Departure Read Online Free PDF Page A

on the bench, his eyes closed. He seemed to be sleeping.
    The fat man and the little woman stood and waited. The doctor crawled into his jacket, closed his bag of tools. He turned to them, then, and said:
    â€œHe’ll be all right.”
    She wavered a bit, nodded, came forward and stood looking down at her husband.
    â€œHe’s sleeping,” the doctor explained. “I gave him something to make him sleep. That’s what he needs most now. The wound’s nasty, but it ain’t bad. Nothing comes of it, and he’ll be up and walking tomorrow. It’s nasty, but it looks worse than it is. Through the pectoralis major, out and through the triceps. No bullet to worry about, no organs. But he can’t stay here. Suppose Jed and me, we carry him over to my place.”
    She shook her head. “You’ve done so much already—”
    â€œDone nothing. You sit here and read the papers, and we’ll be back.”
    After they had gone, carrying her husband, she sat on a chair near a press, smiling a little. The boy and the girl came and pressed close to her. Then she put her arms around them. She seemed lost in the wonder of having her husband’s life again, and at least ten minutes went by before she remembered the six-year-old.
    â€œWhere’s Billy?” she asked them.
    â€œHe was settin’ on the wagon seat, sleepin’, I guess.”
    She went outside, and the boy and girl followed. The wagon seat was empty. As in a daze, she walked round and round the wagon, looking inside from the back, lifting the brown canvas cover at the sides. She called: “Billy! Billy!” Her voice sounded strange in the almost empty sunbaked street. Then she stopped walking, leaned against the wagon, limp, tired, staring at the two children who were left.
    It was later in the afternoon now; shadows were longer. The little town appeared to be waking up. There were more horses at the hitching posts.
    â€œWe left him on the wagon seat,” the girl said. The girl was frightened now, ready to cry again.
    The mother nodded, and pointed to the shop. “You go in there,” she told them. “Lord knows, I got enough trouble. You go in there and stay in there.”
    â€œWhere’s Billy?”
    â€œYou never mind that. You go in there and stay in there.”
    She leaned against the wagon until they had gone into the newspaper shop. Then she sighed, straightened up her small form. The little, etched lines of pain appeared around her mouth again. She walked to the wagon seat, reached under it, and took out a double-barreled shotgun. It was heavy, and she held it awkwardly.
    Holding it waist high, muzzles presented, she walked down the street to the saloon. In front of the saloon, she cocked both triggers. Some men, riders, were standing on the porch of the saloon, but when they saw the gun, the look on her face, they made way for her.
    â€œCareful about that popgun, sister,” one said.
    Another began to laugh, then allowed the laugh to die in his throat.
    She shouldered her way through the door, stepped to one side, and stood with her back against the wall. There were more men at the bar now, men at the tables, playing cards. The man who had shot her husband was there. The tall man and the short man were there. The bartender was polishing glasses, and when he saw her, he went on polishing, more and more slowly, his eyes never leaving the shotgun. One by one, they stopped drinking, stopped playing, until every man in the saloon was staring, not so much at her as at the shotgun.
    â€œIs this a ladies’ raid?” someone asked.
    The short man laughed; the laughter spread, then stopped as abruptly as it had started. The man who had shot her husband took a step forward, hesitated, then another step, then stopped.
    â€œWhat’s your game, lady?” he inquired.
    Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. “You took my boy. I came for him.”
    The bartender said: