Billy and Finney were surprised when the shooting started. This was the first time he had ever seen or heard gunfire, aside from the little bit of practice shooting he did during his trek through the desert to Sweetwater. He stared out the window as bullets flew past him. It didn’t dawn on him he should duck, until Billy yelled at him, “Finney! Get yer stupid ass on the floor!”
Finney woke up. He was shocked by what was going on. He didn’t realize he could die during this exchange of gunfire. His bowler was knocked off his head by a whizzing bullet. He heard it fly by, with a loud hi-toned whine, “Whizzzzz!” It took off his hat and impacted with a wall towards the front of the car.
Billy reached for his Henry rifle. He opened the breach to see it was loaded. He turned to Finney and said, “stay low, follow me. We are going to the back door of this car to take a few of these bastards out. You are going to be ok!” Billy ordered Finney that he would be fine as long as he stayed with him. He didn’t give him an option. Stay with him and you will be safe.
The two bent over and worked their way to the back of the car. Billy looked out the back doorway, which had been propped open to help with the airflow. He saw riders on both sides of the train. He scooted back a bit to the right to not expose himself. He stayed on the right. “Finney, you get on the left side and shoot at the riders on the left side of the train. I’ll stay on this side and shoot at the riders on the other side. This way we are only exposed to those people we are shooting at.”
Finney thought that made sense. He pulled out his .45 peacemaker, extended the pistol into the limited area where he could see someone. The first rider came into view. He didn’t think about it. He lined the sights up with the rider. He was scared. He jerked the trigger quickly. The pistol barked in his hand, sending the bullet high.
Meanwhile, Billy leveled his Henry Rifle in the other direction. When the first rider he saw came into view, he lined the sights up on the rider, led him about a half inch, exhaled, stopped breathing and slowly squeezed the trigger. The .44 caliber cartridge exploded like a cannon. It struck the man in the ribs and tossed the rider into the dust behind him. He had killed men before and today was no different. In fact, he believed he was hired to kill men who threatened Mr. Grainger’s package. He was doing his job.
Billy saw Finney fire his pistol. “Relax, Finney,” Billy cooed. “Don’t be in a hurry to shoot. If you are in a hurry, you will die because you will run out of bullets and they will shoot you after you miss every time.”
Finney was scared. He finally realized they were in a fight for their lives. It was nothing like the fist fight in the saloon. These lead bullets could kill him. One already put a hole in his favorite bowler. A bullet whizzed past his head striking the back of the bench-like seat behind him. Billy extended his firing arm again and slowly squeezed the trigger after taking aim. The hammer fell on the firing pin, surprising the young Amherst College graduate. The .45 caliber projectile struck the rider in the right side of his neck, causing arterial spurt to spew blood across the desert floor. The man slumped over and dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, dead. Finney, felt a pang of dread. ‘I just killed a man,’ he thought to himself. ‘I am a murderer.’ The thought scared him more than the possibility of dying in this fight. The morality of his predicament weighed heavy on him.
Billy could see it written on the young man’s face. “Don’t give him a second thought, Finney my boy. You can go to confession tomorrow as long as you shoot a few more of these bad guys. Because if you don’t, they will most certainly shoot you. Then you can go to heaven and plead your case to Jesus.” Billy focused on the riders outside the train looking for another target.
