15 Western Short Stories — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

THE TEXAS KIND 47 mans. There were cattle and horses grazing in lush pastures far to the right. Larribee was a furlong or so down into the valley, and hope ricocheted around in his head above the throb- bing tooth. Suddenly something whined past his black north-country hat with a vi- cious hornety sound. He heard the crack of the gun from those trees to his right, at the same moment. “Hold it, you horse thief!’ a voice ordered from cover of the trees. It was a female voice. “Freeze!” *¢ ARRIBEE started to reach for his. 45—but swiftly restrained the 1m- pulse. She had the drop on him. And besides, it’s more manly to return kindness for rancor; especially if the female’s good-lookin’. Larribee pulled the sorrel to a rearing halt, faced the animal toward the female ambusher, and lifted his hands ear-high. “What was it you said, ma'am?” Larribee inquired. “You heard it, you horse thief!” She stepped out of the woods, focus- ing her light rifle at his brisket. “Harsh words spoken without true knowledge are like a tough pie crust with no fillin’,” Larribee stated. “Harsh bullet holes knock the lies out of a liar!” : “It happens I bought this knothead- ed hunk of nothin’ yesterday—a long piece up the trail.” She snorted in disbelief. Most eye- catching young female she was, too. She said: “You were just walking along and decided you needed a horse. So you dropped in at a nearby store and bought one of our horses! Likely story!” “Likely enough if you’d listen to the facts,” Larribee stated. “Under the face of appearance dwell the facts —and the facts may not resemble the face.” He started to explain about his own horse’s breaking its leg and the horse peddler’s appearing—and she interrupted him: ‘“Where’s your bill of sale? Where’s your receipt?” “Never thought to get one.” “Very convenient.” Even with a sneer on her baby face she was mighty cute. Twenty or so. Buckskin skirt and skimpy white blouse. White hat was perched far back on honey-col- ored hair. High-spirited. A filly with the spunk of a quarter-horse. “Never been this far south in my life,” said Larribee. “Nobody but a fool greenhorn’d wear a black hat in Texas in the summertime. Black soaks up heat. In Wyomin’ that’s fine. It’s high country and never gets very hot. First chance I have, I buy mea big white sombrero to reflect the heat off my skull.” “First chance you have, you're gonna reflect yourself off our horse!” Her blue eyes flashed. “Pronto!” “T bought this gnat-brained crow- bait from a galoot name of Dave Up- ton.” Larribee reined the sorrel to the right and pointed to the DU brand on the left hip. “See his initials?” “Hah!” She snorted again. “Those initials happen to stand for Daniel Underwood. I never heard of any Dave Upton. Get down off there!” “Next to bein’ rich, patience is the greatest virtue there is,’ lLarribee said. “Help yourself to some.” “Anyone patient with a horse thief is a fool!” Although a philosopher, Larribee now mixed two clashing factors with- in him: he was both riled and attract- ed. “You’ve got an awful temper for such a good-lookin’ heifer.” He eyed her figure candidly. “Kind of a pert shape, too.” “Never mind about that!” a deep strong male voice bellowed from the woods on the other side of the road. Larribee turned around and looked. The man’s body matched his voice. Powerful. He wasn’t very old, mid- dling forties, and his eyes and nose and mouth resembled those of the girl. In his hand was an oldfashioned but kind of deadly-looking .44 six- gun. “So you’re not a horse thief, huh?” Underwood said. “Nope. I'd have to be stupider’n this broomtail to ride right back into the ranch where I stole the horse. I’m not that stupid, though I admit I’ve won no prizes for deep thinkin’ lately.” Daniel Underwood squinted and scratched his head with his left hand. He, also, wore a white sombrero. “That adds up to a JittJe sense.” Then CoOnniclOokSs.cO