Kyle Sawyer woke up early that morning. He got dressed and headed down stairs. The brisk morning air felt good. The sun had already risen high enough to turn the sky a bright clear blue, with just a light whisper of clouds. There was something he had to do before John Barnabus woke up, or at least before his brother missed him.

Most of the city was already awake, with citizens beginning to conduct their business in one shop or another, while a few were just beginning to open their doors. He was hoping the telegraph office wouldn't be very far from the hotel.

He stopped to say good morning to a middle aged man who was setting up a sign outside of his Cigar Shop. The owner was round in stature, and rather short. He unfolded the sign and began to set it in place when Kyle approached.

"Good mornin ' sir."

The shop owner stood up straight and smiled, "Why, good morning to you, young man." He had an easy welcoming smile. "Would-ya be interested in some cigars?" "No sir! I'm new in town, and I happen to be looking for the telegraph office. I was hoping you could help me."

The shop owner checked to see that his sign was sitting right where he wanted it, then he turned. Pointing here and there, as his gestures were accompanied with directions. Kyle listened, then he thanked the man and crossed the street.

As he approached the corner, he saw a man and his son sitting in a wagon along the board walk outside of a Mercantile Store. The boy's thick curly red hair was all goof-balled around his head, like there was no rhyme or reason to which way it wanted to grow.

He was holding a small dog in his lap and when Kyle walked by, the dog began to bark. The boy told the small fur-ball to hush, then he smiled and said, "Sorry mister!" Kyle smiled and greeted them, as the boy's father secured the reins and turned to climb out of the wagon.

Farther down the street, Kyle was just passing the bat-wing doors of the saloon when the image -of that freckle-faced red-headed boy and his dog came to mind. Smiling to himself and caught in the moment, he didn't notice the large man walking several feet behind him.

He was already boozie blind and heading for the saloon. Kyle turned the corner, he could see the telegraph office at the end of the street. As he got closer, a slender man opened the door and called to someone inside the office. His voice was stressed.

"Daniel, I have an important telegram to deliver. You handle the office while I'm gone." Simon Wimberly said.

A whiney voice could be heard as Kyle got closer to the office. "Yes Mr. Wimberly."

Wimberly turned to leave and hesitated, "Daniel, Do Not mess things up." The whiney voice returned, "Yes Mr. Wimberly."

Simon Wimberly stepped outside the office and closed the door. Looking up at the sky, he closed his eyes as if he were praying. He slowly shook his head, then he quickly headed down the board walk. Kyle noticed the man was clutching a piece of paper in his hand as he passed him and crossed the street.

Kyle stopped for a brief moment, curiosity setting in. He watched the man pause to read what was on the paper, then he quickened his pace as he went around the corner. Curious though he was, Kyle turned again to close the few feet that was left between him and the door to the telegraph office.

When he entered, he saw a short homely man in an old tan colored shirt, and jeans. He was wearing an old tattered hat that must have been around the world at least two or three times, considering the condition it was in.

"Good morning sir." the whiney voice filled the room. "What is it I can do for you this morning?"

The man smiled. It was one of those friendly smiles that brought out this little man's personality. "I'm Daniel Hellicant..., Mr. Wimberly had to step out for a moment."

"Well Daniel," Kyle said as his mind tried to balance the friendly smile with the whiney voice that went with it. "I would like to send a telegram to my brother. He lives in Walla Walla, Washington."

"Yes sir, ah.., Mister?"

"Kyle Sawyer, is my name. I want to send a telegram to my brother Levi."

Daniel Hellicant looked around for some paper and something to write with. Setting everything out on the counter he asked, "Ok, Mr. Sawyer, what would you like to send?"

Kyle began to tell him when Hellicant walked away distracted. Kyle waited. The telegrapher checked his pockets, patting them lightly, then he looked around the office in wonderment. "Now I know I brought them with me." Hellicant mumbled to himself. He stepped over to the desk and began searching through the drawers. Turning with a confused look on his face he apologized to Kyle, as he continued to look for any possible hiding place.

"What is it that you are looking for?" Kyle asked.

"My glasses." Hellicant replied, " I know I had them earlier." Again, Hellicant apologized.

Kyle looked at Daniel Hellicant and in spite of embarrassing the man, he couldn't help but break out laughing. Hellicant turned red with embarrassment, but confused. When Kyle could bring himself to speak again, he pointed to Hellicant's hat.

"They're on the brim of your hat." Kyle said.

Hellicant reached up and felt his glasses resting right where Kyle told him they were. Removing them from the brim of his hat, he held them in his hand, and then he smiled nervously from ear to ear, which was followed by a quiet laugh. Picking up his pen, Hellicant said, "Now what is it you would like to send Mr. Sawyer?"

Kyle stepped out onto the board walk feeling guilty about breaking his promise to J. B., but he had tried to keep that promise and he had twice now, chased the thought away from his mind.

Breaking his word to his own brother was not something that set well with him. Levi had a right to know, but damn it, breaking his word to J. B. made him feel ashamed. He tried telling himself that his actions would be justified in the end, and that J. B. would forgive him. When he stepped outside, he looked at the rising sun and realized it was much later than he had expected. If he was going to meet John for breakfast he would have to hurry back to the hotel.

Crossing the street and turning the corner quickly, he wanting nothing more than to get back to the hotel in time to meet J. B. at the cafe next door, if not in the lobby of the hotel. When the bat-wing doors to the saloon swung open suddenly, and a large man holding a bottle up in his callused hand, raised his voice, and began cussing the men inside.

