When tonic sellers Fergal O'Brien and Randolph McDougal decided to settle in Destiny, they reckoned the new railroad would make Destiny a boomtown,

but it only brought an onslaught of surly gunslingers. While Fergal sells his tonic — a universal remedy to cure all ills — Randolph becomes sheriff of the dusty town. Throwing the ruffians in a half-built jail is his solution for dealing with a corrupt mayoral election and ten thousand dollars disappearing from the town coffers.

Her faith in the decency of the town wavering, the schoolteacher, Miss Dempsey, takes it upon herself to clean up Destiny by educating the gunslingers so that they'll learn the error of their ways! After all, she points out to one of her students, knowing how to read is important if one's own name should wind up on a wanted poster.

As Randolph wants to win Miss Dempsey's heart, he grudgingly supports her cause. But Kent Sullivan, his rival for her affections and a showman of homemade historical memorabilia, is always one step ahead of him in providing her school with just the right support. So Randolph turns to his old friend Fergal for help. Can Fergal devise another one of his legendary schemes to resolve all of Randolph's problems, or will he just get them both killed? Will decency be restored to the town of Destiny through Miss Dempsey's school, or will the roughest gunslinger of all be named mayor?

Bob's first punch knocked Snide Patterson to his knees.

Some of the enthusiastic onlookers urged Bob to hit Snide again, others demanded that Snide get up and fight, and the rest called for the remaining people in Warty Bill's to come outside and watch the fun.

'Reckon you should stay down,' Bob shouted as he flexed his fist. 'Now that we all know who cheated on that last hand.'

Snide pressed his forehead flat to the dirt and clutched his belly. Then he surged to his feet with a mighty roar.

'That's fighting talk,' he muttered.

Bob raised his hands, not in fear of a blow from Snide, but in surprise at seeing the gun clutched in Snide's right hand.

'A five dollar pot was big enough to knock you down for your cheating.' Bob backed a pace. 'But you got no reason to draw a gun on me.'

'You called me a cheat, and I ain't.' Snide raised his gun hand an inch and spat on the ground. 'So, we got to sort this out.'

'If you insist.' Bob blew on his fingers, then lowered his right hand until the fingers dangled beside his holster. 'Let's sort this out.'

'You ain't sorting this out,' a new man said from outside the circle of onlookers.

Bob and Snide glanced to the side as the circle broke and this man strode through. The newcomer was tall and stocky and packed a gun, but the gleaming star on his chest grabbed their attention first.

'This has nothing to do with you,' Bob muttered.

The lawman glared at Bob. 'Snide knows me well, but you're new in town. So, for your information the name's Randolph McDougal, sheriff of Destiny. And it has everything to do with me.'

Bob nodded, then lowered his head and relaxed his gun hand.

'But he said I was a cheat,' Snide whined.

'Then he ain't as stupid as you look.' Randolph smiled. 'But you know my rules. I let you sort out your differences peacefully, or even with the occasional fist, but I draw the line at bullets. So, holster the gun.'

'Or what?'

Randolph took three long paces to stand toe to toe with Snide. With his face set in a fixed smile, he grabbed Snide's gun arm, swung the arm up, and ripped the gun from his hand.

As Randolph pushed Snide back a pace, Bob tipped his hat to Randolph, then sauntered into Warty Bill's.

The onlookers disbanded, shaking their heads and muttering about the disappointing end to a promising fight, and filed after him into the saloon.

Randolph watched each man leave until he and Snide were alone on the road, then turned back to Snide.

'As you pulled a gun on that man, you get arrested — again.' Randolph sighed. 'And even an idiot as big as you should know what to do by now.'

'I reckon as you're right.' Snide thrust his hands above his head, turned, and swaggered towards the sheriff's office.

Randolph followed Snide, staying two paces back, to the edge of town. As Destiny had few standing buildings, he had commandeered a shack beside Adam's hotel for a sheriff's office and jail. For the last three months, he'd devoted most of his limited free time to shoring up the shack and adding a cell using rubble left over after the collapse of the hotel's second floor.

