Thirty eightShelby positioned himself behind the bar, a glass of beer on the counter, the sawn-off shotgun usually kept out of view, lying in front of him. His stomach rumbled with hunger but he decided to eat after the meeting with the town council. So he drank his beer and waited. A smile crossed his face, a smile of satisfaction at his own cunning. If all went as planned, within a very short time he would have the whole town under his control and the money would roll in.
When the swing doors opened, however, it wasn't Springer who came in, but a thin, gaunt looking individual with a mop of red hair, a snub nose and bucked teeth. Shelby thought he recognised him and was about to speak when two others entered and took up position behind him, carbines cradled in their arms.
“We're here t
