PAST CONQUEST

 Gunsmoke Smith stood with his legs astride the fallen maiden.  His ice cold eyes stared at the heavily built man who had struck her to the ground.  He fingered the wooden stock of his Peacemaker,  controlling the tremor that ran down his arm in anticipation of slinging lead.

 “Keep out of this Gunsmoke,” came a voice from the saloon door, “She ain’t worth it.” 

Smith swung aside from the  girl lying on the dirt road.  At a glance he took in her heavily made up face, now swollen from a fist blow, and her saloon bar clothes, and a smile of recognition passed his lips.

 “And who says so?” Gunsmoke’s low drawl hung in the afternoon air. 

“Her owner.”

 Smiths jaw tightened, and the sun caught the white of his teeth through a demonic smile.

“I’ll buy her.”

 Smith’s eyes seemed to stare at a distant horizon as his fingers tensed and he angled toward the thin man dressed in undertakers black.

“What with?”

“Lead!.”