Kid Cole reached down and felt for a pulse in the man's neck. Nothing.
His reflexes had been faster than his aim this time. He couldn't say he altogether regretted killing him given that he'd been abusing a woman. The young lady, who was watching in horror, had a bleeding mouth and more than one bruise, some new and some old. She'd been near unconsciousness when he'd found them in an argument in one of the alleys. That's how he'd gotten involved in this scuffle to begin with.
Kid had tried to settle things peaceably. His intention had been only on getting the woman to safety but drawing his gun in warning had caused the man in question to draw a gun, and the stranger had vowed she was leaving only over his dead body. So things had escalated into a shooting that he had won like so many times before. Kid had warned him of who he was in hopes he'd put the gun away, but it hadn't phased him. He'd wanted this.
"You're a dead man walking," said a young man, who was crouching down next to him.
"What are you talking about?" Kid asked, finding no sense in what he was saying.
"Warren Tipton is only the leader of the Virginia City Gang and they control everything that happens in these parts. Every crooked gunfighter and gambler in the city and surrounding territory is in league with them, and they're all going to be after you, to settle the score."
"Well, it was still worth it. I rescued that young woman from his abuse. He could have killed her."
"You think she's grateful? That's his old lady."
With surprise, he discovered that she was indeed looking at him like he was the one who'd inflicted her wounds, who'd almost killed her, not like one should be looking at their rescuer.
"Ride away. Now. That's your best chance," he said. "You may be handy with a gun but even you can't shoot more than one man at a time. They will work together to kill you."
sss
Kid rode for 3 days straight, not even stopping to sleep for very long, but it still didn't feel far enough. How could he hide out? He attracted unwanted attention wherever he went. 'Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you' the proverb went, making it sound easy like trouble rarely came knocking of its own accord. Well, trouble troubled him all the time. They were old friends when he wished he could say they were strangers or mere acquaintances at least.
He slowed his horse down to a trot as he got ready to enter a town. Her neck was soaked in sweat and she neared the point of exhaustion. He took his hat off to mop off the sweat on his own neck, and he patted her side gently. "I know, girl. We could both use a rest. No reason we can't stop here for a drink."
He'd never passed through this place before, which was something of a surprise to him. Sometimes it felt like he'd been everywhere, but new little towns sprung up all the time.
Then again, it could have been any town in the west: stores, wooden plank sidewalks, saloon, dirt road, and church with a graveyard. Nothing was in the architecture to set it apart. So perhaps he had passed through and just didn't remember.
As he got down off his horse, a woman approached him. Her strides were long and purposeful, and she was smiling. He wondered for a minute if he knew her, but it was impossible. He would have remembered a pretty face like hers, and she had a Bible in one arm, definitely not the kind of woman he usually associated with or who associated with him.
"You must be the new preacher," she said, her smile seeming even brighter closer up. She had an almost unnatural radiance about her.
He stared at her unsure of what to say.
"You must be, dressed all in black like you are." She clasped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, me and my big mouth. Maybe you're just in mourning. Are you in mourning?"
The truth of it was he just preferred black, and it hid the dirt that came with traveling well. This, however, was a gift that had just been laid in his lap. The chance to assume someone else's identity, at least until the new preacher got here. "Uh, no ma'am. No, you had the right of it. I'm the new preacher."