The Draw Read online

awful fast, Buck."

  "I just _think_, and my gun is there in my hand. Some draw, huh!"

  "Sure is."

  "You're damn right it is, Doolin. Faster'n anybody!"

  I didn't know what his gabbling about "thinking his gun into his hand"meant--at least not then, I didn't--but I sure wasn't minded toquestion him on it. He looked wild-eyed enough right now to starttaking bites out of the nearest tree.

  He spat again and looked me up and down. "You know, you can go tohell, Joe Doolin. You're a lousy, God damn, white-livered son of abitch." He grinned coldly.

  Not an insult, I knew now, but a deliberate taunt. I'd broken jaws fora lot less--I'm no runt, and I'm quick enough to hand back crap ifsome lands on me. But now I wasn't interested.

  He saw I was mad, though, and stood waiting.

  "You're fast enough, Buck," I said, "so I got no idea of trying you.You want to murder me, I guess I can't stop you--but I ain't drawing.No, sir, that's for sure."

  "And a coward to boot," he jeered.

  "Maybe," I said. "Put yourself in my place, and ask yourself why inhell I should kill myself?"

  "Yellow!" he snarled, looking at me with his bulging eyes full ofmeanness and confidence.

  My shoulders got tight, and it ran down along my gun arm. I never tookthat from a man before.

  "I won't draw," I said. "Reckon I'll move on instead, if you'll letme."

  And I picked up my reins, moving my hands real careful-like, andturned my horse around and started down the slope. I could feel hiseyes on me, and I was half-waiting for a bullet in the back. But itdidn't come. Instead Buck Tarrant called, "Doolin!"

  I turned my head. "Yeah?"

  He was standing there in the same position. Somehow he reminded me ofa crazy, runt wolf--his eyes were almost yellowish, and when he talkedhe moved his lips too much, mouthing his words, and his big crookedteeth flashed in the sun. I guess all the hankering for toughness inhim was coming out--he was acting now like he'd always wantedto--cocky, unafraid, mean--because now he wore a bigger gun thananybody. It showed all over him, like poison coming out of his skin.

  "Doolin," he called. "I'll be in town around three this afternoon.Tell Ben Randolph for me that he's a son of a bitch. Tell him he's adunghead sheriff. Tell him he'd better look me up when I get there, orelse get outa town and stay out. You got that?"

  "I got it, Buck."

  "Call me Mr. Tarrant, you Irish bastard."

  "Okay ... Mr. Tarrant," I said, and reached the bottom of the slopeand turned my horse along the road through the Pass. About a hundredyards farther on, I hipped around in the saddle and looked back. Hewas practising again--the crouch, the fantastic draw, the shot.

  I rode on toward town, to tell Ben Randolph he'd either have to run ordie.

  * * * * *

  Ben was a lanky, slab-sided Texan who'd come up north on a drive tenyears before and liked the Arizona climate and stayed. He was a goodsheriff--tough enough to handle most men, and smart enough to handlethe rest. Fourteen years of it had kept him lean and fast.

  When I told him about Buck, I could see he didn't know whether he wastough or smart or fast enough to get out of this one.

  He leaned back in his chair and started to light his pipe, and thenstared at the match until it burned his fingers without touching it tothe tobacco.

  "You sure, Joe?" he said.

  "Ben, I saw it four times. At first I just couldn't believe myeyes--but I tell you, he's fast. He's faster'n you or me or Hickock oranybody. God knows where he got it, but he's got the speed."

  "But," Ben Randolph said, lighting another match, "it just don'thappen that way." His voice was almost mildly complaining. "Notovernight. Gunspeed's something you work on--it comes slow, mightyslow. You know that. How in hell could Buck Tarrant turn into afire-eating gunslinger in a few days?" He paused and puffed. "Yousure, Joe?" he asked again, through a cloud of smoke.

  "Yes."

  "And he wants me."

  "That's what he said."

  Ben Randolph sighed. "He's a bad kid, Joe--just a bad kid. If hisfather hadn't died, I reckon he might have turned out better. But hismother ain't big enough to wallop his butt the way it needs."

