The Last Shootist Read Online Free

quite dangerous and generally disliked around El Paso.
    The Acme Saloon was thus consecrated ground to Gillom. But this crisp spring day he bypassed his shrine. Jim Dandy’s Leather Goods was near some of the meat markets on San Antonio Street, close to the source of the cowhides they worked into their leather products. And the stench from Jim’s tanning vats blended in with the smell of butchered beeves aging on big iron hooks in the meat markets, so those butchers didn’t complain. To them that stench smelled like money.
    Gillom found the proprietor behind a wooden counter in back and told him what he wanted: a double-holster rig in good condition. Mr. Dandy, or whatever his real name was, peered over bifocals.
    â€œNew or used?”
    â€œUh, new.”
    The proprietor pulled off a peg a brown leather holster and cartridge belt with a bronze buckle in front and cartridge loops around the back. Two more leather strips were spaced apart and stitched across the gun pockets to strengthen them and support each pistol. Gillom took the double-loop rig and strapped it on.
    â€œStiff.”
    Jim nodded. “It’s new. Leather loosens as it’s broken in, gets comfortable around your waist.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œForty dollars. We’ll embross that leather for you, your name, any design you want, for an extra ten.”
    Gillom frowned. “Got anything cheaper?”
    Mr. Dandy sucked his teeth, moved to a darkened corner and pulled open a bottom drawer of an old desk. He returned blowing dust off another double rig, this one naturally brown.
    â€œThis is a money belt. Cowhide’s doubled over and stitched together on top. See this slit inside here you can slip coins in to hide safely? You slide the belt’s billet into this slit, so your coins won’t fall out. Your silver dollars will add weight to this double rig, but no one’s the wiser when you’re travelin’.”
    The single-loop holster had several dull-colored silver conchos attached around the belt and on each gun sheath. Its worn leather was very flexible when the young man strapped it on.
    â€œConchos are a little scratched, but they’ll shine up again, that buckle, too,” Mr. Dandy added.
    This time Gillom drew the six-guns from beneath his belt and slid them into the holsters, then raised and lowered the revolvers several times with his palms on each grip, testing for a smooth pull.
    He smiled, liking the feel. “How much?”
    Mr. Dandy eyed the teenager, calculating. “Twenty-five dollars, for those fancy conchos.”
    â€œThrow in some silver polish?”
    â€œDollar extra.”
    Gillom tried a quick draw with his stronger hand, his right, but caught the revolver’s barrel on the sheath’s lip. There was no front sight on either pistol’s barrel to cause this, so he adjusted the height of the rig on his slim hips. He tried again, cleared leather easily.
    â€œBe faster, you soap that leather good, then oil it,” said Jim.
    He tried another draw with his off hand, his left, and was successful. Gillom grinned. He drew both guns. The three-pound revolvers seemed made to fill his strong hands and slid out of their protective pockets slicker than greased piglets. Cocky, pleased with his first attempts, Gillom spun the .44 by its trigger guard, like any teenager trying to show off a flashy spin before jamming his gun back into the leather. His index finger tapped the Remington’s trigger, however, and that was all it took. A bullet banged into the store’s upper wall, ricocheted off the arched wooden ceiling, and zinged harmlessly into the wooden wall directly behind him. A three-bank shot! Jim Dandy disappeared.
    Two Mexican leatherworkers piled out of the rear workroom, one of them pointing a revolver! Mr. Dandy rose from behind the counter red-faced.
    â€œ Jesus, kid! Put that pistol away until you learn how to use it!”
    â€œSorry.”