Tom, co-owner and main barkeep of the best saloon in Greeley, did his best to ignore the drunk young man at the end of bar when he raised his glass to indicate he wanted another whisky. The man's jaw was tight and he had taken to scowling around the room, shooting icy glares in all directions. It was obvious he was hoping for an excuse to start something, and the barman really didn't see how him having another drink would help avoid that. It'd only take another hothead looking for trouble for him to get what he was looking for and Tom knew his town was hardly light on those.

He was a little surprised at the anger emanating from the kid. A couple of nights before, he and his dark haired friend had been in for most of the evening. Enjoyed a few drinks, played several games of poker. Neither had been a lick of trouble, polite, good natured and very respectful to the girls. They'd even helped calm down a potentially nasty situation, when a poor loser and a nasty drunk had both aimed to start some trouble. And once the troublemakers had been dealt with, the youngsters had been happy to accept drinks and a bit of time with the girls on the house by way of thanks, and had easily gone back to being calm and affable. But with his anger and obvious urge to start a fight, the memory of the fire he'd briefly witnessed in them both, and the speed with which this one had drawn on the damn fools was making him nervous. He didn't want his saloon busted up, nor for the boy to get himself into trouble that he couldn't get out of, especially as it appeared he was now on his own. Because he'd just remembered something that probably explained the dark mood.

While opening up, he'd seen the dark haired lad ride out of town in a hurry, adding that to the bruising on his now angry customer's knuckles and the obvious black eye, he realised there must have been a fight, which was a little odd given how tight they'd seemed. But as he finished cleaning a second glass, he mused on the fact that young men were prone to acting like idiots every now and then. He'd certainly done so more than once when he'd been their age.

He looked up to find the man, who wasn't much more than a boy really, squinting at him as if trying to see inside his head. As their eyes met, the boy's right hand drifted to rest on his gun and he awkwardly drew out a coin with his left before saying fiercely. "I ain't drunk and unless you're up to throwing me out, I ain't going nowhere, so pour me another, or even better just give me a bottle. I got the money." He pushed the quarter he'd pulled out from his pants pocket with some force down the bar. "Ain't a two-headed one neither."

The slightly slurred tone belied his words and Tom swallowed hard before saying firmly. "Son, I don't want no trouble, but I'm figuring you've had plenty."

With his hand still resting on his gun, the young man replied just as firmly. "Well you ain't my pa, and as I said, less you're gonna throw me out, just hand me a bottle."

Tom sighed, shrugged and did as he was bid, glancing over at a regular who'd been watching the exchange carefully. The man acknowledged his gaze with a sharp nod and smile before looking back to his own glass of beer.

XXX

Jed poured himself a drink out of the bottle the man had reluctantly handed him and swallowed it quickly. A part of him, because his head was fuzzy and the noise of the saloon suddenly seemed very loud, knew what the man had said was true: he'd had more than enough and he should just head back to the hotel and sleep it off. But most of him was just plain mad and wanted some more to drink. He and Heyes had got into another stupid argument, which had somehow turned into a fistfight and things had gone downhill from there. And now Heyes was gone, and Jed was damned if he was going to follow, because he knew that was exactly what his cousin expected. He'd be fine on his own, he didn't need anyone, least of all someone barely older than he was, lecturing him or telling him what to do anymore. But it was proving harder than he'd hoped to drown out the fact that he was already missing the company of his friend. Which simply meant he needed to try harder and he was certain another drink would help him to do just that.

Taking a deep breath, he started to pour himself that drink, but when he was jostled hard, he missed the glass and instead spilled whisky over his jacket sleeve. He looked up angrily into the eyes of a heavily moustached cowboy, with flowing grey hair, probably fifty, maybe even older, but his eyes were sharp despite his age and he exuded controlled competent menace. He was wearing dark clothes, a beaten up duster coat, riding boots and a tied down gun. At any other time, the way he held himself and the calm, confident ease with which he seemed to look at the world,might have given Jed pause, or at least it would have had Heyes trying to calm things down between them. But with no Heyes, alcohol blunting his senses, and anger coursing through him, Jed didn't much care and he said tersely. "Watch what ya doin', old man!"

The man unaffected simply smiled slightly as he said dismissively. "Careful boy, I'm old for a good reason."

His dry slightly amused tone just aggravated Jed more and he shifted to stare at him, ready to take him on. "You wanting trouble?"

With the slightest quirk of his lips, the man shook his head and without missing a beat said easily. "I ain't looking for none sonny, but I sure as hell ain't gonna back down if you're asking for some."

Jed glanced down at the man's gun and realising he was unwilling to strike someone more than twice his age, shrugged. "Maybe we oughta take this discussion outside."

XXX

Jed and the old timer stared at each other across the dusty square. Jed knew he was fast and figured he could easily beat the man, but with a dull kind of shock, he found himself facing a drawn forty five before his own had even fully cleared leather. Expecting to feel searing pain or maybe even to breathe his last, Jed was shocked that when the bullet came, instead of hitting him, it merely planted itself in his holster, pulling it off as it swept by his right leg.

He took a step back and stumbled, landing on his ass as the man came over to lean over him. "Now, boy, your mouth was trying to cash a check that your skill ain't yet ready for. But it's clear you've been practising and you've a natural talent. So I'm gonna make you an offer. If you can swallow your pride and listen to someone who knows what they're about. I'll teach you enough to make sure you see your next birthday, and maybe even make it to an age when you can look back on what just happened and laugh." He paused, then added with a slightly wicked grin. "The name's Archie Beckman. You might've heard of me."

The man's smile broadened, showing off surprisingly white teeth, as Jed's breath caught. Heyes would have loved this, he'd just taken on the guy known as 'The Bullet.'

Jed squinting up into the bright sun, realised how close he'd come to dying. His stomach and head started to protest, as the effects of shock and too much alcohol started to kick in. He quickly turned his head away so as not to be sick on the man's boots and brought up most of what'd he'd drunk and a good deal of what he'd eaten in the last twelve hours.

Beckman laughed softly but without malice and patted him gently on his shoulder as he wiped his mouth, breathing carefully to calm his uneasy stomach. "Least you got some sense boy. I'm guessing you just worked out how close you came to not seeing tomorrow."

His eyes flicked back towards the saloon and then back to Jed as he added. "Good thing me and Tom got an understanding. If I agree not to kill any of his customers, and try to stop the young drunk ones from getting into too much trouble: I get a girl or two and a drink or four on the house. Mostly works for us both."

Slightly strangled laughter escaped Jed as he looked up and said softly. "My lucky day."

Beckman winked at him and helped him up to his feet. "Well, maybe that's right. Now you know my name, but what do they call you, son?"

Jed met his gaze steadily and offered his slightly clammy hand, and it was taken into a firm two handed shake by large familiarly calloused palms. "Jed Curry."

After the man released his hold, Jed leant down to carefully pick up his damaged holster. He studied it for a minute, fingering the hole carefully, before looking back up and saying "That a serious offer you just made me?"

Beckman grinned and pushed his hat back. "Sure was, Jed, sure was. There's three things that I don't never joke about, guns, nice girls and money!"

Feeling happier than he had since he'd watched Heyes ride out of town from their hotel window, Jed smiled despite the continued throb in his head. "It's a deal then." His eyes fell back to his damaged holster and he shook his head. It really was his lucky day.