  "You took his gun away from him a couple times, didn't you, Ben?"

  "Yeah. And ran him outa town too, when he got too pestiferous. Toldhim to get the hell home and help his ma."

  "Guess that's why he wants you."

  "That. And because I'm sheriff. I'm the biggest gun around here, andhe don't want to start at the bottom, not him. He's gonna show theworld right away."

  "He can do it, Ben."

  He sighed again. "I know. If what you say's true, he can sure show_me_ anyhow. Still, I got to take him up on it. You know that. I can'tleave town."

  I looked at his hand lying on his leg--the fingers were trembling. Hecurled them into a fist, and the fist trembled.

  "You ought to, Ben," I said.

  "Of course I ought to," he said, a little savagely. "But I can't. Why,what'd happen to this town if I was to cut and run? Is there anyoneelse who could handle him? Hell, no."

  "A crazy galoot like that," I said slowly, "if he gets too damn nasty,is bound to get kilt." I hesitated. "Even in the back, if he's toogood to take from the front."

  "Sure," Ben Randolph said. "Sooner or later. But what aboutmeantime?... how many people will he have to kill before somebody getsangry or nervy enough to kill _him_? That's my job, Joe--to take careof this kind of thing. Those people he'd kill are depending on me toget between him and them. Don't you see?"

  * * * * *

  I got up. "Sure, Ben, I see. I just wish _you_ didn't."

  He let out another mouthful of smoke. "You got any idea what he meantabout thinking his gun into his hand?"

  "Not the slightest. Some crazy explanation he made up to account forhis sudden speed, I reckon."

  Another puff. "You figure I'm a dead man, Joe, huh?"

  "It looks kind of that way."

  "Yeah, it kind of does, don't it?"

  At four that afternoon Buck Tarrant came riding into town like heowned it. He sat his battered old saddle like a rajah on an elephant,and he held his right hand low beside his hip in an exaggeratedgunman's stance. With his floppy hat over at a cocky angle, and hisbig eyes and scrawny frame, he'd have looked funny as hell trying tolook like a tough hombre--except that he _was_ tough now, andeverybody in town knew it because I'd warned them. Otherwise somebodymight have jibed him, and the way things were now, that could lead toa sudden grave.

  Nobody said a word all along the street as he rode to the hitchrail infront of the Once Again and dismounted. There wasn't many peoplearound _to_ say anything--most everybody was inside, and all you couldsee of them was a shadow of movement behind a window there, theflutter of a curtain there.

  Only a few men sat in chairs along the boardwalks under the porches,or leaned against the porchposts, and they just sort of stared around,looking at Buck for a second and then looking off again if he turnedtoward them.

  I was standing near to where Buck hitched up. He swaggered up thesteps of the saloon, his right hand poised, his bulging eyes full ofhell.

  "You tell him?" he asked.

  I nodded. "He'll look you up, like you said."

  Buck laughed shortly. "I'll be waiting. I don't like that lankybastard. I reckon I got some scores to settle with him." He looked atme, and his face twisted into what he thought was a tough snarl.Funny--you could see he really wasn't tough down inside. There wasn'tany hard core of confidence and strength. His toughness was in hisholster, and all the rest of him was acting to match up to it.

  "You know," he said, "I don't like you either, Irish. Maybe I oughtakill you. Hell, why not?"

  Now, the only reason I'd stayed out of doors that afternoon was Ifigured Buck had already had one chance to kill me and hadn't done it,so I must be safe. That's what I figured--he had nothing against me,so I was safe. And I had an idea tha
t maybe, when the showdown came, Imight be able to help out Ben Randolph somehow--if anything on God'sEarth _could_ help him.

  Now, though, I wished to hell I hadn't stayed outside. I wished I wasbehind one of them windows, looking out at somebody else get told byBuck Tarrant that maybe he oughta kill him.

  "But I won't," Buck said, grinning nastily. "Because you done me afavor. You run off and told the