Charlie Martz and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

to have his job if he don’t do a little sheriffin’ once in a while. I bet he ain’t throwed down on a wanted man in three, four years.”
    â€œAch, Martin, you talk and talk and talk!” The German turned from the bartender disgustedly. “Come, Bill, it is time we go . . . thank God!”
    The two men walked their horses across the square in the direction from whence the stranger had come. They passed down the street bordering the Mission, then turned right abruptly as they reached the open plain, urging their horses to a trot. In the distance could be seen the alkali flats. The heat still clung forcefully to the bleak, dry land. Both riders pulled their brims down closer to their eyes to afford as much protection as possible from the glare.
    â€œIt is only three miles and a half to my place. There I know it will be cooler. We have a stream close by, dry only a month or so of the year. The stream starts up in the peaks of the Tularosas and then slowly . . .”
    For the last few seconds the stranger had been looking back over his shoulder toward the town they had just left. The Mission bell tower could still be seen, just over a slight rise in the ground behind them. The rider turned to the German. The faint smile was on his mouth again.
    â€œCharlie ever go to that church back there?”
    â€œI think . . . yes, I am sure he has. I have seen him go in more than once. But what he does inside is something I do not know.” The German chuckled at his own attempt at humor. “But why do you ask?”
    â€œWell, Smitty, I just thought it would be right nice if old Charlie was familiar with the church he’s goin’ to be laid out in.”
    â€œAch, Charlie is not that old. He has many good years ahead of him. Charlie will not lie in state for a good while yet.”
    â€œMister, if you call tomorrow a good while yet, then you’ll be right.” The rider no longer wore the smile. He unconsciously shifted the position of the gun and holster under his arm and stared hard at the German. Not a muscle in his face moved.
    Adolph Schmidt knew at once that it was not a joke. Still, he tried to smile. Tried to laugh. Better to let the rider believe he thought it a joke. But his pretense collapsed. His companion’s eyes were too cold. This was not the atmosphere for laughter.
    â€œWhat are you goin’ to do about it, Smitty?”
    â€œYou ask me what am I going to do, and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do about what?”
    â€œYou sabe English, Dutchman. Don’t play dumb. I’m goin’ to throw down on our old pal Charlie Martz and old Charlie’s goin’ to drop dead right at your big feet.” The rider seemed to relax slightly. “No reason why I shouldn’t tell you now, seein’ as you’re goin’ to be there anyhow. I got no fight with you, Smitty, long as you act well brought-up and don’t do nothin’ dumb. I’ve had my picture in the Express Office too many times to waste words on you if you do somethin’ dumb . . . like reachin’ for one of your hobbies.”
    The German looked at him, bewildered. “But you said that Charlie was an old friend; that you used to know him years—”
    â€œI knew him years ago, but I only met him one time. That was about thirteen years ago up in Colorado. Durango. Sure was sleepin’ that day. I come backin’ out of the Wells-Fargo Office with an armload of dust bags, and I back right into Charlie’s shotgun. Charlie was right pleasant takin’ me to Canon City, but the ten years I had to squat there wasn’t so pleasant. Yep, Charlie sticks a shotgun in my back one fine day and I lose ten years of my life. Well, I’m goin’ to stick my Colt in Charlie’s middle this fine day and he’s goin’ to lose ten years of his life.”
    â€œTen years?”
    â€œYeah, I figure Charlie ain’t got much