Twenty-two-year-old Roy Dale rode the few miles into town to get his mother two spools of sewing thread—one brown, the other white. He was also to stop by the post office and see if they had any mail. He tied his horse one hitch rail over from the dress shop, but looked across the street at the post office, which set right next door to the bank. The dress shop didn’t open for another fifteen minutes, so he walked to the post office, waiting for a horseman to pass. As he came from the post office and headed back across the street, he glanced at that rider. He was stopped in front of the bank. “Hey, fellow, want to earn yoreself four bits?” “Could. What do you want?” Roy eyeballed both man and horse. The man, about twenty two or so, was nice looking and the horse was a young, very pretty chestnut sorrel with a white stocking on its right rear leg and had a blaze face. “Need you to hold my hoss a couple minutes.” “Why? There’s a hitch rail right in front of you.” “Yeah, but this hoss is kinda skittish an’ I don’t want to come back to busted reins an’ my hoss gone.” He pitched a half dollar to Roy, who caught it in midair. The fellow looped the right rein over the saddle horn, dismounting, and handed Roy the left one. “Be right back.” Three minutes later he walked out of the bank and mounted, saying thanks. While turning his horse, he drew his pistol and shot Roy, then slowly rode off up the street and turned a corner before anyone even knew where the shot came from.