Hell for Breakfast
by Alan Lemay
HELL FOR BREAKFAST
Sometimes a man can't explain why a little thing—like a slap in the jaw—can change his whole life.
Melody Jones didn't know why he did it. He just didn't like the looks of the guy, so he knocked him down. He'd never done anything like it before. A strange man, in a strange town—and now this town bowed and scraped before Melody Jones. Drinks were on the house and so were eats (which made Melody even happier). When his hand dropped nonchalantly to his pistol butt, faces paled and strong men whimpered. Melody sat in the cat-bird seat.
Of course, it couldn't have been Melody's striking resemblance to Monte Jarrad, most feared killer of the southwest. It couldn't be that the town was waiting for Melody to turn his back and walk into an ambush.
And then Melody did turn his back, and walk.
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