The Marshal stepped into Wallace’s Saloon. He had a scattergun in one hand and a Peacemaker in the other.

He’d been shot three times during his career. His face was scarred on one side from buckshot and on the other from knife wounds. The knife scars created a pull on one corner of his mouth.

He looked to a table with three disreputables.

“Nate,” he commanded. “Come with me or throw down.”

Sadly what most of the saloon heard was “Come with me to the hoedown.”

That is when the laughing started.

Shortly after the laughing came the killing.