15 Western Short Stories — page 95: 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 badge and letter of recommendation— and [ know where you buried him.” Kirby remembered the day hed found the body of Sheriff Palmer’s deputy. He'd figured by lifting the raan’s credentials, he could stay over in Tumbleweed City long enough to get a good rest. And then he'd met Beth, and lingered longer. “That's rignt,” he told Hank tight- “But I didn’t kill him. He was ezdy dead.” “Enough of this jawing, ” Masden snapped. “C'mon Kirby.” He led the way into the office, and shut the door leading down the corridor. “Hank's a bad risk,’ Masden said. Suppose we got him out tonight— and he got caught again. We'd have it all to do over again—to keep him from talking.” He shook his head. “Hank's a bad risk. After you got to be sheriff, he might even blab about how five of us watched you take that deputy badge and letter.” “Did you kill Joe Kirby?” the dep- uty asked. “Huh? Oh, yeah, Kirby was the real deputy’s name. Never mind that now. Things are set for ten o'clock tonight. Hawkes usually goes to the Golden Chance for a beer about then.” His eyes were boring into Joe Kirby’s. “We can count on you?” Joe Kirby looked out the window into the now darkened streets of Tum- bleweed City. The old, familiar sounds care to his ears—the tinny jangle of the mechanical piano from the saloon, the Waiting cayuse tossed its head impa- tiently, the thump of high heeled boots on the board sidewalk and the occasional mutter of voices in the dark. They were all there, but some- how, they seemed curiously subdued tonight. He could sit in this office and ls- ten to those sounds every night, Joe Kirby was thinking, and wear the sheriff’s badge, too. Tumbleweed City would be a safe haven for him. But another thought, ugly and_ black, forced itself into his mind. ly. aly: oe ONIGHT would be the first job he would pull for Masden. After to- night? Kirby knew enough about long-riders, about outlaws, to know jingle of a bridle as a 95 that there would be others. And the longer he lived this he, the deeper he would become involved. “Hurry up, Masden growled, 1m- patience edging his voice for the first time. “We ain't got all night.” Joe Kirby grinned tightly. “We got until ten o'clock.” From the corner of his eye he saw Masden flick a glance toward the side window of the office —and he tucked that bit of knowledge in the back of his mind. Feet padded outside the door, and fourteen-year old Pete Bussman carne in, his bare feet scraping on the rough board floor. The son of the boarding house keeper held out a neatly folded piece of paper. “From Miss Beth,” he said, and scampered away with the four-bits Kirby tossed him. Kirby opened the note. “6 ..you were right about running away. I understand. In this life, we pay for the joys we receive, or the sorrows we cause. I love you, but there could be no place, in hiding, where we could feel safe.” “No place, in hiding, where we could feel safe.” Kirby turned the words over in his mind. No place, in hiding. Not even Tumbleweed City. Kirby grinned at Masden. “it's crazy as hell for an outlaw to side the law, Alf—but that’s what I’m doing.” “The things a woman’ll cause a man to do,’ Masden said, and there was al- most a sigh in his voice. He stood up, elaborately casual in his move- ments, and the action from then on followed the pattern Joe Kirby had expected. Masden ducked out of the line of fire. A shot whanged through the wide window of the office. Kirby was trying to dodge it, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Something hot and breathtaking slugged into his side. For a split second it seemed as if the whole world had stopped. Cu- riously, during that period of slow- motion, he saw a face appear in the rectangle of broken glass at the win- dow. Without knowing just how, he found his gun in his hand. The man at the window was over- confident, thinking his first shot had scored dead center. Before he could cComicbooks CO