“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us,” said Clay, slamming his glass down on the bar, “you got till sun rise.” He strolled out through the saloon doors, casting a final glare upon Bill, “Sun rise,” he uttered again, and then, he was gone.

Bill waited until the sound of hooves had passed into the distance before approaching the bar, settling his account, and leaving.

“That’ll be the last we see of him,” said Mary, the dancing girl, before Jed struck up a tune on the piano to bring life back to the bar.

As the sun came up Clay was waiting.

“He ain’t gonna show,” said Mary, peering out of the saloon’s upper storey window, “turned tail yesterday no sooner had you tell’d him to.”

But as Clay got back on his horse a dust cloud appeared in the distance, and began to close in. Clay stared into the rising sun, at the figure approaching on horseback. “Son of a bitch,” muttered Clay as he placed his hand on his sharpshooter for comfort.

Bill tied up his horse, and slowly approached Clay and the crowd that had begun to form. “Now before you say ‘draw’”, said Bill, “I been doing some drawin’ of my own.”

He pulled a large roll of paper from his pocket and began to unravel it. “I spoke to the mayor, and those folk down in the valley, and they’re more than happy with the plans.”

“What in hell is that?” asked Clay, spitting onto the ground close to where Bill’s hands held the map spread.

“I’ve redrawn the town’s plans, including all that land down into the valley. Big enough for us both yet?”

Clay cast his eyes over the plans, sucking air between his teeth, taking time out only to spit. The sun was now high in the sky. “Yep,” said Clay, shaking Bill’s hand, “that oughta do it.”