WAS irritable. He glared at Neill. "Sometimes I think you don't care whether we find that Key-Lock man or not."
The hard riding of the past few weeks had put an edge to Neill's temper, too, and he was growing up. Too long he had worried about what Bill Chesney thought, and a man earned respect not by following in another man's tracks, but by making his own.
"I am not riding to kill a man. If he shot Johnny in the back he deserves hanging, but he should get a chance to tell his side of it. He claims it was a fair shooting."
"Claims?" Chesney's tone was ugly. "What did you expect him to do-confess?"
"He had his chance if he wanted to kill. He could have had one or more of us and gotten off down that wash. And when it comes to that, Bill, you know as well as I do that Johnny was a trouble-hunter. He fancied himself with those guns of his."
"You tryin' to tell me about Johnny? Why, you-was "Take it easy, Bill." Kimmel spoke with quiet authority. "You've got no call to ride Neill."
Chesney wheeled on Kimmel. "You, too?"
Neill might be an uncertain quantity, but Kimmel was not. Whatever else he might be, Kimmel was definitely a dangerous man to tangle with in any kind of a fight. Now, through the heat of Chesney's anger blew the cool wind of sanity. Kimmel, relaxed, rested on one elbow, saying nothing more.
The fire crackled in the night's stillness, and Neill added fuel to it. Then he commented, "I came along because I intend to see fair play. We don't know the circumstances of the killing and we don't know this man. If you ask me, he shapes up like somebody to ride the river with, as Sam would say. It might just be that Johnny tackled too much man."
"Hell, nobody was as fast as Johnny,"
Chesney declared but with less heat.
"Nobody? Not even Jim Courtright, or Clay Allison? Or Wild Bill?"
"That Key-Lock man is no Wild Bill."
"You can't be sure, Bill. If you can read anything at all from a man's trail, this one is a curly wolf."
In the silence that followed this remark, the leaves were restless, and the flames leaned before a puff of wind.
"Before this here is over," Kimmel said, "somebody is sure going to buy chips to make him show his hand."
"Look at it this way, Bill," Neill said quietly. "We're starting a new town. Sure, it isn't much of a place yet, but it can be. You and me, we'll raise our families there, and we don't want it to start off with the lynching of an innocent man."
Chesney made no reply, but his jaw was set hard and his face seemed closed to reason.
Neill got up to gather more fuel, but he paused for several minutes, hands on hips, and looked up at the stars. Well, he had asserted himself, at least. He had said what he had to say, and he felt better because of it. He wanted friends, of course, but the friends a man had must accept him on his own terms, and not because he merely stepped in their tracks.
Half the trouble in the world, he thought, was probably caused because right-thinking people kept their mouths shut instead of speaking up and saying what they believed.
Nobody knew what had happened in that saloon except Johnny and the man they hunted. All agreed that the Key-Lock man had to go get his gun from his pack, and that did not argue that he was a trouble-hunter. It could be that Johnny had tried to run up a score against the wrong man.
Some men would naturally back down. Neill himself had kept his mouth shut more than once in the past few years. He was a stranger and he did not know the people or the country, and it was good to wait until you knew what you were talking about. But Kimmel had stood his ground against Chesney, and you could bet that the next time Chesney rode out he would want Kimmel with him.
He had sand, and they all knew it.
Neill was some distance from the fire when he heard Chesney grumbling. "... too big for his britches."
"You lay off him," Kimmel was saying. "That boy's solid. You push him and you're goin' to have to shoot him or get shot."
"Him?"
The
The hard riding of the past few weeks had put an edge to Neill's temper, too, and he was growing up. Too long he had worried about what Bill Chesney thought, and a man earned respect not by following in another man's tracks, but by making his own.
"I am not riding to kill a man. If he shot Johnny in the back he deserves hanging, but he should get a chance to tell his side of it. He claims it was a fair shooting."
"Claims?" Chesney's tone was ugly. "What did you expect him to do-confess?"
"He had his chance if he wanted to kill. He could have had one or more of us and gotten off down that wash. And when it comes to that, Bill, you know as well as I do that Johnny was a trouble-hunter. He fancied himself with those guns of his."
"You tryin' to tell me about Johnny? Why, you-was "Take it easy, Bill." Kimmel spoke with quiet authority. "You've got no call to ride Neill."
Chesney wheeled on Kimmel. "You, too?"
Neill might be an uncertain quantity, but Kimmel was not. Whatever else he might be, Kimmel was definitely a dangerous man to tangle with in any kind of a fight. Now, through the heat of Chesney's anger blew the cool wind of sanity. Kimmel, relaxed, rested on one elbow, saying nothing more.
The fire crackled in the night's stillness, and Neill added fuel to it. Then he commented, "I came along because I intend to see fair play. We don't know the circumstances of the killing and we don't know this man. If you ask me, he shapes up like somebody to ride the river with, as Sam would say. It might just be that Johnny tackled too much man."
"Hell, nobody was as fast as Johnny,"
Chesney declared but with less heat.
"Nobody? Not even Jim Courtright, or Clay Allison? Or Wild Bill?"
"That Key-Lock man is no Wild Bill."
"You can't be sure, Bill. If you can read anything at all from a man's trail, this one is a curly wolf."
In the silence that followed this remark, the leaves were restless, and the flames leaned before a puff of wind.
"Before this here is over," Kimmel said, "somebody is sure going to buy chips to make him show his hand."
"Look at it this way, Bill," Neill said quietly. "We're starting a new town. Sure, it isn't much of a place yet, but it can be. You and me, we'll raise our families there, and we don't want it to start off with the lynching of an innocent man."
Chesney made no reply, but his jaw was set hard and his face seemed closed to reason.
Neill got up to gather more fuel, but he paused for several minutes, hands on hips, and looked up at the stars. Well, he had asserted himself, at least. He had said what he had to say, and he felt better because of it. He wanted friends, of course, but the friends a man had must accept him on his own terms, and not because he merely stepped in their tracks.
Half the trouble in the world, he thought, was probably caused because right-thinking people kept their mouths shut instead of speaking up and saying what they believed.
Nobody knew what had happened in that saloon except Johnny and the man they hunted. All agreed that the Key-Lock man had to go get his gun from his pack, and that did not argue that he was a trouble-hunter. It could be that Johnny had tried to run up a score against the wrong man.
Some men would naturally back down. Neill himself had kept his mouth shut more than once in the past few years. He was a stranger and he did not know the people or the country, and it was good to wait until you knew what you were talking about. But Kimmel had stood his ground against Chesney, and you could bet that the next time Chesney rode out he would want Kimmel with him.
He had sand, and they all knew it.
Neill was some distance from the fire when he heard Chesney grumbling. "... too big for his britches."
"You lay off him," Kimmel was saying. "That boy's solid. You push him and you're goin' to have to shoot him or get shot."
"Him?"
The
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