The Draw Page 3

sheriff just like I told you--justlike the goddam white-livered Irish sheepherder you are. Ain't thatso?"

  I nodded, my jaw set so hard with anger that the flesh felt stretched.

  He waited for me to move against him. When I didn't, he laughed andswaggered to the door of the saloon. "Come on, Irish," he said overhis shoulder. "I'll buy you a drink of the best."

  I followed him in, and he went over to the bar, walking heavy, andlooked old Menner right in the eye and said, "Give me a bottle of thebest stuff you got in the house."

  * * * * *

  Menner looked at the kid he'd kicked out of his place a dozen times,and his face was white. He reached behind him and got a bottle and putit on the bar.

  "Two glasses," said Buck Tarrant.

  Menner carefully put two glasses on the bar.

  "_Clean_ glasses."

  Menner polished two other glasses on his apron and set them down.

  "You don't want no money for this likker, do you, Menner?" Buck asked.

  "No, sir."

  "You'd just take it home and spend it on that fat heifer of a wife yougot, and on them two little halfwit brats, wouldn't you?"

  Menner nodded.

  "Hell, they really ain't worth the trouble, are they?"

  "No, sir."

  Buck snickered and poured two shots and handed me one. He lookedaround the saloon and saw that it was almost empty--just Menner behindthe bar, and a drunk asleep with his head on his arms at a table nearthe back, and a little gent in fancy town clothes fingering his drinkat a table near the front window and not even looking at us.

  "Where is everybody?" he asked Menner.

  "Why, sir, I reckon they're home, most of them," Menner said. "Itbeing a hot day and all--"

  "Bet it'll get hotter," Buck said, hard.

  "Yes, sir."

  "I guess they didn't want to really feel the heat, huh?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, it's going to get so hot, you old bastard, that everybody'llfeel it. You know that?"

  "If you say so, sir."

  "It might even get hot for you. Right now even. What do you think ofthat, huh?"

  "I--I--"

  "You thrun me outa here a couple times, remember?"

  "Y-yes ... but I--"

  "Look at this!" Buck said--and his gun was in his hand, and he didn'tseem to have moved at all, not an inch. I was looking right at himwhen he did it--his hand was on the bar, resting beside his shotglass,and then suddenly his gun was in it and pointing right at old Menner'sbelly.

  "You know," Buck said, grinning at how Menner's fear was crawling allover his face, "I can put a bullet right where I want to. Wanta see medo it?"

  His gun crashed, and flame leaped across the bar, and the mirrorbehind the bar had a spiderweb of cracks radiating from a round blackhole.

  Menner stood there, blood leaking down his neck from a split earlobe.

  Buck's gun went off again, and the other earlobe was a red tatter.

  And Buck's gun was back in its holster with the same speed it had comeout--I just couldn't see his hand move.

  "That's enough for now," he told Menner. "This is right good likker,and I guess I got to have somebody around to push it across the barfor me, and you're as good as anybody to do jackass jobs like that."

  * * * * *

  He didn't ever look at Menner again. The old man leaned back againstthe shelf behind the bar, trembling, two trickles of red running downhis neck and staining his shirt collar--I could see he wanted to touchthe places where he'd been shot, to see how bad they were or just torub at the pain, but he was afraid to raise a hand. He just stoodthere, looking sick.

  Buck was staring at the little man in town clothes, over by thewindow. The little man had reared back at the shots, and now he wassitting up in his chair, his eyes straight on Buck. The table infront of him was wet where he'd spilled his drink when he'd jumped.

  Buck looked at the little guy's fancy clothes and small mustache andgrinned. "Come on," he said to me, and picked up his drink and startedacross the floor. "Find out who the dude is."

  He pulled out a chair and sat down--and I saw he was careful to sitfacing the front door, and also where he could see out the window.

  I pulled out another chair and sat.

  "Good shooting, huh?" Buck asked the little guy.

  "Yes," said the little guy. "Very fine shooting. I confess, it quitestartled me."

  Buck laughed harshly. "Startled the old guy too...." He raised hisvoice. "Ain't that right, Menner? Wasn't you startled?"

  "Yes, sir," came Menner's pain-filled voice from the bar.

  Buck looked back at the little man--let his insolent gaze travel upand down the fancy waistcoat, the string tie, the sharp face with itsmustache and narrow mouth and black eyes. He looked longest at theeyes, because they didn't seem to be scared.

  He looked at the little guy, and the little guy looked at Buck, andfinally Buck looked away. He tried to look wary as he did it, as if hewas just fixing to make sure that nobody was around to sneak-shoothim--but you could see he'd been stared down.

  When he looked back at the little guy, he was scowling. "Who're you,mister?" he said. "I never seen you before."

  "My name is Jacob Pratt, sir. I'm just traveling through to SanFrancisco. I'm waiting for the evening stage."

  "Drummer?"

  "Excuse me?"

  For a second Buck's face got ugly. "You heard me, mister. You adrummer?"

  "I heard you, young man, but I don't quite understand. Do you mean, amI a musician? A performer upon the drums?"

  "No, you goddam fool--I mean, what're you selling? Snake-bitemedicine? Likker? Soap?"

  "Why--I'm not selling anything. I'm a professor, sir."

  "Well, I'll be damned." Buck looked at him a little more carefully. "Aperfessor, huh? Of what?"

  "Of psychology, sir."

  "What's that?"

  "It's the study of man's behavior--of the reasons why we act as wedo."

  Buck laughed again, and it was more of a snarl. "Well, perfessor, you juststick around here then, and I'll show you some _real_ reasons for peopleacting as they do! From now on, I'm the big reason in this town ...they'll jump when I yell frog, or else!"

  His hand was flat on the table in front of him--and suddenly hisPeacemaker was in it, pointing at the professor's fourth vest button."See what I mean huh?"

  The little man blinked. "Indeed I do," he said, and stared at the gunas if hypnotized. Funny, though--he still didn't seem scared--just alot interested.

  * * * * *

  Sitting there and just listening, I thought about something elsefunny--how they were both just about of a size, Buck and theprofessor, and so strong in different ways: with the professor, youfelt he was strong inside--a man who knew a lot, about things andabout himself--while with Buck it was all on the outside, on thesurface: he was just a milksop kid with a deadly sting.

  Buck was still looking at the professor, as carefully as he hadbefore. He seemed to hesitate for a second, his mouth twisting. Thenhe said, "You're an eddicated man, ain't you? I mean, you studied alot. Ain't that right?"

  "Yes, I suppose it is."

  "Well...." Again Buck seemed to hesitate. The gun in his hand lowereduntil the end of the barrel rested on the table. "Look," he saidslowly, "maybe you can tell me how in hell...."

  When he didn't go on, the professor said, "Yes?"

  "Nothing."

  "You were going to say--?"

  Buck looked at him, his bulging eyes narrowed, the gunman's smirk onhis lips again. "Are you telling me what's true and what ain't," hesaid softly, "with my gun on you?"

  "Does the gun change anything?"

  Buck tapped the heavy barrel on the table. "I say it changes a hell ofa lot of things." _Tap_ went the barrel. "You wanta argue?"

  "Not with the gun," the professor said calmly. "It always wins. I'lltalk with you, however, if you'll talk
with your mouth instead of withthe gun."

  * * * * *

  By this time I was filled with admiration for the professor's guts,and fear that he'd get a bullet in them ... I was all set to duck, incase Buck should lose his temper and start throwing lead.

  But suddenly Buck's gun was back in his holster. I saw the professorblink again in astonishment.

  "You know," Buck said,