A cowboy rides in to a sleepy town seeking a chance to do some honest work.  What did ne overlook that could be the key to his survival?
 

     “So, what’s it gonna be, cowboy?”

     A solitary fly buzzed  against the window; an intermittent staccato of sound. I stood alone in the room with the marshal. Heat lay heavy on me, stifling and stagnant. It was hard to breathe. I suspect that was as much to do with the decision I was facing as much as the heat.

    Sweat trickled down from under my hat. I was weighing my options carefully. Above all, I longed to pull my gun. Only the certain knowledge that I would be dead before my gun cleared the holster stopped me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a gunslinger. I’m not a hot-blooded man, dealing death at any excuse, like some I’ve come across.  I’ve never used my gun against another man-never had the need to. ‘Course you may say that’s unusual, considering the times in which we live. But I don’t think so. Too many people shoot first, ask questions later, in my opinion. My father taught me that more can be accomplished with an easy manner and an upright life than with threats and bullying, and so I have discovered.  No need to draw your gun against a friend.