He’d spent more than enough years around firearms to know the difference between the feel of a loaded pistol and an empty one. He was confident the young gunman’s weapon was probably fully loaded, but he wasn’t about to bet his life on it. When he scrambled away from the shack, he took a quick look at the area in front of the saloon. As he’d figured, just about everyone had run for cover when the shooting started. That left the three gunmen, the one with the snapped finger, and Jesse, to stand out like birds sitting on a telegraph wire. Clint aimed the stolen pistol at them and fired as quickly as he could while continuing to move. His shots weren’t accurate, but they came in a loud fire-storm and tested the nerve of all the men in front of him. Even experienced gunfighters would have been thrown off their game by that kind of return fire, but these men were rattled a whole lot more than that. A few of them kept firing but sent their bullets into the street or hissing up toward the clouds.
