15 Western Short Stories — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

GUNSMOKE iS A BADGETOTER’S GLORY Sheriff John Hawkes stepped out of his office a few feet down the street and let his gaze linger long on his deputy. There was puzzlement, and faint suspicion in the lawman’s eyes. Kirby knew the suspicion was there. Hiawkes had hired Kirby on the strength of a letter of recommenda- tion from Sheriff Palmer, which Kir- by had. But Joe Kirby knew that his boss had never fully trusted him, -during these six months he’d worn the badge of Tumbleweed City. And Joe Kirby knew the reasons. One was that old John Hawkes had had to kill his former deputy. Hawkes had put a bullet through him one dark night when the sheriff, singlehanded, had stopped a rustling drive. The badge Joe Kirby wore was bent, where the lawman’s lead had hit and glanced. After that, Sheriff Hawkes didn’t trust anyone. For there was lawless- ness aplenty in his bailiwick. And he’d found out why he’d been powerless to stop it—that night he’d uncovered the crookedness of his former deputy. The other reason was the letter of recommendation Joe Kirby had brought. Sheriff Palmer had been a good sheriff—down in the southern part of the state. But a week after Joe Kirby had gone-to work in Tumble- weed City, Palmer had been bush- whacked. Even if Hawkes had wanted to check up with Palmer about Joe Kirby, he couldn’t. Not now. The old lawman strolled up the street to pause a minute beside his deputy. He glanced suggestively at the grim instrument of death that set in an open lot right off the main street, then looked at Joe Kirby. Then deputy nodded. “Tested it a while ago. Put a new rope on it. Hank Bowers is a heavy man.” Sheriff Hawkes nodded and moved on. But the puzzled look was still in his eyes as he passed through the bat- wing doors of the Golden Chance Sa- loon. A sardonic grin creased Kirby’s features. His boss mistrusted him, yet there was a grudging admiration for his deputy, for Joe Kirby was a good deputy—he kept Tumbleweed City quiet and peaceful. But up until a week ago, Joe Kirby had done nothing more than that~— keep the peace in town. He hadn’t rid. 91 den out after rustlers—never being around when a posse was being formed. And the fact that Kirby had never taken the trail, had increased Sheriff Hawkes’ suspicion of the close-mouthed deputy. But a week ago the stage had been held up—the driver killed. Deputy Kirby had gone out, and had come back with Hank Bowers—and the evi- dence. And Sheriff Hawkes was puz- zled. If his deputy was in league with the crooked element in town—he’d hardly go out and track down Bowers and bring him back to hang.... Joe Kirby watched his boss disap- pear into the Golden Chance, then fished for the makings. A man was coming up the street toward him, but Kirby gave his full attention to the little brown flakes that spilled into the thin brown paper, and didn’t look up until he was licking the cigarette shut. “Hello, Masden.” The greeting was low—almost drowned out by the sput- ter of the match Kirby struck with his thumbnail. Alf Masden owned the Split M ranch. A hard, taciturn man, whose worn clothes and general shabby appearance gave no hint of the wealth he’d piled up. He had pale blue eyes that seemed to view the world with a look of perpetual bewilderment. They did not change their expression now. He acknowledged Kirby’s greeting with a quick bob of his head. “Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks, Kirby. Not since you brought Hank Bowers in to hang.” His lips twitched slightly. It could have been a smile—or some- thing else. “Reckon congratulations are in order,” Joe Kirby shrugged and studied the glowing end of his cigarette. “I don’t feel any too good about it, Masden— bringing in a man to die isn’t pleas- ant.” Masden chuckled and looked at the shadow of the gallows, as the setting sun threw it across the dusty street. “Guess not. Makes you wonder how you'd feel, knowing you was going to dance on air.” IRBY tossed his smoke away, shifted around till he faced Masden squarely. “Bowers had it Comiiclooks CO