Snide chuckled as he pushed open the office door.

'Cell's coming on, Sheriff. You got two walls now.'

'And the cell would come on a whole lot faster if I didn't waste so much time arresting troublemakers.' Randolph followed Snide inside. 'But as soon as I've finished it, you'll spend plenty of time in there.'

Randolph pushed Snide towards the crate sitting at the back of the half-built cell.

Snide slid to a halt, then glanced at the cell's two completed walls, then at the two-foot high third wall, then gazed in a square, tracing the outline of the non-existent cell bars. He licked his lips and sat on the crate. With a wide grin threatening to consume his face, he leaned against the back wall and locked his hands behind his head.

Randolph pulled his hat low and threw Snide's gun on his desk.

'I can't stay to guard you. I got a town meeting to attend.' Randolph glanced at the short third wall. 'I'm trusting you to stay. Make sure you're here when I return.'

Snide glanced at the short wall, too, and gibbered to himself.

'Trust me, Sheriff.'

Randolph snorted and sauntered into the road. On the boardwalk, he stood a moment, listening to Snide clamber over the cell wall, grab his gun, and clatter through the office's back window. Then he sauntered down the road past Adam's hotel, Warty Bill's, Mrs. Simpson's parlor, and into the school, the nearest Destiny had to a large official building.

Inside, Mayor Fergal O'Brien sat at a table, which faced the door and five rows of chairs, fingering a roll of paper. Only two of Destiny's citizens occupied those chairs — Adam Thornton, the hotel owner, and Miss Dempsey, the teacher. Both were staring at Fergal with their arms folded.

Randolph sat beside Fergal. Randolph used to be Fergal's bodyguard when he was a tonic seller, but when they'd decided that the approaching railroad heralded boom times in Destiny, they'd sought a new life as mayor and sheriff.

Fergal nodded to Randolph, then stood and threw his thin arms wide revealing his bright green waistcoat.

'Welcome, welcome, welcome, good citizens of Destiny,' he proclaimed, then glanced at the rows of unoccupied chairs and frowned. 'But does anyone reckon some more good citizens might come?'

Randolph leaned to Fergal. 'Reckon all the good citizens have come.'

Fergal sighed. 'In that case, I'll open the inaugural Destiny town meeting. And I must use this opportunity to officially announce a sad event. I'm resigning as mayor.'

Adam grinned. Miss Dempsey covered a yawn.

Fergal raised his hands. 'Please don't try to talk me out of it. My decision is final.'

'I ain't,' Adam murmured, joining Miss Dempsey in the yawning.

'I suppose I am sorry to see you go,' Miss Dempsey said.

'I'm still staying in Destiny. I'm opening a shop and selling my universal remedy to cure all ills.'

Adam chuckled. 'Good. Those rats are returning to my hotel. Need something to kill them.'

'My product is genuine,' Fergal snapped. He tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat and puffed his chest. 'Only question you need to ask is—how many people will I cure?'

'Only question I want to ask is—when are you resigning as mayor?'

'Copies of my official announcement will grace every building in town.' Fergal unfurled the roll of paper and read from it. 'All nominations to be the new mayor of the finest frontier town in the West must be entered by sundown, June 27. If more than one candidate applies, election to be held on the 30th.'

'All right.' Adam slapped his legs and moved to rise. 'Can I go now?'

'No. That was the only item on the agenda, but this is an opportunity for anyone to raise any issues that they may have.' Fergal dropped the roll of paper on the table. 'Do you want to raise an issue?'

'Can we discuss the land purchase?'

Fergal and Randolph both winced. Three months ago, Destiny had sold its land to the railroad for a ten thousand dollar stake in the railroad business. But before Destiny saw the money, the railroad had busted, reformed, and busted again. The failure to receive the money and the subsequent lack of improvements to the town was an open wound guaranteed to generate an argument whenever two people in Destiny met.

