Novel 1959 - The First Fast Draw (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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make no trouble for you. You start something against me, Colonel, and I’ll run you the hell out of the country.”
That soldier, he sat right still, keeping his eyes on the floor, and wanting no trouble. So I just kept the guns I’d taken, and I walked right out of there into the street.
That tall, lean, long-headed Longley was leaning against an awning post right across the street, smoking a black cigar. Bob Lee was standing by the hitch rail on my own side of the street, looking mighty accidental-like. At the end of the street Jack English was squatting on his heels playing mumblety-peg with his bowie knife.
“Long as we’re here,” Longley said, “I figure we should have us a drink.”
English, he stayed where he was, keeping an eye out for trouble, but the rest of us started for the saloon. Just about that time the saloon door opened and Joel Reese walked out.
He started to stretch and he caught himself right in the middle of it, and he stood there staring at me like his spine had come unsnapped, his face turning kind of sick gray.
“Bob,” I said, “this gent is one of those who entertained me the other night. Fact is, he was one of those calling the numbers for the dance. I figure this man should be instructed in the Word of the Lord.”
“Yes, sir,” Bob Lee was mighty serious, “you take your text from Job, fourth chapter, eighth verse: ‘They that plow iniquity and sow wickedness, they shall reap the same.’”
Joel Reese took a sort of half-step back, looking around for help. Longley had moved around to cut him off and he was standing there, lazy-like, his thumbs hooked in his belt, but boy though he was, there was nothing soft about Bill Longley.
Reese, he looked at me and he set up to say something but I wasn’t figuring on much talk. So I slapped him across the mouth. Well, sir, I’m a big man and I have done a sight of work in my time, and I was remembering how they had closed in on me the other night, so that slap shook him up, somewhat.
He struck out at me, and I just shifted my feet to make the blow miss and slapped him again. That time it started blood from his nose.
Colonel Belser came to the door and he had a rifle in his hands. “Here! Stop that!”
Now Bill Longley had him a Dragoon Colt in his hand and he was looking right at the colonel. “Mister Belser, sir,” he said that, only he dragged it out a might, “you see a sinner being shown that the way of the transgressor is hard, and Colonel, sir, should you transgress any further with that weepon, you will transgress yourself right into a belly full of lead.”
To bring his rifle to bear Colonel Belser must turn a quarter of the way around, and you could see with half an eye that he realized it. Bill Longley was standing there holding that pistol sort of casual-like, and down there at the end of the street, not too far off, was Jack English, just a-setting there. The good colonel must have had it brought home to him that there was no way he could turn without turning right into a chunk of lead. Right then I’d bet he was some unhappy with himself for not staying right inside and giving an imitation of a man gone deaf, dumb and blind.
While Belser stood there unwilling to chance a move, I remembered very clearly what had happened to me in my own yard, so I slapped Reese into a first-class beating. “Next time,” I told the colonel, “it will be a shooting matter.”
Now I didn’t know this at the time, but in his office overlooking the street Judge Tom Blaine was watching all that took place, but the judge was no carpetbagger. Judge Tom had fought in the Mexican War, and it had hurt him to see Jefferson folks afraid of these ragtag soldiers of the Reconstruction.
There were things we needed, so while the others mounted up and held my mule for me, I walked down the street to buy ammunition. It was just as I was finishing buying what I needed that Katy Thorne came into the store, and when she saw my face, I saw her
That soldier, he sat right still, keeping his eyes on the floor, and wanting no trouble. So I just kept the guns I’d taken, and I walked right out of there into the street.
That tall, lean, long-headed Longley was leaning against an awning post right across the street, smoking a black cigar. Bob Lee was standing by the hitch rail on my own side of the street, looking mighty accidental-like. At the end of the street Jack English was squatting on his heels playing mumblety-peg with his bowie knife.
“Long as we’re here,” Longley said, “I figure we should have us a drink.”
English, he stayed where he was, keeping an eye out for trouble, but the rest of us started for the saloon. Just about that time the saloon door opened and Joel Reese walked out.
He started to stretch and he caught himself right in the middle of it, and he stood there staring at me like his spine had come unsnapped, his face turning kind of sick gray.
“Bob,” I said, “this gent is one of those who entertained me the other night. Fact is, he was one of those calling the numbers for the dance. I figure this man should be instructed in the Word of the Lord.”
“Yes, sir,” Bob Lee was mighty serious, “you take your text from Job, fourth chapter, eighth verse: ‘They that plow iniquity and sow wickedness, they shall reap the same.’”
Joel Reese took a sort of half-step back, looking around for help. Longley had moved around to cut him off and he was standing there, lazy-like, his thumbs hooked in his belt, but boy though he was, there was nothing soft about Bill Longley.
Reese, he looked at me and he set up to say something but I wasn’t figuring on much talk. So I slapped him across the mouth. Well, sir, I’m a big man and I have done a sight of work in my time, and I was remembering how they had closed in on me the other night, so that slap shook him up, somewhat.
He struck out at me, and I just shifted my feet to make the blow miss and slapped him again. That time it started blood from his nose.
Colonel Belser came to the door and he had a rifle in his hands. “Here! Stop that!”
Now Bill Longley had him a Dragoon Colt in his hand and he was looking right at the colonel. “Mister Belser, sir,” he said that, only he dragged it out a might, “you see a sinner being shown that the way of the transgressor is hard, and Colonel, sir, should you transgress any further with that weepon, you will transgress yourself right into a belly full of lead.”
To bring his rifle to bear Colonel Belser must turn a quarter of the way around, and you could see with half an eye that he realized it. Bill Longley was standing there holding that pistol sort of casual-like, and down there at the end of the street, not too far off, was Jack English, just a-setting there. The good colonel must have had it brought home to him that there was no way he could turn without turning right into a chunk of lead. Right then I’d bet he was some unhappy with himself for not staying right inside and giving an imitation of a man gone deaf, dumb and blind.
While Belser stood there unwilling to chance a move, I remembered very clearly what had happened to me in my own yard, so I slapped Reese into a first-class beating. “Next time,” I told the colonel, “it will be a shooting matter.”
Now I didn’t know this at the time, but in his office overlooking the street Judge Tom Blaine was watching all that took place, but the judge was no carpetbagger. Judge Tom had fought in the Mexican War, and it had hurt him to see Jefferson folks afraid of these ragtag soldiers of the Reconstruction.
There were things we needed, so while the others mounted up and held my mule for me, I walked down the street to buy ammunition. It was just as I was finishing buying what I needed that Katy Thorne came into the store, and when she saw my face, I saw her
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