by Adam Brady
Halliday slid his gun back into the cutaway holster and headed for Crowe.
Judge Cowper and his friends were on the move again, heading straight for Henley.
Cursing and clutching the six-gun with the broken butt plate, Henley let the horse go and started toward the saloon, but he waited there on the boardwalk as if he could not decide which way to run. Then Cowper’s voice came to him loud and clear;
“Your time’s up, Henley.”
Henley dragged the swing doors apart, cursed and fumbled in his vest for the key to the storm doors. With his key in the lock, he turned and glared at the old judge. Until he fired, no one knew that he had his gun out.
The shot went wild, but it came close enough to the judge to make the old man step to the side and put his well-worn hunting rifle to his shoulder.
“He’s yours,” Halliday called to Cowper without taking his eyes from the gunfighter just ahead of him.
Crowe had fallen onto his side, his face white with shock.
“Are you hit?” Crowe gasped.
“Only my hat.”
“Well, ain’t that somethin’?”
“It didn’t have to be this way, Ben,” Halliday said.
Crowe managed a tight smile.
“You know better’n that, Buck,” he said. “Now listen close. About five miles outta town, you’ll find the stage and the dead driver. Henley did that—shot him in the back. I don’t want anybody sayin’ I’d do a thing like that.”
“I’m obliged for the information,” Halliday said, “but I would’ve known that wasn’t your style without you sayin’ so.”
“Yeah,” Crowe said weakly. “I made a mistake, though. Don’t know where exactly, but I done somethin’ wrong. You should be the one that’s dyin’ ...”
The light went out of his eyes, and his body shuddered in a last, violent struggle for life.
It was too late to tell him, but Halliday said it anyway.
“You went wrong where we all did, Ben. When you first found out you were so damn good with a gun.”
People were edging out of the buildings along Main Street now, whispering and staring. Halliday saw the banker in the crowd and went to him and asked;
“Would you do somethin’ for me, Mr. Carrigan?”
“Yes, Sheriff, anything you ask!”
“I want you to give this to the judge. Tell him it don’t sit right with me.”
Halliday took the star from his chest and dropped it in the banker’s hand.
“And one other thing,” Halliday said as the man began to move away. “See that Ben gets a proper burial.”
“I will,” the banker said solemnly as he watched Halliday walk away.
Halliday pulled the broken door loose at the jailhouse and set it against the wall. He went inside only long enough to grab his saddlebag, and then he headed for the livery.
He was tightening the cinch on the sorrel when he heard a ragged burst of gunfire coming from the back of the saloon. The shooting stopped as abruptly as it had started.
Halliday swung into the saddle and guided the sorrel toward the back street.
“Mr. Halliday! Mr. Halliday!”
The banker was running after him, the tin star still in his hand.
“Was that Henley?” Halliday asked.
“Yes, it was,” the banker said. “He’s dead now ... but he got his wife before the judge could stop him. Julie’s dead, too.”
Halliday stared at the open range beyond the town limits.
“That’s a damn shame,” he said. “Julie had a lot of good in her. It was just that her luck was all bad.”
“I know,” the banker said heavily.
“Well, it’s time for me to get goin’,” Halliday said, but the banker came around in front of the sorrel, shaking his head.
“You can’t just ride away like this, Mr. Halliday,” he said. “The judge wants to see you. A lot of people want to thank you for what you did ...”
“I’ve been paid in full,” Halliday told him as he edged the horse past and left the man staring stupidly after him.
“It will never be the same, Beth,” the judge muttered, looking down the street toward the jailhouse in the distance. “He’s left his mark here.”
Beth said nothing, but her eyes were brimming with tears.
Cowper turned to look her full in the face, and then he nodded and said, “He left a mark on you, too, didn’t he?”
Beth bit her lip and looked away.
“By hell, he did,” the judge said with a gush of understanding. “Does he know how you feel about him, girl?”
Beth shook her head.
“He didn’t want me, Uncle.”
“But did he know ...?”
Beth shook her head, her hair falling around her face.
“There was never a chance to tell him,” she said jerkily. “Not among all the shooting and fighting and ... worry.”
“That’s all finished now, Beth,” the judge said with more than a touch of pride. “And this town still needs him. We’ll all be sorry if we let him just slip through our fingers ...”
“What can I do, Uncle?” Beth asked. “He just rode away. He’s gone, and he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.”