'Nope,' Fergal muttered. 'That money's long gone.'

'Then I got nothing to say.' Adam stood.

Randolph coughed and raised a hand. 'Adam might not, but I have.'

Adam muttered to himself and sat.

'Go on,' Fergal said.

Randolph cleared his throat and stood. 'The new railroad is operating again and some say it'll reach Denver by next summer. But now we're the nearest town to the advancing track, the railroad workers come here for entertainment in Warty Bill's and Mrs. Simpson's parlor, and they're all mighty keen on causing trouble. And with every passing week, the railroad gets closer, more of them come here, and more trouble comes with them. By the time the railroad's here, life in Destiny will be one long gunfight.'

'And?' Adam asked.

'And I'm looking for suggestions for what to do.'

'Shoot 'em.' Adam glanced at Miss Dempsey, but received only a cold stare back.

'I was looking for a solution that didn't involve stopping gunfights with more gunfights.'

'Then I'm plumb out of ideas. Can I go now?'

'You can't,' Fergal snapped, then turned to Randolph. 'You're facing the problem every day. What's your solution?'

'I need a jail.'

'You've almost finished your cell.'

'Yeah, one cell after three months' building. With all the gunslingers I need to lock up, it'll take me years to build sufficient cells. And without a deterrent in the mean time, I got nothing to threaten them with. So, they'll continue to cause trouble.'

Fergal shook his head. 'We can't afford a proper jail.'

'Won't be a town left if we don't.'

'But we—'

Adam coughed. 'Can't you two argue about this without me? I made my suggestion and that's all you're getting.'

'Town meeting ain't finished,' Randolph snapped. 'We need a jail. It's the only option. And I'd welcome suggestions as to how we raise the money.'

Fergal shook his head, then joined Randolph in staring at Adam.

'I'm plumb out of ideas,' Adam said.

From the front row, Miss Dempsey coughed.

'As you men aren't offering any viable solutions,' she said. 'I have an alternate suggestion.'

'Oh no,' Adam muttered. 'I wouldn't have come if I'd have known this would take so long.'

'Go on,' Fergal said, holding his arms wide. 'I'm always open to new ideas.'

'I know,' Randolph whispered. 'That's what got us into this mess.'

She stood. 'I came to Destiny because I believed that decent families would flock here. And I intended to teach their children in this school and so help to build a decent town. But I was wrong. No families are here and I have no children to teach.'

'If we build a jail and I remove the gunslingers,' Randolph said, 'decent folk will come here.'

'I don't agree, Sheriff McDougal. We must address a more fundamental problem.' She edged her half-glasses down her nose and peered at Randolph over the top of them. 'Why do gunslingers cause trouble in the first place?'

'Because they're no-good varmints.'

'Wrong. They cause trouble because nobody has taught them the proper way to behave. An educated man is a civilized man. An uneducated man is a savage.'

Randolph shrugged. 'Got no way of arguing with that. But I ain't sure what you're suggesting.'

'I came to Destiny to teach. So, I will. My suggestion is that instead of you building a jail so that you can throw the gunslingers in it, send them to this school instead and I'll educate them.'

Randolph snorted. 'So, you'll teach them to fight better and shoot better?'

'No, I'll teach them about art, about science, about the beauty of language.'

'That's ridiculous. The varmints who roar through Destiny looking to shoot up the town only understand guns and fists and whiskey.'

'Precisely my point, Sheriff McDougal.'

'Pardon?'

'That is all they understand. But once they're educated, they'll understand much, much more.'

Randolph folded his arms. 'I ain't agreeing to that.'

Beside him, Fergal folded his arms, too. 'And neither am I.'

She looked at each man in turn, shaking her head.

'It's irrelevant whether you agree or disagree. We're a democratic town and the majority decides town policy. As this is an official town meeting, we should vote on my motion.'

'Womenfolk don't get a vote.'

