The Hair-Trigger Kid by Max Brand (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) đź“•
"The curtain ain't up," said the sheriff, "but I reckon that the stage is set and that they's gunna be an entrance pretty pronto."
"Here's somebody coming," said Georgia, gesturing toward the farther end of the street.
"Yeah," said the sheriff, "but he's comin' too slow to mean anything."
"Slow and earnest wins the race," said another.
They were growing impatient; like a crowd at a bullfight, when the entrance of the matador is delayed too long.
"We're wasting the day," said Milman to his family. "That's a long ride ahead of us."
"Don't go now," said Georgia. "I've got a tingle in my finger tips that says something is going to happen."
Other voices were rising, jesting, laughing, when some one called out something at the farther end of the veranda, and instantly there was a wave of silence that spread upon them all.
"What is it?" whispered Milman to the sheriff.
"Shut up!" said the sheriff. "They say th
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“I’ve had the same idea myself,” said she, “though I suppose I want to
make his case as black as possible.”
“Oh, Mother,” said the girl, “I hope I can be as honest as you are!”
“Then honestly face what a life with him would mean—no home, no
children. You wouldn’t dare to trust children to the care of such a wild
man. You know that?”
The girl was silent. Then she nodded.
“I suppose he told you how much you mean to him?”
“Not one word!”
“Ah, but a look, a gesture can fill up a big page, of course!”
“Not a look, not a gesture. Only that some things leaked through—or I
thought they did.”
“He’s cleverer, even, than I suspected!”
“Perhaps. I don’t think so. I think that he’s pulled two ways. He hates
father. He likes me. And he’s determined to break up Dixon’s crowd.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. Animals mean something to him more than they do to us. I saw his
face when he heard the lowing of the cattle at Hurry Creek.”
“What are you going to do, Georgia?”
“Wait,” said Georgia, “and pray that I never see him again.” Mrs. Milman,
staring at the girl like one who hopes against hope, said simply: “I
think that you’re right, Georgia.”
Then she added. “And what about your father?”
“I’ve thought of that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to him and tell him—”
“Think it over. You’ll have to have the right words.”
“I’m simply going to tell him that it doesn’t matter, whatever he’s done
in the past. Not to me. Not to you and me, Mother! Am I right?”
Elinore Milman caught a quick breath.
“We can’t let it matter. There has to be such a thing as a blind faith
and a blind loyalty, doesn’t there?”
“Yes,” said the girl. “That’s just what I feel.”
The mother stood up and put her arms around Georgia.
“We’re all standing on the brink of ruin,” she said. “Yesterday we were
rich and happy and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Today, there’s every
chance that we’ll go downhill and never rise again. Your father’s life is
in horrible danger from that boy. There’s a shame in his past that is
never going to take its shadow off our lives, no matter how the affair
comes out. All of our wealth seems in danger of being snatched away. And
I have you to tremble about and pray for, Georgia. There’s only the way
to face these things, and that’s together, shoulder to shoulder.”
“Yes,” said Georgia.
She began to tremble violently and suddenly her mother whispered: “I
think that you’re having the hardest time of all. But now go and tell
your father what you’ve told me, will you?”
“I’ll go at once,” said Georgia.
She turned to the door and waited there for a moment, breathing deeply to
drive away a faintness which was growing upon her. Then, composing
herself with a great effort, she went out of the house toward the barn.
She met little, one-legged Harry Sams, with a manure fork in his hand
coming from behind the barn. The stem of his corncob pipe had had a new
mouthpiece whittled and rewhittled in it. It was now hardly two inches
long, and the fumes from the bowl of the pipe kept him constantly
blinking. But he was faithful to old pipes, as to old friends.
“Harry,” she said, “have you seen Father?”
“Aye,” said Harry, “he’s gone and got him that white-faced fool of a
chestnut gelding, and he’s gone off toward Hurry Creek as though there
was guns behind him, instead of in front.”
The words struck her like bullets. All the sunset blurred and darkened
before her face, for she knew that her father had gone off in hope of
finding his death.
The Kid, when he got to the bottom of the long lariat, still found that
his feet dangled well above either water or ground. He looked down, but
all that he could see was the white dashing of the water—not white,
really, but a dusky gray in that half light. He could not tell whether
the water ran directly beneath him or if there were a small ledge of rock
at the side of the canyon bed.
Hanging by one strong hand, with the other, he took out a match and
scratched it. It was only a single spluttering of dim light before a dash
of spray put it out, but that glimpse was enough to reveal to the Kid a
raging inferno of waters. And, beneath him, a narrow, slippery ledge of
rock, hardly a single foot wide.
To the ledge he dropped.
By daylight it would have been a simple matter, perhaps, to get along the
place. And he cursed himself because he had not thought of exploring here
while the sun was still shining.
