The Hair-Trigger Kid by Max Brand (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

>out with such as the Dixon crowd. They milled about a little, uneasily,

until one of them said: “I got a wife and two kids that live on what I

make. I reckon that I ain’t afraid to be ashamed:”

 

The other two said nothing, but they seemed willing to allow the other’s

speech to stand as a lead for them.

 

Little Davey Trainor suddenly cried out:

 

“You ain’t punchers! You ain’t Westerners! You’re a bunch of

yaller-livered, no-good skunks! I’m gonna tell every man on the range

about you! I know your names, and I won’t forget ‘em. The Kid’s down

there doin’ your work. The Kid’s gonna die for what you should’ve died

for—”

 

He looked about him, and suddenly he saw that the girl had ridden off

into the dark of the night.

 

Instantly he pulled his own mustang about and was beside her.

 

“Whatcha gonna do? Where you headin’?” asked the boy.

 

“Go back, Davey,” said she. “Never mind where I’m going.”

 

“You’re gonna go in there!” exclaimed Davey. “You figger on follerin’

your daddy.”

 

“It doesn’t matter what I figure on. This is no place for you, Davey! Go

back, and try to talk those three punchers into coming along.”

 

“They can’t be talked into nothin’! They wouldn’t budge. You couldn’t

pray ‘em into budgin’. Dog-gone it, though, you can’t go in there! D’you

think that those thugs’ll be able to see that you ain’t a man? D’you

think that they’d care, much, even if they knew? They’ll shoot at

everything that budges, after a while!”

 

“Davey,” said the girl, “I know that you mean well, but don’t try to

persuade me any more. There’s no use. I’m going to ride in there. Nothing

can stop me. Go back and try to find some of the other men. We have

something besides cowards on our ranch!”

 

“Ride back for ‘em yourself,” said Davey. “You ain’t a man, and I am. I’m

gonna go in there and see what happens!”

 

“Davey! Davey!” she cried at him. “You silly child—you great, silly

baby, what can you do?”

 

“I’ve got a gun, and I can use a gun,” declared Davey. “That’s what I can

do. Is that enough?”

 

And then, as they entered the outer fringe of the cattle, there was too

much work for them to allow further talk.

 

It was no easy thing.

 

Wandering on the outer edges of the hollow, masses of the cattle stirred

here and there, wakeful with thirst, uneasy, prevented from getting on by

the more solid masses of living flesh which barred the way toward the

desired creek.

 

Among those crowds they had to go. It seemed impossible, at first, but

they knew that a recruit to the Dixon crowd had gone through, and they

knew that the boy himself had gone back and forth, and that the horses

had burst through the mass.

 

What was the fortune of Milman and Bud Trainor, they could not guess. The

double dark of the night and of the dust clouds shut them from sight as

soon as they entered the herds.

 

Now and then, with a loud bellowing, a section of the herd would loom at

them, with vaguely glistening horns, and terrible eyes, but the sight of

the mounted men made them turn back.

 

It was as though they passed into a whirlpool of many currents,

conflicting, and the waves of it armed with horns that looked long enough

to impale horse and rider with a single thrust.

 

So they went on, the girl holding her breath with fear; then half choking

in the dust.

 

She arranged a bandanna over her mouth and nose and breathed through this

with an effort. Yet the choking effect of the dust was thereby much

lessened.

 

It was a nightmare, and beyond this evil dream lay another far more

horrible, toward which she was going. What she could do, she could not

guess. To see the tragedy that must occur was abhorrent to her, but yet

she was drawn on as by a magnet of an overwhelming power.

 

On the whole, the problem of getting through was not half as desperate as

it looked from a distance. The courage of the lad in first facing that

tangle of dust and stamping hoofs and horns staggered her, however. He

was before her, now, leading the way, parting the currents of danger, as

it were.

 

And, with another leap and ache of her heart, she knew that here was the

promise of such another manhood as the Kid’s. Something great for good,

or for evil. No man could tell for which.

 

But goodness began to appear to her struggling mind in a new light. It

seemed not so very difficult to dodge all evil by denying all temptation.

Good women did that, closing their eyes upon what is dreadful and

horrible, what is wild and enchanting in its wildness. Good men did it,

also, keeping to a straight and narrow path, and blinding themselves to

the possibilities which lay right and left. Yonder three punchers, for

instance, were good men, who would have died rather than not do their

duty. But for this thing which lay outside and above their duty, which

was extra reasonable and had nothing to do with law, that wasn’t business

for them. It was the business of the professional gambler, the

gunfighter, the manslayer. It was the business of the Kid!

 

How to rearrange her ideas she could not tell, but she knew that the Kid

began to appear before her mind luminously, a moon of brightness among

starry mankind, making them very dim indeed.

