Of course, that
might be all right, but it looked suspicious. Then one day he
killed poor old Max Schmidt out behind his own saloon. Called
him out and shot him in the stomach. Said Max resisted arrest on
a warrant for keepin' open out of hours! That was a sweet
warrant to take out in Willets, anyway! Mrs. Schmidt always
claimed that she say that deal played, and that, while they were
talkin' perfectly peacable, Cook let drive from the hip at about
two yards' range. Anyway, we decided we needed another marshal.
Nothin' else was ever done, for the Vigilantes hadn't been
formed, and your individual and decent citizen doesn't care to be
marked by a gun of that stripe. Leastwise, unless he wants to go
in for bad-man methods and do a little ambusheein' on his own
account.
The point is, that these yere bad men are a low-down, miserable
proposition, and plain, cold-blood murderers, willin' to wait for
a sure thing, and without no compunctions whatsoever. The bad
man takes you unawares, when you're sleepin', or talkin', or
drinkin', or lookin' to see what for a day it's goin' to be,
anyway. He don't give you no show, and sooner or later he's
goin' to get you in the safest and easiest way for himself.
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