He tried matches again and again. But the wind of the water or the flying
spray itself instantly snatched away the flame. He had to explore by
touch alone. Light there was almost none, Though when he looked up, he
could see stars sprinkled across the narrow road which the canyon walls
fenced through the high heavens; and there was among them one broad-faced
planet—its name he did not know.
The thunder of the creek now pounded steadily, like the continual roar of
guns; the solid rocks trembled slightly beneath his hands; and the
absence of light gave him only vague and illusive hints of what was
around him.
Therefore he closed his eyes altogether for the purpose of shutting out
the few, faint rays which merely helped to confuse him, and he began to
fumble along the wall of the ravine.
It swung to the left for a little distance. He tried to remember just how
the creek had been seen to curve from above, but even this point he
carelessly had overlooked. However, that did not matter now. He was
committed to that bare, slippery wall of rock, and if he fell from it, he
was done forever.
That was not the only danger.
He had hardly made three steps’ progress when something crashed behind
him, and then a great black form shot by him, low down on the face of the
water.
It missed his feet in inches, grinding on the ledge of rock on which he
stood. Hurtling onward, it struck on the corner of the next big rock with
a staggering shock, then was whirled around the edge.
Vaguely he had seen this, after opening his eyes when the blow came
behind him. He knew that it was a tree trunk, torn down from the banks
higher up the stream, and now sent like a javelin, flying down toward the
lower waters. A second of these might very well strike him and dash him
to a pulp, or else flick him off from the wall like a caterpillar from a
tree, to be ground up by the teeth of the rocks.
Yet he went on. In fact, there was no return, but the grim steadiness of
his purpose never left him.
With closed eyes, and still fumbling, he worked out to a place where the
rock ledge shelved away to nothing beneath the grip of his feet. He
reached down, pulled off his boots, and prepared to see what naked hands
and feet could do with the treacherous surface of that canyon face in the
dark, with the spray whipping continually around him.
He found a handhold. His feet, reaching at the rock below, helped him a
good deal. He was working his way out and out to the left, where the
creek turned its corner, and now he turned the point of it.
It was grisly, hard work, for his weight was hanging almost entirely from
his hands. Only now and then did he get any purchase for his feet. And
the handholds were hard to find also. He had to hold by one hand and with
the other fumble before him, vaguely, up and down, until he found some
small projection, or some crevice into which even the tips of his fingers
could be fitted.
Sometimes he was swaying up. Once he descended until his feet thrust into
the water.
The current jerked at him like a hand. He almost lost his hold. For one
breathless moment he thought that he was gone.
But his hands were strong, and his hold remained true.
In this manner he found that he had turned the corner. But now his
position was not much better. There was still no foothold beneath him,
and his arms were now aching to the pits of the shoulders. They were so
extremely tired that they shook with a violence which of itself
threatened to shake him loose from the wet rock.
And there was no light!
He opened his eyes.
Yes, far away to the left there was a red star shining toward him. It
glared at him like an eye, threateningly. But suddenly, his eyes opening
more clearly, he saw that it was the flame of the Dixon camp fire.
That, which should have depressed him still more, gave him a sudden hope,
and with the hope came strength.
He could not have endured the strain of going back to the last ridge
which he had left. The very idea of turning back, however, had not come
to him. And he worked on, gritting his teeth until his jaws ached as well
as his arms.
Then, fumbling forward with his left foot, he touched a firm support.
He rested his whole weight upon the rock beneath. It was strong and firm.
At this the relief was so great that the blood bounded violently into his
head, and he was dizzy. But he clung, fighting his way through the first
moments of the reaction after the strain was over.
Still his body was shaking a little, and his arms were numb, but he began
to breathe more easily, and his mind was more at ease also.
Those who have passed through the desperate gates of an enterprise feel
that the early danger must assure them of better luck further on. At
least, so the Kid felt, as he stood there in the dark of the ravine, with
the chilly drops of snow water flicking at him.
The canyon walls opened here perceptibly, moreover, and there was
sufficient starlight to enable him to see dimly what was before him.
It was no easy road. Here the ledge ran a little distance. There it
disappeared entirely. But the walls were not so perpendicular and the
weight of his body would in no place fall so sheerly upon his tired hands
and upon his shoulders.
He swung his arms. He kneaded them with his shaking hands until the flow
of blood subdued their aching. And when at last he felt sufficient master
of himself, he resumed his progress toward the mouth of the canyon.
He had had practice now; besides, he had some sight to help him, so that
the work went on more easily, and he made good use of all his advantages
until he carne to where the very lips of the ravine spread out wider and
wider, and the opening flood of the river flattened and lost its noise
over a more ample bed. Its speed was quenched, in the same manner
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