'I'm well aware of that, but neither do elected officials, which means you.' She pointed at Randolph, then roved her finger to point at Fergal. 'And neither does the mayor, who merely enforces the will of the people.'

With his eyebrows raised, Randolph glanced at Fergal, but Fergal returned a shrug. Randolph turned back to her.

'That can't be right. We must get a vote.'

She pushed her half-glasses up her nose. The smallest of smiles creased her mouth.

'That's the joy of education, Sheriff McDougal. You learn things. In this case, about the protocol of town politics.'

'But that means the only person with a vote is Adam.'

'It does.' A full smile emerged. 'And we should put my suggestion to that vote. All those in favor of my motion say, 'aye'.'

Adam glanced around the school.

'I have to decide?' he said, tapping his chest.

'Yes.' Miss Dempsey fluttered her eyelashes.

'I don't know. It sounds a ludicrous idea.'

'It is,' Fergal grunted.

Adam glared at Fergal. 'So, you hate this idea, then?'

'Yup.'

Adam clenched a fist and slammed it into his other hand.

'Then I vote for it.' Adam glanced at Miss Dempsey, but she was peering at him over the top of her half-glasses. He rubbed his chin, then smiled. 'I mean, aye.'

Her gaze roved across the rows of unoccupied chairs until it reached Fergal.

'Mayor O'Brien, are you sufficiently aware of political protocol to know what you must say now?'

Fergal sighed and patted the roll of paper on the table.

'Miss Dempsey's motion carried unanimously,' he murmured.

Adam stood. 'And if that concludes the inaugural town meeting, I'm leaving. Don't expect to see me again.'

Miss Dempsey stood and looked at Randolph and Fergal in turn.

'And you can leave, too,' she said. 'I have to prepare the school for my new pupils.'

With brisk shooing hand motions, she bustled Randolph and Fergal outside.

Out on the boardwalk, Randolph slammed his hands on his hips and stared back into the school, watching Miss Dempsey edge the chairs apart to create a central aisle.

'That was the most ridiculous idea I've heard in a while,' he said.

Fergal followed Randolph's gaze and watched Miss Dempsey drag the front table forward a foot, then chuckled.

'Have you asked Miss Dempsey to dinner, or perhaps a ride in the country yet?'

Randolph swung around to stare into the road.

'Of course not. Since she came here, we've done nothing but argue.'

'I know. As I said, have you asked her to dinner yet?'

Randolph lowered his head and strode into the road, leaving Fergal chuckling to himself as he pinned the election notice to the school wall.

My working title for Death or Bounty was Bounty!, but that sounded like a musical version of Mutiny on the Bounty, or perhaps a British chocolate bar.

I needed a better title, but with the novel finished, I stared at a blank computer screen for long hours and tried to devise something. When nothing came, I went to bed.

In the middle of the night, I awoke and, with my mind drifting, I ordered myself to come up with a title. With none of the ideas that had been knocking around in my mind polluting my thoughts, I whispered the first novel title that came to mind.

The title was Miss Dempsey's School for Gunslingers.

I chuckled to myself. It was different to my other suggestions. But it was also an awful title. I needed something more westerny like Death or Bounty. And with that thought, I went to sleep.

In the morning, Death or Bounty still seemed a good title, so I sent the ms off with that title, and a few days later sat down to embark on a new novel. But that other, ridiculous novel title wouldn't go away.

Whenever I tried to write something, Miss Dempsey, whoever she was, and her school for gunslingers wouldn't go away.

And so, I had no choice but to start the third Fergal O'Brien novel with that working title.

As Fergal had now settled in Destiny as a mayor and his sidekick, Randolph, was the sheriff, they could no longer run from trouble. But as responsibility was such an alien concept to Fergal, he quickly resigned as mayor so that he could return to selling his tonic and so get involved in every dodgy deal going on in town.

But as Randolph relishes responsibility, he tried to remain a lawman, no matter how many gunslingers arrived in town and no matter if those gunslingers ended up going to a school for gunslingers...