Guns in the night, shouts, shattering glass. Damn cowboys shooting up the town again. Weariness. They had not wanted to be lawmen, but to build a frontier empire - solid business, intrigue - yes, politics, shrewdness. They followed Fred White out nevertheless. Duty. To back up the sheriff against lawless Texans.

Curly Bill, strangely sober. Feigning drunkenness.

"Give me your gun."

He had handed it over, at the last second spun it in his hand - a border roll they called it. Fred fell into John's arms, bullet in his gut and clothes aflame.

Later they found it had been a set-up. Murder.

Year: 1881
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