Fifteen Western Tales, March 1954 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

= = whisper. He went up the steps and moved ¥ 4 past his wife without speaking further. In the kitchen the places were laid out for dinner. He took the coffee pot and a _ cup and sat down at the table, pushing the silverware away. His wife came in and stood at the stove, watching him. He poured the coffee and drank it, without noticing the burning heat. He stood up again and moved about the room. The Bible lay on the counter where the woman had left it. He picked it up, held it for a moment, and put it down. “Seems like this book can’t ds the whole _ job,” he said quietly. The woman turned from the stove. “What do you mean, Jeff?” He ran his hand along the side of his wrinkled face. “Why, I guess I figured _when I put down the gun and picked up the Bible that it was going to do all the work. I tried to bring Ben up by it, and I tried to live by it myself. A Bible and a gun never mixed, I figured. You either had one, or you had the other. Only now, I’m _ thinkin’ that I figured wrong.” “Say what you mean,” the woman de- manded impatiently, “I can’t understand you when you talk around that way. You're not in the school house now.”’ He brought his eyes up from the floor and studied her without seeing her. oe 2 ia ASS.) “T mean,” he said, “that the time for talkin’ “is over. Bal Kincaid ain't gonna listen to any talk, and neither is Ben.”’ - “Ben had nothing to do with it. You heard Bartlett.” “Ben will have something to do with it next time, when he sees how easy it is. No, the way I figure it is this—there ain’t no © man in the valley that’s going to stand up ~ to Bal Kincaid. Maybe I don’t blame them. Maybe I don’t like the idea either. But next time it'll be Ben, and I don't aim to see that happen. If he won’t listen to talk, then _-he’s gonna have to listen to a gun.’’ “Jeff, what are you going to do?” the - woman cried. She came to him, taking his > gies WESTERN TALES —_ arm firmly as he started to move away. He eased gently out of her grip. “You heard what Bartlett said. Yates is dead. But we still got a jailhouse. Somebody’s gonna have to take Kincaid in. What hap-_ - pens to our kid after that is up to him.” She tried to stop him again, but he pushed past her and went into the bedroom. The old trunk stood in the corner; its rusty hinges squeaked as he lifted the lid. In the bottom underneath the piles of cloth-. ing he found the single action Colt .44, and . the holster. He took them up gingerly and stared momentarily at the gun. A_ thin coat of oil: covered it. He brought out a handkerchief and wiped it and spun the cylinder against his palm. The woman came to the doorway, but he paid no attention to her. He loaded the weapon and put it in the holster and strapped the belt on. It took him a minute to find the proper po- sition on his hip, then he strapped it down: with the leather thongs. Bending down, he felt the binding of the coat and he pulled it off and tossed it on the bed. He heard © the woman sigh and he threw her a brief glance. She stepped asidé as he went out the door, saying nothing. On the porch outside he stopped to look - back at her. “Don’t worry, ma, ““Maybe I'll come back with a new boy.” ~Sam Bartlett was still -waiting at the de> said. foot of the steps. “You want I should come ~ along, Mr. Hardeman?” he asked. “'No,”’ Hardeman told him as he climbed to the saddle. He wheeled the dun gelding through the yard, and once out of it, put the horse into a hard run toward the road. - HERE WERE a few buckboards in the street whén he rode into Dolan’s Corner. : | They stood huddled in the deep shadows - in front of the feed store, out of the shaft of light from the saloon. A half-dozen ponies waited at the saloon hitching rack. He dis- mounted and tied up and started onto the sidewalk. A man came out of the darkness, —cCOMIEDOOKS CO