Stanley could not prevent himself from staring at the struggling man because the red-faced prisoner's eyes bugged out as if they would explode out of their sockets. Slowly the seconds ticked by as Smitty thrashed about, fighting death to the end. Then he was motionless, eyes blankly staring at nothing, and the mouth gaping open with an engorged purple tongue. After fifteen seconds of eerie silence ticked by, Smitty's body gave one trembling spasm. Immediately his bowels released a horrible stench, again causing the crowd to gasp and quickly move back several more paces.
Roy stood open-mouthed gazing at the appalling spectacle in utter shock. His trance was interrupted by someone retching nearby. Roy looked around for Stanley and saw his friend bent over at the waist, vomiting in enormous heaves a few feet away.
"Stanley, are you okay?"
Stanley straightened himself and wiped his mouth on a sleeve. His face was ashen green. "That was horrendous. I can't believe I suggested we come here to see this. How disgusting." Stanley immediately turned and started retching again. Spitting and coughing Stanley looked into Roy's eyes. "Didn't that bother you at all?"
Without any emotion, Roy replied. "It was awful and nasty, but I couldn't stop watching. Come with me; let's get you a root beer." Roy grabbed Stanley by the shoulder and guided him in the direction of the saloon.
"I think I may need something stronger."
This statement caused Roy to halt their procession abruptly.
"Whiskey?" Roy asked in disbelief.
"Maybe, but we'll start with a root beer first."
The typically cheerful saloon was somber when the boys entered through the swinging doors. The place was crowded and subdued customers sipped whiskey or beer. All the working girls were gone except their madam. In a back corner table, five elderly gentlemen quietly played cards. Some of the men at the bar created an open space so Stanley and Roy could order. Before they could tell the barkeeper what they wanted, he slung two giant mugs of root beer to the counter.
"On the house, boys."
"Uh, gee, thanks," said Stanley as he shoved his coins back into a pocket.
"Maude, get your girls downstairs and get someone on that piano immediately. It's quieter than a funeral parlor in here," Sheriff Dawson ordered as he stood his portly body in the entrance to the saloon. Resting both hands on his guns, several bullet holes covering the wall behind Sheriff Dawson silhouetted the man.
Stanley nudged Roy, jerking his head toward the wall. "Bet you that's where Smitty shot and killed those four men.
Behind Stanley and Roy, another familiar voice interrupted their conversation.