Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PREACHER TAKES A GUN one there. His two riders would be at The Corners, probably at Dolan’s Saloon. He walked back to the stable.and saddled up the dun gelding, and rode toward the creek: He let the horse drink in the shallows and dismounted to lie belly-flat on the sandy bank. Afterwards he propped himself against a nearby tree and began to load the pipe. It was quiet in the cottonwood grove, except for the faint trickling of the water over the rocks, and the sound of the geld- ing pulling at the long grass. He puffed gently on the pipe and tried to keep his mind from dwelling on the kid. It was fun- ny, he thought, how a man changed. But it was the years that brought that change, _and maybe trying to teach the kid was use- less. Still, he could see what the kid was headed for, and it was hard not to think of his own past. Ben was just a kid now, still as. green as the grass at his feet. But later it would be different, and it would be too late then to find out what a gun was for. He would kill his first man, and from there it would be a story that he knew too well. He wished he could talk to Ben, but the kid seemed to understand nothing that he said. He would sooner listen to Bal Kincaid than his own ‘father. Hardeman knew he had lost the boy’s respect, lost it because he preached in the school house every Sun- day, and because he didn’t wear a gun. He could change all that, he supposed, but he had never considered it seriously. A gun had once cost him too much. This was a new life, far removed from the past. even though he could remember it sometimes so clearly. A fly hummed about his head. He put a hand up and brushed at it. He was glad winter was coming. The flies would be Jess then. And there would be work to do. It would give the boy something to occupy his time. The pipe had gone dead in his mouth; he closed his eyes, still gripping it, and listened to the sound of the water before he fell asleep. es 2 = AM an << The sun had dipped beyond the moun- se tains when he awoke. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and saw the growing darkness of the valley. The dun had moved out of the cottonwoods and was grazing in the open- — ness of the pasture. He pulled himself to his feet and went toward it, feeling the stiffness of his legs again. There was only a red glow over the mountains where the sun-had been ; the long shadows had already | begun to stretch along the flatlands. Across the valley he could see the lights of the ranch house. For a moment his thoughts went hatk to the boy, but he pushed them hurriedly aside. He was hungry, and his dinner would be cold and waiting for him. He swung up on the leather and heeled the dun into a long lope over the darkening ground. _ The woman was standing in the door- way as he rode into the yard. He. reined the gelding toward her and saw one of his riders, Sam Bartlett, in the shadows near the porch, At the rack was a lathered pony. He pulled up beside it‘and dismounted and moved to the steps. Bartlett stayed in the © shadows; fhe woman let the door‘close be- hind her and came tosthe edge of the porch. ““What’s the matter ?’’ Hardeman asked, glancing from her to the man. The woman speke reluctantly “It’s the sheriff, Jeff. Kincaid killed him.” “What?” Hardeman asked. He looked into the darkness, trying to make out Bart- lett’s face. “That’s right, Mr. Hardeman,” Bartlett said, stepping forward. “Happened about an ‘hour ago, in Dolan’s.”’ Hardeman felt his blood stop pulsing abruptly. For a few seconds the actions of ‘his body seemed suspended, : “Was Ben there?” he asked hesitantly. “He was there; Mr. Hardeman,” Bart- lett went on. “He didn’t have no hand in it, though. Kincaid was shootin’ at the bottles on the back of Dolan’s bar. Yates came over to try to stop him.” “I see,” Hardeman said, almost in a COLMCEOOKXSA(EO)