attracted trouble.  Still, it didn't go unnoticed that Jake had not shot Marlby when he'd had the chance.
    O'Connell had provoked the argument and reached for his gun first.  Halfbreed’s draw had been lightning quick, and he would have been well within his rights to shoot Marlby where he sat.  But he hadn't.
     
    ***
     
    I'd seen the hatred and irrationality boiling in O'Connell's eyes.  It should have aroused indignant anger in me to see it, but it didn't.  I just felt depressed.  He was right, of course.  I'd taken the life of a good man, unjustly, and I couldn't forget that.
    I didn't want to kill Marlby.  I didn't want to kill anybody ever again.  It was a horrible thing to take a man's life.  How could I have been so stupid?  How many more people must hate me for the same reason?   What about Sarah Logan and her children?  What about Jinny?
    My hand brushed my whiskey glass absent-mindedly.  It felt cold against my skin.  In frustration, I swept it crashing to the floor, evoking stares from everyone.  That cursed whiskey was what had caused all my troubles.  I never would have shot Logan if I'd been sober.  At least, I hoped I wouldn't have.  I swore to myself I’d never touch a drop of the stuff again.
    So, why hadn't I just let Marlby O’Connell shoot me and be done with it?  In spite of my self-loathing, deep down, I really didn't want to die.  Call it survival instinct if you will, but I would defend myself.  I wouldn't just roll over.
    When the glass hit the floor, Red didn't move, nor did he speak.
    He's scared of me.
    That realization provoked a deeper desperation within me, to the point I wanted to squeeze my skull until it cracked.  I didn't want to evoke fear in other men.
    Nothing I could do about it though.  I'd become a bad man, someone to be feared.
    Shaking, I stood and left the suffocating confines of the saloon.
    Outside, bright moonlight washed the street in a cool blue.  The crisp night air filled my lungs.  I was feeling a little better already.
    "I'm calling you out, Talbot!  Let's have a fair fight this time!"
    My face and heart fell simultaneously.  Marlby O'Connell hadn't had enough.  He was determined to force me to kill him.  Why did he have to be so stubborn?  Why did it have to be this way?
    I turned to face him in the street and saw he was squared off about fifty feet away.  He glanced back and forth nervously between the boardwalks lining either side.  He was waiting for the townspeople to come out and watch.  He wanted everyone to see him kill me.
    The town obliged his wish, for within a few moments, people were lined up everywhere.  They'd heard him call out his challenge.  Once he was satisfied with the number of witnesses, he centered and steadied himself, focusing his eyes on me, the source of his hatred.
    His hands