You drank that whisky quick, boy. You in such a rush to die? You don’t mind if I sip mine? I got no beef with walking out those doors with you. Ain’t like it’ll be the first time, nor the last time. And I can tell you, you’ll die with your iron in your holster, hand on it if you’re quick, dumb expression on your face.
Trouble with the law? Here, in Missouri? Boy, are you sure you know who I am? Could put a bullet in your head in this bar, and all these good ol boys would swear it were self defence. Logan Maccar. Yes, the one who rode with Colonel Bill. Tell you boy, Colonel hisself said to me, Logan, you ain’t natural, never seen a man as fast with a gun as you. And Bill Quantrill, say what you like about him, he seen a lot of men with guns.
Tell you a story. One time, had 4 men in front, 4 behind. One kid I knew took my back. I drew these 2 Colt Navy’s on the guys in front, emptied them both. They all went down, reckon they managed 2 shots between them back. Dropped the guns, pulled my back up Colt Dragoon, and my room sweeper, and turned round. The kid had taken one of those 4, before being dropped himself. I unloaded the Dragoon, and both barrels of the cut-off. All you could hear was me, reloading my guns. Nine dead men all around. Did get winged in the arm, but that was only a scratch.
Still want to walk out that door, boy? I’m giving you a chance because you remind me of me, when I were young. Keen and confident. And you can handle yourself, right? You killed many folks? Weren’t you listening to me, boy, I rode with the Colonel – you have heard of Quantrill’s Raiders, right? Led a section of men for a while, killed us a whole mess of Yankees.
It’s your decision. We all die somewhere. Clance, you get your good lady to fry me one of her steaks? Thick and juicy, just show it the pan. I’ll take it and the rest of the bottle that table in the corner, won’t be long. After you, son.