Anyone big enough to . . .
TAME THE WILD GUN?
“You’re Jeff Chisholm, ain’t yuh?” the lantern-jawed man asked loudly with a heavy Southern accent.
The mention of the full name had people ducking swiftly into doorways, clearing the boardwalks and street.
“Jeff Chisholm!” someone echoed, voice going shrill. “In our town! Judas, lemme outta here!”
“That gunfighter here? Ellie! Hannah! You kids come here at once! We’re getting inside right now!”
“Judas! Wonder if he’s here to kill anyone?”
“I ain’t about to stand ’round to find out. C’mon!
As the street emptied swiftly, the two men stood facing each other, neither moving, drilling their cold stares into each other.
“Well?” the lantern-jawed man demanded finally. “You Chisholm or not?”
“Supposing I am?” the yellow-haired man asked in a deep voice.
“Then I’m about to gun you down . . .”