“Swell,” I said, and stuck the gun in the waist-band of my trousers.
“Okay,” Bat said, squaring up. “You ready?”
“Don’t rush it,” I said. “Like to make a bet on it?”
“Haw! Haw!” Bat doubled up with laughter. “You’ll kill me, bub. How you gonna pay after I creased you?”
“Cut this out,” Flaggerty stormed. “Get on with it. Kill the punk.”
“Yeah,” Bat said suddenly scowling. “Well, bub, this is curtains for you.” He crouched, shuffled his feet in the sand. I patched him, but even though he knew my gun was empty, he still hesitated.
“I’ll give you time to go for your gun, Bat,” I said, smiling at him. “A guy always has the drop on me before I kill him.”
He snarled at me. “Only this time, I’ll do the killing,” he rasped.
Then he went for his gun.
If he hadn’t loosened his holster, he’d have got me. But his gun stuck for just a fraction of a second, and it gave me time to yank out the Colt. I had it out by the time his hand was tugging at his gun butt.