The tangle-footed man didn't see Kyle before bumping into him. He staggered sideways a couple of steps and dropped the bottle of whiskey. The stranger stood there staring at the broken bottle and the wooden planks along the boardwalk that were soaking up his weeks savings. That's when Kyle saw the anger rising in the pickled giant standing in front of him.

"Sorry mister." Kyle said holding both hands up, not wanting any confrontation. The man shook his head, trying to clear the fuzz between his ears. His feet spread a little wider as he tried to maintain his balance.

The large man stood there, with his black suspenders stretched over a dirty torn t-shirt that was wrapped around a large pot-bellied man with several days of stubble on his face. When he attempted to step forward, lunging towards Kyle with a right cross, his hands were like clubs but his feet had too much of that stupid juice running through them and Kyle barely had to move to avoid getting hit.

Than the big man stumbled again and caught his balance, Kyle heard someone in the crowd that was forming in the street laugh, telling the person next to him; "Looks like someone done stole his rudder, don't it."

Kyle apologized, he wasn't sure what for, he just knew he didn't want anything to do with this man. "Mister, I told you, I'm sorry."

The man looked at the broken bottle, as if he were in a trance, then he glared at Kyle, "Yurrrr gonna beeee a whole lot sorry-errr, when I getttss my hands on you." He swung again with that right cross, and this time it barely tapped Kyle on the chin. He stumbled back a step. His hand came up and touched his jaw. Kyle thought; If that was just a tap - My god, I do not want to get hit by this guy. Ducking quickly, he dodged another punch, and countered it with a hard blow to the man's stomach.

The drunk wheezed, and stopped, then his hands rested on his knees as he leaned forward. projecting barf onto the board walk. Thinking the conflict was over, Kyle stepped closer to help the man when he was grabbed and thrown into the street.

"You sawwwed-offff-sonnn-a-bitch." said the booze blind man.

By now the crowd had grown larger as they watched the entertainment with smiles and laughter. Kyle had tried to keep his distance but when he was thrown into the street, he lost his balance and fell into the dirt. By the time he could stand up, the drunk had managed to close the distance, and before Kyle could react, a huge right cross caught him squarely on the jaw, knocking him back to the ground. It was like his brain had just bounced off the inside of his skull, he was dazed, and slow to get up.

When he did, the large man was standing just a few feet away. The crowd was silent now as they watched the larger man take a knife from the scabbard tucked behind his belt.

Kyle instinctively reached for his side arm, realizing in that instance that he had left it hanging on the foot-board of his bed. The drunk held the blade of the knife in his hand raising it high above his head.

"I'll kill you, tinhorn." The man cried out as he took a step forward and widened his stance. The man's grip tightened on the blade as his arm began to move forward. In that moment, the drunk stood frozen in place, staring at the young man in front of him. He was trying to understand what had just happened.

The bullet had come from the crowd, tearing through the large man's side, high up, close to the arm pit, passing through the lung ripping open the bottom of the man's heart.

The knife fell, and the large man slumped to his knees staring up at Kyle. He couldn't see a gun, his eyes blinked. His body weakened as he fought to stay up on his knees. He looked through fading eyes, but still he could see no gun. This tin-horn had no gun, then his eyes closed, and his body fell into the dust.

Kyle turned to look into the crowd, searching for the man who saved his life. The crowd had been taken in, absorbed by the events that had just taken place. Many of them not even realizing that someone else had killed the assailant.

Then Kyle saw a well-dressed man pull his long jacket over his holster. Turning, the stranger walked away without saying anything to anyone. Kyle's mind was still trying to understand. There was hesitation as he looked around. Should he stay with the man lying dead in the street, or should he follow the man who was walking away.

Before Kyle could make sense of it, Sheriff Cooley was pushing his way through the crowd of citizens that had gathered around.

"Are you alright, Kyle?" Sheriff Cooley asked as he approached the scene.

"Sheriff, I'm a bit dazed, but I'll be alright." Kyle said.

The Sheriff looked around and then he stood over the dead man's body. Looking at Kyle he said, "Tell me what happened Kyle."

A couple of by-standards walked up along-side Cooley. "Sheriff, that young man is the quickest draw I ever did see." The other bystander spoke up, "It was self-defense sheriff, sure-as- shootin." The two bystandards looked at each other and quietly laughed at their choice of words.

"Sheriff," Kyle said, "It was self-defense."

"I believe you, Kyle." Cooley said, "There were others telling me the same thing, as I walked through the crowed. I would like to hear your story though." The sheriff caught a man's attention and told him to notify the coroner's office, and then he told another man to stay with the body until the coroner showed up.

"Kyle," Cooley started to say, when John Barnabus pushed his way through the crowd

"Kyle, you okay"" J. B. called out.

"I'm going to be ok, John." The younger brother responded.

"Why don't we walk over to my office where we can discuss this without all the distractions." Cooley said.

"I would like that Sheriff." Kyle replied as he let his eyes search for the well-dressed man he saw walk away from the crowd, the man who had saved his life. But there was no sign of the stranger anywhere.

As they walked over to the sheriff's office Kyle was trying to figure out how he was going to explain the telegram he had just sent to Levi. If he was lucky, he would be able to talk his way around that part of the story, but he didn't feel all that lucky right then.

They turned to cross the street, ahead of them was the Sheriff's office and standing outside the office door was the stranger wearing those expensive clothes. He was casually lighting a cigar as he waited.

Kyle stopped suddenly, startled for a moment. Then he could only whisper the words that came to his mind.

"That's him."