Peter Blue, One-Gun Man by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2019-04-16T22:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER IX

ALTOGETHER, the sheriff felt that it might be as well to let this complicated affair rest as it was. If he directly rode out with a posse to catch the gunman, Peter Blue would range swiftly away on his matchless horses. If he went alone to make the arrest, he would fall under the bullets of the man of battle. But if he left the matter in the hands of Livernash, the latter would be sure to execute his revenge or else die in the attempt.

Absolute insistence upon the course of duty was not in the heart of the sheriff. He was accustomed to handling each affair as it arose and in a special manner. All that he cared about was to finish off the career of Peter Blue, so far as that county was concerned. But if in addition the life of Blue were actually ended, the sheriff had not the slightest doubt that it would be for the good of society. He wanted no government warrant to encourage Livernash in the latter’s earnestness for revenge.

His heart was now lighter than it had been for some days, and he rode home that evening, singing softly to himself. As he drew closer to his house, he heard the sweet voice of Mary singing the very song that was on his lips, and the sheriff reined in his mustang and listened. She sang well. To the sheriff, it seemed that she sang perfectly. Above all, because he could remember the day, long years ago, when he had taught her that same song.

He put up his horse and went into the little house through the kitchen door, where his wife was busy with her cookery. “Mary’s fair busting with song tonight,” he observed with much satisfaction.

“I wish that she’d bust songs, instead of dishes,” said his wife. “She’s smashed a plate and two glasses, setting the table tonight.”

“Aw, let her be, let her be,” Newton Dunkirk murmured. “What’s a dish or two in a girl’s life?”

“Me?” the housewife cried sharply. “Are you going to marry her off to a millionaire, maybe?”

“Ain’t she worthy of it?” asked Dunkirk.

“A fine chance she has to take up with one,” Mrs. Dunkirk replied, heated with the stove and her work. “A fine, fair chance that girl has, after we’ve spread ourselves on her education and all. No, but she’ll be picking up with some lowdown, ignorant, good-for-nothin’ cowpuncher, and then slave the rest of her life away the same as other women have done… that I could tell you about!”

The sheriff felt the imputation and bit his lip. But he never struggled against the will of his better half when he found her in such a humor. Instead, he went obediently out of the room and found his daughter in the dining room putting the last touches to the table in the form of a bunch of wildflowers in a flat glass dish.

“Hey and what?” the sheriff grunted, grinning broadly. “What young gent is comin’ for dinner tonight, honey? Is it maybe Jeff Dixon?”

“Stuff!” said the girl.

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