15 Western Short Stories — page 93: 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 A few passersby were stopping to stare, and listen. Kirby was conscious of Beth’s hand on his arm, hurrying him along. Bowers’ voice followed them, growing louder, as they drew farther away. “ ..sporting that badge like he had a right to wear it—the damn thing would change color if it knew what I know...” Sheriff Hawkes stepped out of the Goiden Chance at the sound of Bow- ers’ voice. He stood listening, his grey eyes studying Joe Kirby. He moved as if to cross the street, but just then Alf Masden stepped out of the saloon behind him. Joe Kirby heard Masden’s WOLEE. “Never knew an outlaw yet that didn’t claim he was innocent—or that the lawman that brought him in was a crook,” the rancher said with a half laugh. The sheriff turned slowly, his eyes rested on Masden for a long mo- ment, then he shrugged and stepped back into the Golden Chance. HE REST of the walk to Mrs. Bussman’s boarding house was si- lent. Joe Kirby kept his eyes straight ahead. Beth still held his arm; and her grip was tight. The deputy turned to go as they mounted the front porch steps, but the girl held on. “I—I think Bowers cleared up a lot of things—in my mind,” she told him. He couldn’t understand the light in her eyes. He expected to find lcath- ing, disgust there. Instead, her eyes were almost shining. It puzzled him. “What things?” he asked. A blush crept into her cheeks. “It explained why you—” the words came with a rush—‘‘why you never talked about the future—-our future. And I’m glad!” “Glad! I don’t understand—” | “That’s because you’re not a wom- an,’ she told him, almost gaily. “I thought perhaps the reason you never talked about our future—was me— now I know it isn’t.” ‘““No—God only knows I’ve wanted to—but now,” again he was mentally cursing those bleak years on his back- trail, that were coming back to haunt him. An anger at himself was welling up inside him, for being fool enough to think he could shake them. And the girl—he'd had no right to drag her into this. His association with her could bring her nothing. but grief. “T reckon this is goodbye,” he said bleakly. “It needn’t be,” she replied quick- — ly. ‘This West is big—there are plen- ty of places—’’ A bitter smile twisted his lips. Big! Plenty of places! There’d been a time when he’d thought that, too. There’d been a time when he thought he could ride over the next horizon and leave his past. But he'd found out he couldn’t—and he’d found out the hard way. There was no turning back. He’d thought that he’d shaken his past, here in Tumbleweed City, but as always, it had popped up. There would always be a Masden— or a Hank Bowers, no matter where he went. | ' He shook his head. “This is good- _bye—it’s better that way.” And before she could speak, he was striding down the street—back to the jail, and what- ever awaited him there. Sheriff Hawkes was at his battered desk when Joe Kirby entered. The lawman looked up, nodded briefly and went on reading the reports in front of him. Kirby sat down and rolled a smoke. From the rear of the building came the creak of springs, as Hank Bowers tossed restlessly on the nar- row cot in his cell. Presently, Hawkes looked un. He indicated the letter in front of him. “From the governor—commuting Hank’s sentence to a life term—if he talks.” Kirby nodded, and the lawman went on. “T think he’ll break,” he said quiet- ly. “He would have already, but some- body’s talked to him—that’s why I moved him to an inside cell. Some- body's told him they’ll get him out— and Hank believes ’em.” He stared at his deputy. “I guess there’s a lot of folks around here that don’t want Hank to talk.” “There always is,” Joe Kirby said quietly. “Hank didn’t work alone— ordinarily.” “You go on out and get some sup- per,’ Hawkes said. He stood up. “I'll let Hank read this.” He indicated the letter. Joe Kirby nodded and left. Masden was standing on the side- walk in front of the saloon. Two of ConmicloOolkkS.cOnmn