Dodge

  Quarter to four in the morning, Lemuel McFadden sat on the balcony of the second floor of the Long Branch Saloon. His face testified to a long day and hard life.   Lemuel heard the horse coming fast. Across the street somewhere behind the buildings it was running hard.  He watched as the horse and rider pulled up in front of Fats Walker’s tiny shack.  Lemuel saw the rider clearly as he rode directly under the light of a gas lamp.  “I’m sending you to hell, Fats,” the rider, young Jim Kennedy yelled.  Four shots rang out. Kennedy’s gun blazing in the night.  Lemuel pulled his pistol, but Kennedy raced off behind the buildings.    Out of sight.  Harry Long, a well known town layabout ran out of the alley near the shack.  “Help!” “Help!” Lemuel leaned over the rail of the balcony, “Shut up, Harry. Just go get what passes for the law around here.” Harry turned up the street, stopped, pointed.  “They’re coming’,” he said.  Lemuel shook his head and leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee