Novel 1971 - Tucker (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF Page B

justice, and I was in no mood to let them steal the money of hard-working folks who trusted us. Nor mine either, when it came to that.
    Pa was dead, and had it not been for my fool bullheadedness and their stealing, he might still be alive.
    Yet I did not want to get killed, and that bullet into the doorjamb showed me they knew we were on their trail, and they were ready for us. I studied about it, but came to no good conclusion. Of course I was scared, but it wasn’t in me to quit. Well, maybe it was…but not yet.
    Toward the end, before I fell asleep, I got to thinking about Con Judy.
    Why had he come with me? To see that I didn’t get my head blown off? Because he was ready to drift, anyway? Because he didn’t like to see injustice done? Here I was riding partner with a man I hadn’t known at all. About all I knew about him now was that I figured he had more education than I’d ever have. But I was learning things from him.
    When morning came and I was brushing off the hay I’d picked up during the night in the loft, I laid it out for Con. “I want that money back. I’m not vengeful, but I aim to get it.”
    Putting on my hat, I added, “I’m surely going to have to get it quick, or rustle some work. I’ve only got a little money left.”
    “How do you figure to get it?”
    “First off, I’m simply going to them and ask for it.”
    Con made no reply until he had tugged on his boots. He got up and stamped them into place on his feet. “That is about as simple a method as anybody could suggest. And when they refuse, as they surely will, what then?”
    “I’ll tell everybody in town what happened.”
    “They may say you’re just crying. In this country a man fights his own battles.”
    “You’re surely right, but I’m beginning to find out there’s a whole lot they don’t know. Pa was forever trying to tell me things, but I wouldn’t listen. I thought pa was a stick-in-the-mud, and Doc and the Kid knew more than he did.”
    Belting on my six-shooter, I took up the Winchester. “What I figure is this. I want folks to know where I stand. I want folks to know why I am after those three, and just what they’ve done…”
    “Do you think that will help?”
    “I just ain’t sure. But if it comes to a shooting affair and I kill one of them, I want folks to know I’m not just a murderer.”
    He nodded. “That’s good thinking. But if you tell that story around, one of them is sure to call you a liar.”
    “And there’ll be shooting? Is that what you mean?”
    We climbed down the ladder from the loft and studied the layout. Neither of us wanted to be dry-gulched. “When you tell that story,” Con said, “wear your gun loose. You’ll surely need it.”
    We started off to get breakfast. “Have you ever been in a gun battle?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Then don’t try a fast draw. You’ll get yourself killed. Take your time, get your gun out, and make the first shot count…you may not get another.”
    “I’m pretty fast.”
    “Forget it. You’ve no idea whether you’re fast or not, and the only way you’ll find out is against somebody. If you’re wrong, you’re dead.
    “Anyway, most of the fast draws I’ve seen ended with the first shot going into the dust right out between the two of them. So take your time, and make your first one good. If your man goes down, or staggers, continue to shoot. But slowly…and carefully.”
    After a moment he added, “I’ve seen men kill with half a dozen bullets in them. Don’t count a man as dead until you’ve seen them fill in his grave.”
    There seemed to be nobody watching the restaurant. A good many people were coming and going along the street, and some rigs were tied here and there, or were passing. The street was chewed up and muddy. The clouds had broken and a ray of sunshine was bright on the face of the restaurant.
    We crossed the street, pausing once to let a freight wagon pass, drawn by half a dozen bulls. On the boardwalk we stamped the