FIND A FASTER GUN
“Uh-huh, so do I,” Crowe admitted, looking down at his silver star.
“Be seein’ you,” Fleming said as he started to move away.
“Wait a minute, John. You’re forgettin’ to pay. I only stood you one glass of milk.”
The smile on Fleming’s face vanished.
“Answer me this,” he said. “You still as fast as you were in Stowe County?”
“I reckon so, John.”
“Well, Darcy, I’m faster than I was then.”
It was no boast. It was a statement of fact.
“Glad to hear it, John,” Crowe said mildly. “Like the sayin’ goes, practice makes perfect . . .”