A Time For Hanging (29 page)

"I did, though," Vincent said.
 
"And then I got to thinkin' about it.
 
I got me a witness, too."

"What?"
 
Bigby sounded doubtful.
 
"Who?"

"Willie Turner," Vincent said.

Bigby laughed again, but not with any enthusiasm.
 
"Willie Turner," he said flatly.

"I figger it like this," Vincent said.
 
"She was a pretty thing, and she'd been with a man.
 
You knew that.
 
So maybe you ran across her in the woods, saw she was alone, and stopped to talk.
 
Maybe you tried to do a little more than talk, and she didn't go for it.
 
Maybe you decided to put a scare into her with somethin' sharp."

"Lotta maybes in there," Bigby said.

"Yeah," Vincent said.
 
"But it's pretty close to the truth, I bet."

"Yeah," Bigby said.
 
"Yeah, it is."
 
His hand was straying toward the scalpel again.

Vincent pulled his gun from the scabbard.
 
"Once was enough, Doc."

Bigby moved faster than Vincent thought he could, bringing up the scalpel with the speed of a striking snake and slashing at Vincent's face.

Vincent stumbled backward, firing as he fell.
 
The bullet slapped into the ceiling and then Bigby was on him.

The doctor was stronger than Vincent would have thought.
 
He had a grip on the sheriff's gun hand, pinning it to the floor.
 
He was working the scalpel toward Vincent's throat, though Vincent was trying to force it away.

Vincent could feel Bigby's hot breath on his face.

The scalpel pressed against Vincent's throat and sliced through the skin.

"I . . . didn't mean . . . to kill her," Bigby panted.

Vincent knew that he was not going to be able to overpower the smaller man.
 
There was only one thing he could do.

He fired his pistol.

The bullet hit the wall with a crack, not doing much else, but the shot surprised Bigby just enough for Vincent to throw him up and back.

As soon as Bigby's weight was off him, Vincent pushed himself away and brought his gun up.

"It's over, Doc.
 
Put the scalpel down.
 
Maybe they won't hang you, just put you in jail for a little while."

"The hell they will," Bigby said.
 
He jumped for Vincent.

He must have known he didn't have a chance.
 
Vincent shot him in the chest.

He looked almost like Turley Ross as the force of the bullet hurled him backward.
 
The scalpel flew from his hand and made a shiny arc as it fell.
 
It clattered on the floor as the sound of the gunfire died away.

Vincent sat there and looked at Bigby's body and the red stain that was spreading under it.
 
He should have felt good now that it was all over, but he didn't.
 
He felt sick at his stomach.

There was a pounding on the door.
 
Jack Simkins had been making his rounds and had heard the shooting.
 
"What's goin' on in there?" he yelled.
 
"Open up this door, Doc."

Vincent stood up and looked down at Bigby's body for one last time.

"Doc!" Jack yelled.
 
"Damnit, open this door before I have to shoot off the lock!"

Funny, Vincent thought.
 
The doc looked like he might be smiling.

"Doc!" Jack yelled again.

Vincent walked over and opened the door.