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"Put the gun up Harry, he ain't doin' no harm." His friend encouraged.
"Maybe, maybe not. How do we know he's a cattleman?" the drunk asked.
/> "Either use it, or put it away," Lance turned to face him.
"Well now, ain't this interestin'. I thought you a coward, maybe I was wrong."
"Maybe you were," Lance firmed his lip, his hand ready for a fight.
The drunk cowboy shot his gun off, close to Lance's feet. "Let me see you dance, cowboy."
Lance turned once more to leave.
The cowboy shot closer this time, almost hitting Lance's foot.
He fired another shot creasing the top of Lance's ear. Lance turned around and fired, hitting the cowboy in the hand, "Enough." Lance said, gritting his teeth and out of patience with the man.
The cowboy grabbed his arm and swore.
"Put your gun up Harry." His friend came to help him.
The Sheriff came in and stared at them. "What's going on here."
"Nothin'," Harry's friend said.
"He shot me in the hand." Harry cried wrapping his bandana around his bloody hand.
The Sheriff turned to look at Lance, "Did you do that?"
"I did. He shot at me, clipping my ear." Lance told him.
The Sheriff saw the blood from his ear and nodded. "Get goin' mister." He told Lance.
Lance nodded and walked out the door.
After he rode out of town, he dabbed his ear with his bandana and shook his head. "That's what I get for going into a saloon."
He found a small cove to rest for the night and made himself a little shelter from the rain and went to sleep.
When the sun came out the next day it was humid and uncomfortable. He picked up some speed. He made it to Ft. Reno and stopped.
The Fort was buzzing with people. A troop of soldiers was marching on the grounds; women were hanging up wash aside the barracks. Children played to the side of the parade grounds, some marching like the soldiers.
He checked in with the army, letting them know he needed to camp there for a bit. The Captain was a busy man, but he told him he could get some food in the mess hall and he could take a cabin at the end of the barracks if they were empty.
Lance was grateful.
After he ate, he went to rest for a while. It was nothing more than a room with a bunk, but it was comfortable, and he fell asleep instantly.
When he woke, he sat up and got out his paper and pen to write a letter to Trudy. He told her all about his trip to Boston and that everything turned out fine and he'd be home as soon as they got the cattle to market. He went into detail about the girls, thinking she'd get a kick out of hearing about it.
He mailed his letter and left the fort.
He knew he should be catching up to the herd soon and he also knew that after the Red, they crossed over to the Chisholm trail, so he found the trail and saw the dust kicking up. He knew he was almost there.
The next day he caught up to them and they were glad to see him. He found George pushing some steers out of the brush.
"Hey, good to see ya. How'd it go?" George asked as he spotted him and rode up to him.
