the Iron Marshall (1979) Read Online Free PDF
Author: Louis L'amour
that, without even seeming to aim. The man just glanced at the target and fired ... It was uncanny. On the third day the same man returned and walked up to the counter, when there was nobody around. "Howdy, son. I'm short of cash." Shanaghy, who found himself liking the old man, said, "I expected you sooner." "You did, did you? Well, son, it don't pay to kill the goose. All I want's a livin', an' you fellows can give it to me. Costs me only twenty, thirty dollars a week to live well enough to suit me, and I can pick up that much at one stop. There's fourteen shootin' galleries along the Bowery, an' I call on each of you ever' two weeks. This time I needed some extry." He paused. "Down the street I don't even have to take up a gun. They know I can do it, so they just pay me."
"Not me," Shanaghy grinned at him. "I like to see you shoot. I never knew anybody could shoot like that."
"Where I come from, son, you'd better be able to shoot."
"How come you're back here? Too much for you out there?" The man's eyes chilled. "Ain't too much for me anywhere, son. I got me a sister back here. I come to visit, but there ain't nothing I can do back here but shoot. I punch cows some, yonder. And I was a Texas Ranger for a spell-have to make a livin' somehow. Then I found these here shootin' galleries. I don't want to make it hard for any of you, so I sort of scatter myself around." "Come here whenever you're of a mind to," Tom said. "You're good for business, and I like to see you shoot. I'd give aplenty to shoot like that." "A body needs a mite of teachin' and a whole lot of practice. You got to get the feel for it first."
The old man put both hands on the counter. "This here is an easy livin' for me. My pa used to give me four or five ca'tridges an' I was expected to bring back some game for each loading, else he'd tan my hide for being wasteful. When it's like that, you get so's you don't waste much lead. You don't shoot until you're sure of your target and you make sure you don't miss. "It was like that for most youngsters growin' up along the frontier. Their pa's were generally busy with farm work or whatever, so if they ate it was the meat the boys shot ... or sometimes the girls. We had a neighbor girl could outshoot me with a rifle, but the pistol was too heavy for her." "You didn't ever miss?"
"Oh, sure! There for a while I got my hide tanned right often."
"You never miss here."
"At this distance? How could I? A man gets to know his gun. Each one is somewhat different, some shootin' high' and to the right, some low an' left. You got to estimate and allow.
"But a man who knows guns, he wants the best, so he just naturally swaps and buys until he gets what he wants. There's more straight-shootin' guns than there are men to shoot 'em, although some of those gents out west can really shoot. "A good many western guns been worked over. I mean, most western men doctor their guns to fit their hands better, or to shoot better, or to ease the trigger-pull ... although 'pull' is the wrong word. No man who knows how to shoot ever pulls a trigger. He squeezes her off gentle, like you'd squeeze a girl's hand. Otherwise, you pull off target. More missin' is done right in the trigger-squeeze than anywhere else."
"I hear those redskins can't shoot worth a damn." "Don't you believe it! Some shoot as good as any white man. And they're almighty sly about it. They don't see no sense in setting themselves up as targets, so they just pop you off from behind any rock or tree." That was the summer when Shanaghy learned how to shoot.
Chapter Two.
Shanaghy awakened in the cool hour of dawn. For a moment he lay still, trying to remember where he was and how he came to be there. He recalled being kicked off the open gondola, then went back to his thoughts about New York. John Morrissey had gone to upstate New York on some political business, and Shanaghy, now promoted to a position as one of Morrissey's lieutenants, had dropped around to the Gem to
"Not me," Shanaghy grinned at him. "I like to see you shoot. I never knew anybody could shoot like that."
"Where I come from, son, you'd better be able to shoot."
"How come you're back here? Too much for you out there?" The man's eyes chilled. "Ain't too much for me anywhere, son. I got me a sister back here. I come to visit, but there ain't nothing I can do back here but shoot. I punch cows some, yonder. And I was a Texas Ranger for a spell-have to make a livin' somehow. Then I found these here shootin' galleries. I don't want to make it hard for any of you, so I sort of scatter myself around." "Come here whenever you're of a mind to," Tom said. "You're good for business, and I like to see you shoot. I'd give aplenty to shoot like that." "A body needs a mite of teachin' and a whole lot of practice. You got to get the feel for it first."
The old man put both hands on the counter. "This here is an easy livin' for me. My pa used to give me four or five ca'tridges an' I was expected to bring back some game for each loading, else he'd tan my hide for being wasteful. When it's like that, you get so's you don't waste much lead. You don't shoot until you're sure of your target and you make sure you don't miss. "It was like that for most youngsters growin' up along the frontier. Their pa's were generally busy with farm work or whatever, so if they ate it was the meat the boys shot ... or sometimes the girls. We had a neighbor girl could outshoot me with a rifle, but the pistol was too heavy for her." "You didn't ever miss?"
"Oh, sure! There for a while I got my hide tanned right often."
"You never miss here."
"At this distance? How could I? A man gets to know his gun. Each one is somewhat different, some shootin' high' and to the right, some low an' left. You got to estimate and allow.
"But a man who knows guns, he wants the best, so he just naturally swaps and buys until he gets what he wants. There's more straight-shootin' guns than there are men to shoot 'em, although some of those gents out west can really shoot. "A good many western guns been worked over. I mean, most western men doctor their guns to fit their hands better, or to shoot better, or to ease the trigger-pull ... although 'pull' is the wrong word. No man who knows how to shoot ever pulls a trigger. He squeezes her off gentle, like you'd squeeze a girl's hand. Otherwise, you pull off target. More missin' is done right in the trigger-squeeze than anywhere else."
"I hear those redskins can't shoot worth a damn." "Don't you believe it! Some shoot as good as any white man. And they're almighty sly about it. They don't see no sense in setting themselves up as targets, so they just pop you off from behind any rock or tree." That was the summer when Shanaghy learned how to shoot.
Chapter Two.
Shanaghy awakened in the cool hour of dawn. For a moment he lay still, trying to remember where he was and how he came to be there. He recalled being kicked off the open gondola, then went back to his thoughts about New York. John Morrissey had gone to upstate New York on some political business, and Shanaghy, now promoted to a position as one of Morrissey's lieutenants, had dropped around to the Gem to