Ride the Man Down by Luke; Short Page B

argued. We didn’t bring him along.”
    Ike grinned then, and surprisingly the Young brothers grinned back at him.
    â€œMaybe,” Ike said in a dry, dubious voice, “you’ll make Hatchet hands yet.”

Chapter 8
    It was the following afternoon that Celia heard the door into the office close and she said, “Wait, Sam,” and went into the corridor. Paused there, she listened, head tilted and looking absently at Sam, who had ceased his pacing in the exact center of the pattern on the living-room carpet.
    She heard movement in the office and started hurriedly down the corridor. Halfway, the office door opened and Will started through it and then, seeing her, he stopped and stepped back into the office.
    Celia came forward slowly, a kind of dread holding her back. She first saw the somber ugliness in Will’s deep-set eyes, the tough, unforgiving set of his lean jaw, and she knew.
    She said, “John’s dead,” and Will nodded.
    Sam tramped heavily down the corridor and came into the room and said, “What? What’s that, Will?”
    â€œCavanaugh shot him.”
    Sam looked skeptical. “How do you know?”
    Briefly Will told of what had passed at Ten Mile and of what the girl had told him.
    Celia only half listened to him. She was gauging the depth of Will’s temper now, listening to his quiet, unemotional, words, and she detected in them a reluctance to talk about this. In herself she strangely felt nothing, and she knew it was because she had expected it, was certain it would happen. In her own mind she had been grieving for John Evarts these past three days, and she knew that Will had too. It was Sam who was shocked, whose slow mind turned over these facts uncomprehendingly, really only half believing them.
    As Will concluded he was looking at her, talking to her, and she had a fleeting glimpse of his anger. He would be as implacable as an Indian now, and Celia, seeing this, was afraid.
    Will said to her, “Hatchet’s yours now, Celia,” and walked over to the desk.
    She didn’t say anything, and Will turned and looked searchingly at her. Then his glance dropped and he said quietly, “I’m quitting.” His glance raised quickly again, holding hers, searching for understanding.
    I’ve got to be careful , Celia thought, and she said nothing. She walked over to the worn sofa and sat on it, hearing Sam say, “There’s nothing more you can do, Will,” in an unctuous tone of voice that she hated.
    Will didn’t look at Sam, didn’t answer him. He came out into the middle of the room, facing her, his big shoulders a little stooped, and he was waiting for her answer.
    Celia understood instinctively that a choice was here and that it would be irrevocable. Will was going to kill a man, and he did not want her to share the blame. If she was silent Will would ride off Hatchet and never blame her for her decision, and she knew deep within her that she would not let him go. He was a part of her and a part of her life. If she had liked that in him which she had seen each day these past six years then she must like this, because this was Will Ballard too. Nothing mattered now, except that she must take the ugly with the fine. And even now, Will was generous; he was trying to free her of any responsibility.
    Only a corner of her mind acknowledged Sam Danfelser as she said, “I’ll stand by you, Will.”
    Will said, “Celia, I—”
    â€œI know,” Celia said quickly. “If it’s what you have to do, Will, then do it. I’ll stand by you.”
    Sam looked in puzzlement from one to the other, not understanding this. Neither of them was including him, and he said in flat protest, “Celia, what are you talking about?”
    Will looked at him and said, “Cavanaugh.”
    Sam didn’t even understand then for a long moment, but when he did the alarm in his eyes was immediate.
    â€œNow