The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy Read Online Free PDF Page B

anyone except Batman these days.” He sighed heavily. “No, there’s just you, and Max, and Diggs, and Mr. Ahasuerus, and Thaddeus."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “I don’t know that a friend would make you give up barking if it means all that much to you,” offered the Dancer.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been a barker in the first place."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  The Dancer shrugged and said nothing. Tojo waited politely for him to resume speaking, and when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to, the little hunchback clambered down off his chair and began inspecting the posters and tintypes.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “That’s a mean-looking one,’” he said at last, pointing to an exceptionally villainous-looking portrait. “Who was he?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Canada Bill. He was a swindler and a card sharp.” The Dancer smiled. “Kind of like the Rigger, only uglier."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “And this?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Tom O’Day. A real nasty character. Used to ride with Butch Cassidy’s gang.” The Dancer’s face came alive as he reeled off his store of data.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “ That one I know,” said Tojo, pointing to a photograph of a young man supporting a rifle. “It’s Billy the Kid, isn’t it?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Good for you,” said the Dancer. “Did you know he was born in New York City?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “You’re kidding!"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Truth. I seen his birth certificate once when Thaddeus gave us a day off while we were playing the Connecticut circuit."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Was he the fastest gun?” asked Tojo.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  The Dancer shook his head. “The meanest maybe. But the best? That’d be Johnny Ringo or Doc Holliday. The Doc, probably."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Doc Holliday was the fastest gun of all?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Except for me."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Really?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  The Dancer nodded. “Only difference is, he had a chance to prove it. I never did."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “You prove it every night,” said Tojo.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Lot of difference shooting at something that can’t shoot back. Old Doc, he fought Billy Claiborne and the Clanton brothers. Me, I just shoot cards."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “What made him so good?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “He didn’t much care about living."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “I don’t understand,” said the hunchback.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  The Dancer got up, crossed the room, pulled out another Coke, and opened it. “Most gunfighters, no matter how fast they are and no matter how mean they are, they start thinking about getting killed. Makes ’em hesitate, or get ready to duck, or wonder why they got into such a damn-fool situation in the first place. Doc Holliday, now, he wanted to die."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Nobody wants to die,’” said Tojo.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Don’t you go betting your tiny little britches on that,” said the Dancer seriously. “More people do than you might think—and Doc, he was dying from consumption anyway. That’s why he went out West in the first place: for the dry air. He knew he wasn’t going to live to see forty, so he just went out looking for trouble. He was so crippled up that he needed a cane to walk from his hotel to the O.K. Corral—but once he got there, he took care of business. Spent his whole life hoping someone would kill him and put him out of his misery, and since he was always less worried about dying than the next guy, he always came out the winner."
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “Then who finally killed him?"
    Â Â Â Â Â Â  “No one. Died in a