“A man like that never says goodbye to anyone,” the judge said firmly. “That doesn’t mean a thing. Now you listen, young lady. My horse is still saddled in the yard. You take it, and you go after that man. He’s only been gone a few minutes, and if you hurry, you can catch him up at the river. When you find him, you say what’s in your heart. Say it plain.”
“Do you really think I should?” Beth asked, and the judge heard the hope trembling in her voice.
“You’ll never know by staying here talking to a foolish old man,” Cowper told her sternly.
Buck Halliday saw her coming and waited in the shade of a tree on the bank of Shimmer Creek. As she came near, she slowed the horse to a walk. Finally, she was close enough for him to take the horse’s reins and help her down from the saddle.
Despite herself, the touch of his hands made her think of the night he had seen her naked and carried her to her bed. She could feel her face burning with shame—or was it excitement? All in a rush, she said;
“The town needs you, Buck.”
“But I don’t need the town.”
“You’re looking for something else then?” Beth asked, and she could not keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“I’m past lookin’,” Halliday said. “I’ve found what I want, but I don’t know how I can keep it.”
Beth felt a tightness in her throat.
“Is it me, Buck?” she asked, shocked at her own brazenness.
“Yes, it’s you. I knew that as soon as I saw what Mitchener and Shelton tried to do to you.”
Beth felt like her whole body was blushing.
“You mean you felt sorry for me.”
“That’s not what I mean at all. I felt sorry for Julie Henley. It’s somethin’ else with you.”
“And what might that be?”
“A lot of things. Some of it’s mighty hard to say.”
“Just try,” she whispered.
“You’re brave and tough in any situation. You’re kind and gentle, too.”
He stopped there, and Beth seemed disappointed.
“And you’re enough of a woman to give a man everything he needs. I knew that the first time I saw you.”
“Oh,” she said, and she stepped into his arms and laid her head against his chest. “I’m so glad you know that. I didn’t know how to tell you, Buck ...”
Slowly, gently, she was pushing him back under the tree, where the grass was soft as a carpet. Then she sank to her knees and held his hands to pull him down beside her.
“Beth,” he said. “There’s somethin’ else I have to say to you, and I better do it now.”
“Is it really that important?”
“I’m not comin’ back to town with you.”
“I know that, Buck,�
� she told him calmly. “One day you will come back to me, but not now.”
“Pretty lady, you sure are full of surprises,” he said.
“I know,” she said as she lay back on the grass.
“Is this really what you want?”
“Yes.”
The dew was settling and the stars were fading from the sky when the man and the woman reached contentment.
Silently, Beth sat up and began to smooth her hair back from her face.
Buck Halliday lay on his back, watching her turning back into the prim and proper person most folks thought of only as the judge’s niece.
“I want you to go,” Beth said firmly. “You’re not ready to settle down yet. Trying to force you to stay would be worse than having a dog that runs away every time the gate is left open.”
“I know I’ve got my faults,” Halliday muttered, “but ain’t you bein’ a little harsh?”
“Not when I say I expect you to come back to me, just as soon as you are ready to stay,” she told him.
“You’re somethin’ special, Beth.”
“So are you, Buck Halliday,” she said as she stood up and gave her skirt a shake. “But don’t think for a minute that means I’m going to stand here crying while you ride off without a backward glance. I expect that’s your usual style, but I’m going to give you something different to remember me by.”
“What might that be?”
“I’m the one that’s leaving you behind,” she said as she lifted her skirts to climb into the saddle. “I want you back, but not until you’re all through wandering. Just you remember that every time some female feasts her eyes on you.”
“I will, Beth,” he said. “That’s a promise.”
“Good.”
He watched her ride off into the sunrise, and then he reached for his hat and his gunrig.
“You really are somethin’ special,” he said again as he whistled up the sorrel.
About the Author
Adam Brady was one of many pseudonyms used by prolific Australian writer Desmond Robert Dunn (6 November 1929-5 May 2003). In addition to four crime novels published under his own name, Des was a tireless western writer whose career spanned more than fifty years and well in excess of 400 oaters. These quick-moving, vivid and always compelling stories appeared under such pen-names as Shad Denver, Gunn Halliday, Sheldon B. Cole, Brett Iverson, Matt Cregan, Walt Renwick and Morgan Culp. He is also said to have written a number of the ever-popular Larry Kent P.I. novels, but at this late date author attribution is almost impossible. He married and divorced twice, and had three children. He died at the age of 73 in Brisbane, Queensland.
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