Gunfighters and gals
add up to only one thing . . .
The law, in the person of two city marshals, arrived quickly in response to the gunshots that had carried across half of Denver. The identity of the victors impressed, and one even apologized to Mallory for the inconvenience of the questions he’d had to ask to establish that the exchange had been fair, square and legal. Mallory’s response was to turn his back contemptuously on the man and order drinks for him and his partner.
But Marshall wasn’t drinking. Once the lawmen were satisfied, he turned away and hurried for the rear door, ignoring the surprised looks of the men he pushed through, as well as Mallory’s shout after him.
It wasn’t until later that he realized what Mallory had called out. It was;
‘Fill your gun!’
Even with the corpses still stiffening in the sawdust, Mallory was thinking ahead to the next kill, still trying to discipline Marshall and make him an image of himself. Marshall just made the yard in time. There, in the darkness with no one to wonder or jeer, the famous Levi Marshall was violently ill.