15 Western Short Stories — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

HiS BLOOD IN IT “Move on, mister, we’re having a meeting.” “T’d like to join up,’ Sam said quietly. Lucifer weighed him for size and sinew, eyed his mountain dress. “You don’t join. You get elected. Know anything about fighting fires?” “I know hunting and trapping.” The big man nodded abruptly. “Blood and buckskins tell as much. Go over to Empire One. They’re fixg- fighters of a sort, but mainly they shoot rifles at picnics. They’ll take you in.” He turned his attention back to the table, dismissing the stranger. “I hear you lost it,” Sam said. Lucifer Halloran jerked his chair around so that he could look direct- ly at Sam. “We lost it,” he fairly shouted. “What’ll you make of it?” The other men at the table stirred angrily and one stood up and moved around toward Sam. “Dll work to get it back,” said Sam. “Fling him out the door, Pete,” the foreman yelled. The man approaching Sam was de- liberate, a young, thickly-built man om cat feet. The black eyes mi the broad, tense face were purely hostile. He reached for Sam’s jacket front and caught thin air, Sam slid sideways and brought a knee crashing into the man’s belly. His elbow collided mur- derously with the man’s ear as he went down on his hands and knees. Sam raised a hard, flat hand for a chop across the back of the neck, when Halloran’s roar stopped him. “Hold up, you tree-fightin’ wild- cat, before I sic the pack on you!” sam obliged by stepping back. “Man fights like that belongs in a poor outfit,” he said bluntly. “Really poor.” Pete’s reaction was swift and dedi- cated. He came up: off the foor with a Spanner swinging and caught Sam soundly across the brow. HE FACE--the girl’s face—was close and disturbingly pretty to look at when Sam came to. Dark eyes studied him worriedly and a cool, moist rag was staunching the blood flow from his head. Sam sat up gingerly and felt of the wound. The street swooned and 57 faded, then righted itself and swooned again, The girl handed him the rag and settled back on the wooden box she had placed beside him. ‘They were plumb im the street im front of the firehouse. From time to time, the girl would blithely wave off passers-by who would stop to of- fer help. To Sam, who caught brief but clear glimpses of her, she ap- peared composed, matter-of-fact about the situation. When she looked at him, there was a hint of scorn min- gled with the worry in her eyes. “I'm grateful,” said Sam thickly. “You te inclay,” the girl retorted, “Regular alligators,” said Sam. “Came near eating me up.” “For why?” Sam shrugged. “Volunteered to join up. Told the big grizzly-face in charge I’d help them get the Foxtail back.” The girl stiffened. “The ‘big griz- ziy-face’ is my father, mister. I am Nora Halloran.” Sam focused on her clearly for the first time. He recollected the edge of fine temper in the voice. She was the same—same girl who was in front of Flood and O’Brien’s the night before. “What else did you do?” she said. “Young horse named Pete came af- ter me and I set him on the floor.” “Pete doesn’t set on the floor easy,” the girl said defiantly. “You must have tricked him.” “T set him on the floor fair,’ Sam said doggedly. The girls lips curved in bitter- sweet scorn for one Sam Morrey. “You couldn’t have—not fair, mister.” Sam felt his temperature rise. No sense for her to sting like that. “I told them all the outfit was plumb poor,” he said flatly. “And you'd make it plumb rich, I suppose!” “T’d help, maybe.” “No you wouldn’t.” The girl stood up and kicked the box aside. “I know your kind, mister. You’re a wanderer a buckskin man for the back coun- try. Cities are too much for you!” “Now you whoa,” said Sam, strug- gling to his feet. “You'll get me riled. I come here to volunteer for the fire crew. I get insulted, banged with a spanner, tossed out in the street and cCOMmicbooks CO