![]() “Honoring the code of the West means standing up for law and order, doing what’s right,” he explained. “Boots on, boots off, it don’t matter to us,” said one of the Brodies. “Code of the West? Is that the one where I gotta die with my boots off? Or die with my boots on?” ![]() “Wait a minute!” cried the deputy – marking the sixth time the shoot-out paused for comic relief. Their spurs tinkled as they dug their heels into the brick. The leather on their gloves creaked as they tightened their grips on their guns. The men squared up and reached for their revolvers. “We - as in me and you - are going to honor the Code of the West.” “Marshal, I think they all want to know what you have planned to do about this,” squealed the deputy. It was four against two, and the gunfighters stood a few yards apart, ready to draw. The Brodies, a bank-robbing gang on the lam from the Waco jail, had returned to Fort Worth’s historic Stockyards to exact revenge on the folks that put them away: the town marshal and his dim-witted deputy. On a warm Saturday afternoon in Fort Worth, Texas, half a dozen cowboys got ready to shoot each other.
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