 

And then, the dust mist before her began to be stained by the faint rose

of the firelight. The dusty herds grew more dense. They would never have

gotten through had it not been for the tactics of the mustang on which

the lad was mounted before her. That mustang had been trained for many a

long year in the ways of the range and of range cattle. He went at the

steers and the cows with teeth and striking forehoofs. He went through

them as a sheep dog goes through a well-packed flock of sheep, making

them crowd to either side and leave a narrow channel through which he

runs. In that thin wake she followed, taking advantage of it by pressing

up close to Davey. And, now and then, she could hear his thin, piercing

voice, shouting cheerfully back to her above the mighty thunder of the

lowing.

 

There were waves of that sound, and then moments of almost utter silence,

except for the melancholy music from the hills-that rimmed the hollow.

 

In one of those spells of silence, they came through to the final rim of

the cattle, and saw before them, here and there, the gleam of the triple

rows of barbed wire, and the dul! silhouettes of Milman and Bud Trainor

just before them, very close to the rim of the encampment.

 

Now the girl could see the blackened debris of what had once been the

excellent camp of Dixon and Shay. Yes, that was the work of the Kid.

There was a thoroughness about the destruction which seemed to identify

it as his, immediately.

 

She looked to the left. Two men walked up and down the fence, with

black-snake whips, striking at the faces of the cattle which came too

close. The two men were so near that it seemed miraculous that they did

not see the four interlopers out there on the rim of the cow herds.

 

But the glow of the fire prevented, no doubt, blinding the watchers, as

little Davey had pointed out before.

 

It was not so much of a blaze, now, but the glow was intensely bright, as

it struck up from the masses of embers. When a gust of wind struck it,

the light pulsed brighter, and took on a more yellow and penetrating

color.

 

And the first of those brighter pulses showed her, at the right of the

fire, the group for which she was looking. It was very close at hand. She

could see every feature of every man that faced her.

 

The Kid stood there with his hands and feet lashed, his back to her.

Facing him was a loose semicircle of Dixon’s men; and just in front of

him was Shay, his long, white face inhumanly ugly as he balanced a

revolver in his right hand.

 

“I’m going to hold up a minute, Kid,” said he. “If you got anything to

say, we’ll try to remember it for you.”

 

The Kid answered, and his voice was clear, free, and almost joyous.

 

“I can talk for quite a while, Billy, but I don’t want you to make your

wrist ache, holding that heavy gun so long.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” said Billy Shay. “Just talk your heart out, if

you want to, Kid.”

 

“Well, there are only two or three things. You know Bud Trainor, some of

you?”

 

“Yeah, I know the sucker,” said a voice.

 

“Well, tell Bud to forget about this. Tell him that was one of my last

wishes. He might have an idea that something was expected of him.”

 

“Not if he’s got sense,” said the other. “But I’ll pass your word along

to him.”

 

“Another thing,” said the Kid, “is that I’d like to have my name

scratched on a rock, and the rock put at my head, so that if the Milmans

get around to burying me, they’ll know who is lying here. My name is

Benjamin Chapin, alias a lot of things.”

 

“What makes you tell us?” said Billy Shay, curiously. “After you’ve

covered it up for so long, too!”

 

“I’ll tell you why,” said the Kid. “There’s one person in the world that

I wish to learn it, and this is the only way I can make sure that the

news will travel.”

 

“It’s a girl, Kid, I suppose?” said Shay.

 

“Billy,” said the Kid, “a warm, sensitive, proud heart like yours is sure

to get at the truth of things. Yes, Billy, it’s a girl.”

 

“Yeah, you been a heartbreaker all your days,” said Billy Shay. “I’m

supposin’ that she’ll bust hers when she learns how you dropped.”

 

“Thank you, Billy,” said the Kid. “There’s one other thing. I think that

Bud Trainor may do as I want and keep his hands off you. But there’s

another who won’t. Boys, watch out for him, when little Davey gets

man-size.”

 

“Is that all?” asked Shay.

 

“Yes, that’s all, Billy. Go ahead.”

 

“No prayin’, nor nothin’ like that?”

 

“Prayers won’t help a man like me,” said the Kid cheerfully. “I’ve done

too much that was wrong. You boys will know when you come to my place.

You’ll understand what I mean when I say the prayers don’t help. Excuse

me for talking a little bit like Sunday school. All right, Billy.”

 

“Now for you,” said Shay, stepping a little closer, and his face twisting

into more consummate ugliness. “You’ve hounded me, and you’ve dogged nie.

You blamed your partner’s death on me. You’re right. I plugged him and

the reason that I plugged him was because he was your friend. You done me

shame in Dry Creek. It ain’t a thing for me to live down. But I’ll have

the taste of this to make me feel better. Kid, you’re gonna see the devil

in another quarter of a second!”

 

And, with this, he jerked up the gun until it was level with the head of

the Kid.

 

A report sounded, but no smoke issued from the