Half a mile out of Paul’s Valley, Sam Paul was napping on the inbound train.
The deafening blasts of the train whistle signaling its approach barely stirred him, his body conditioned to awaken at nothing but the grinding of the brakes as the train rolled to a stop. The two-month junket in Washington had wearied him, and he’d been haunted, as always, by visions of Jennie. As the train slowed to a stop at the depot, Sam roused himself, snatched up his satchel, and made his way to the platform.
He stepped down and headed for the livery stable, satchel in hand, his eyes barely registering the passersby in the street. His vision was focused inward.
Sam paused outside William’s and Gibson’s, contemplating a drink. He nearly went in for coffee, but decided against it at the last moment, opting instead for the comfort of his own bed.
If his thirst had been the slightest bit greater, he might have made it home unscathed.
"And I’ll buy you a new hat with a matching fan," Joe was saying as he and Althea made their way up Paul Street, heading for the train. "You’ll be the envy of all the ladies in Paul’s Valley."
"Now, darlin’, you know I’m already the envy of all the ladies in Paul’s Valley, ‘cause I give their husbands something they can’t. Not that I wouldn’t love a new hat, though.
" Joe was barely listening to her chatter. His mind was focused on the task at hand, like a panther intent on its prey. He would win Althea away from Sam today, striking another blow to his father’s seemingly unassailable greatness.
But then Althea stopped and tugged on his arm. He turned to see that the color had drained from her face, then he noticed that everyone else on the boardwalk had stopped, too. They were looking at Joe and Althea, then at something ahead in the road. As Joe followed their gaze, his blood froze in his veins.
Sam was standing on the corner outside the bank, staring at the two of them, his eyes burning with an inhuman rage.
Joe’s mind raced through his options. The haberdashery to his left was closed, the shopkeeper evidently taking an early dinner somewhere. And sprinting into the narrow alley between the bank and the telegraph office would mean risking eight or nine paces across the open street—too far, given Sam’s legendary speed with the draw. Which left Joe only one choice.
He stepped toward his father, bringing him into the range of his gun. The only problem was that he was also stepping into his father’s sights.
Sam dropped his satchel and moved to the center of the street.
A lone horseman rode past, stirring up a cloud of dust. When the haze cleared, Joe could see that his father had opened his coat, exposing his pistol.
It’s me or him now, Joe told himself, amazed at the clear calm that had settled over him. At least, whichever way it goes, I’ll be rid of the bastard once and for all.
Inside the dry-goods store on Chickasaw Street, Will and Sippie Hull were stocking up for the Christmas rush. Sippie was refolding a bolt of calico, when something lurking just under the tip of her consciousness surfaced. The normally bustling street had fallen deathly quiet. She glanced out the front window to see that everyone out on the street was standing perfectly still, staring at something.
Sippie pulled William away from his ledgers, and they hurried outside.
When she saw what was going on outside, Sippie gasped and started into the street, as if thinking to place herself between father and son. Will caught her by the sleeve and pulled her back inside. No one could stop what was about to happen.
A scuffling sound on the boardwalk behind him broke Joe’s concentration for a half-second. A half-second too long. When he turned around again, Sam was drawing his gun.
Joe instantly went for his.
But Sam’s bullet left its chamber before Joe’s fingers could close around his gun. The first shot pinged a tin sign over Joe’s left shoulder, but the second, which followed close on its heels, lodged itself in his stomach. Joe staggered, but he managed to keep his aim. As Sam fired his third round, Joe pulled the trigger. His father’s third shot cut deep into Joe’s ribs, but Joe’s bullet took Sam in the thigh and sent him sprawling on his back into the dust.
Joe forced himself to remain standing long enough to see that Sam was unable to shoot back, then he dropped to his knees and fell over on his side.
As the world faded from his consciousness, Joe saw Althea Patrick rushing past him, screaming hysterically, "Somebody get Doc Shannon! Sam Paul’s been shot!"