“If we don’t kill him this month can we ante again next month?” asks
Half-Mile.
“Just as long as it takes you,” says I, and tucks the fifteen into my
pocket.
I uses oratory to get an audience with the judge and Pete. I stands at
the corner of the building and discourses thusly:
“Gents, I am neutral. I ain’t mad at nobody and my mission is peace on
earth and something to bury you with when you die. Can I come in?”
“It’s the voice of Ike Harper but the argument of a undertaker,” says
Pete. “Come on in, you danged old pelican.”
I got the anvil between me and Mighty Jones and fills out two more
applications.
“Five dollars!” yawps Pete. “Five hundred dollars when I die? Haw!
Haw! Haw! Mighty Jones couldn’t hit a flock of passenger trains. Me
and the judge has just about got his location figured out and I’ll
bet we shuffle him off inside of another box of shells.”
“Yes, and what good will his corpse be to you? Revenge is sweet, but
wouldn’t it be sweeter if you could each collect five hundred dollars
on his re-mains?”
“My ----!” snorts the judge. “Is there a bounty on him?”
Say, I explained it to them, and I has a hard time getting away. They
each wanted to take out two against poor Mighty.
“Do we bring in the whole carcass or just the ears, like they do with
coyotes?” asks Pete.
“Better keep all of him until we figures out some system.”
Old Testament was harder to get at. I sneaks to the back of the stable,
leans a peeled pole up to the hay window and starts climbing. I figures
to see him before I see Buck. It ain’t over thirty feet up that pole,
but she’s a long ways when you’re expecting to be assaulted front and
rear any minute. I gets one knee over the edge of the window when down
on my head comes a fork-handle and I falls inside just in time to get
the drag of both barrels of a shotgun from the rear.
I feels that I’m plumb ragged of rear, but the ringing in my ears makes
me forget the pain. I seems to hear Buck’s voice saying--
“I’ll teach you to promote a drouth!”
Then I hears Testament say pious-like:
“In the midst of life we are in death.”
“It sure had its stinger working this day and date,” says I.
Testament has got his head and arms out of the hay and is holding a
busted fork-handle.
“The wicked shall perish,” says Testament.
“And the innocent shall suffer,” says I, feeling myself.
“I am prepared to die for my convictions,” says he.
“How are you fixed for a funeral?” I asks. “Got plenty left to plant
your remains?”
“I may not die. I shall go softly and pray that this fork-handle faileth
me not.”
“And just about bust Buck’s head wide open, eh?”
“Yea.”
“And let the city bury him, Testament. Ever ponder on that? It’s all
right to kill a man, but a killer ought to bury his dead. Now, here
is the idea: You pay us five dollars per month as long as Buck lives
and when he dies we’ll give you five hundred dollars. That will give
him a decent funeral.”
“It won’t take that much, Ike.”
“You preach the sermon and keep the balance.”
* * * * *
I was afraid to slide down that pole. I looks the place over for
possibilities--and found one. I decided to tread lightly to the front
and peek down at Buck, but in treading lightly over the hay I treaded
over a hay-hole, but not lightly enough to keep from going hence.
I grabbed both hands full of hay and then cometh flashing lights, the
crashing of thunder and the smell of powder smoke. After while I seems
to be coming from under the anesthetic and I shake all over. After while
I finds out why I shake.
I’m setting on Buck’s back and he’s acting restless. There’s an old
shotgun sticking out of a manger and I feel that it must have went
awful high to get there.
I takes out an application, writes Old Testament’s name on it and then
rolls Buck over and props him against the manger.
“Did--did anybody gug-get out alive?” he wheezes.
“None,” says I, wrapping his fingers around a pencil. “Sign your name on
the dotted line and give me five dollars. I’m taking up a collection for
the victims.”