Barkley was deep into his evening liquor at a saloon in a town called Miner’s Delight, when Randall Jennings burst through the batwing doors.
“Barkley,” Randall said through gasps for breath. “It’s Beau, he’s got ‘imself into some trouble.”
“Beau’s a grown man,” Barkley replied. “If he’s got himself into trouble, he can get himself out.”
“I ain’t gon’ argue with ya Barkley, but I don’t know if he can get out of this one.” Randall said looking down at his feet.
“How do you figure?” Barkley asked and stood up from his seat at the bar.
“Well,” Randall said before looking up at Barkley. “Folk’s saying someone done ‘im in, someone called The Slim Reaper.”
* * *
“Yup,” Willy Jones said. “I’m the one who killed Beau Foster.”
For the last hour Willy had been holed up in the saloon at Bainesville, a town not far from Miner’s Delight or Riggins, telling everyone who’d listen that he was The Slim Reaper, and that he had been the one who gunned down Beau Foster. Eventually word had started to spread throughout the town that The Slim Reaper was at the saloon, and now Willy had a good sized group of people surrounding him at his table, peppering him with questions about how he’d managed to kill Beau.
“Sure he was fast,” Willy said. “But I’m faster.” He pretended to make a reach for the heavy Colt Dragoon at his hip, and everyone jumped back.
Willy let out a chuckle, “Yes sir I’m the one who killed Beau and I did it with one bullet.”
Barkley Foster had been standing at the back of the crowd for a while now, listening to everything Willy was saying. This was the fifth time in the last twenty minutes Willy had bragged about shooting Beau, and Barkley decided that was enough. He pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring any grunts of protest from the other onlookers until he stood squarely in front of Willy.
“You killed Beau?” Barkley asked loudly.
“Well sure I did,” Willy replied with a smile.
Before Willy or anyone watching could blink Barkley jerked a glossy black Colt .45 from his hip and shot Willy in the head. The force of the bullet knocked Willy backwards out of his chair and left him sprawled out on the saloon floor.
“Anyone else claiming to ‘ave killed my brother?” Barkley asked looking around the room. There were several head shakes and a few people started walking toward the batwing doors.
“Now I’m lookin’ for a beanpole of a man dressed in black, head to toe,” Barkely stated. “And if any of you ‘ave seen this son of a bitch, or heard about where he’s heading, you better speak up and be quick about it.”
There were more head shakes until a short wiry man made his way to the front of the crowd. “Names Jim,” The man said. “I seen your man, stopped by the livery two days ago, left early this morning.”
“You see where he was headed?” Barkley asked
“Yessir I did, he’s headed for that negro mining camp over East, Copper Joe Flats.”
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