takin' care of myself, how can I take care of my town?” Cromwell sighed softly and reached under the table while eating more stew. His free hand gripped his revolver and slowly drew it from the holster. “Well… lucky for you, I guess… that gang probably ain’t in much better shape than us.” Zeke laughed and nodded. “Damn right. Lucky you’re in here instead of out there, ain’t ya?” He put his spoon down and leaned forward, motioning Cromwell to lean closer. “But y’know the real reason why I ain’t so worried?” Cromwell leaned forward, furrowing his brow and pulling back the hammer on his gun, pointing it under the table. His furrowed brow gave way to a sly smile. “Why’sat? Ya got a deputy or some such down there?” Zeke began laughing, and Cromwell soon followed. Zeke was shaking his head when suddenly there was an earsplitting BANG which rattled the windows and seemed to give the wind itself pause for just a moment. Cromwell wasn’t laughing anymore, but Zeke was still grinning. “Just so happens, the leader of that gang knocked on my door not three hours ago. Found his wanted poster not too long ago.” He paused and placed his smoking gun on the table while Cromwell held the wound in his gut and fell off his chair. “Cromwell Jenkins. Wanted: Dead or Alive.” Zeke picked his spoon up and had another bite. Cromwell just stared up coldly. “Too bad the rest of his gang couldn’t die warm like him.”
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