"Thanks, Chuck," Brek said, as Chuck walked over to the other end of the bar, as if not wanting to be seen with Brek.
It was easy to see what had happened. Cactus had told Sager-Sagginer what had happened in the bar yesterday, including, no doubt, the story about the blinding draw from the hip. Sager probably suspected that Brek was a Time Patrolman and had sent Cactus to shoot him.
Brek moistened his lips, got up, and dropped a coin on the bar. Then he tipped his hat to Chuck and pushed his way through the batwings, heading for Sager's bank.
He knew the game. Sager didn't care whether Cactus got killed or not; what he wanted to do was watch Brek's gunwork, which would give him away as a Patrolman if he depended on the robot pistols.
Brek would have to take a chance.
He reached down and turned off the robot armament. All he had now was a pair of ordinary pistols. Overhead, the noonday sun was coming down strong and hard, and he began to sweat.
Casually, he sauntered down the wide, unpaved street toward the bank. There were a few people strolling idly in the other direction. He moved up against the row of shops, looking in all directions.
No sign of Cactus. He frowned. Brek knew of Cactus' fear of his lightning draw, and suspected that Cactus would try an ambush. Brek glanced uneasily across the street, over at Bishop's Livery, where a cowpoke was hitching his reins to the rail. It wasn't Cactus.
Then, suddenly, a gun spoke. Brek felt a hot bolt of lead blast its way into his arm, and he staggered dizzily. He glanced up as he struggled to regain his balance, and saw gunsmoke drifting out an open window in the second floor of Sager's Bank. Cactus, he thought. He leaped back as another bullet raked the dirt near him. His left arm was warm with his own blood.
The street was silent. Brek leaned against the cool glass of a shop window, waiting, holding his breath.