The Gun Fight

In the kitchen doorway, Louisa noticed her mother appear, her face confused and helpless.

“I was just g-going out on the porch,” she told her aunt

“Why?”

“I . . . just wanted some air; it’s so s-stuffy in my room.”

Agatha Winston looked at her doubtfully, her thin lips pinched together.

“I hope you’re telling me the truth, Louisa,” she said. “I hope so.”

“I am, I am.”

Agatha Winston gestured toward the staircase. “Go up to your room,” she said tersely. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Yes, Aunt Ag—”

“Agatha,” Mrs. Harper said then and Agatha Winston turned. For a moment, the two women looked out at each other and a questioning expression flickered across Elizabeth Harper’s face. Agatha seemed to guess what her sister was thinking for she turned back to Louisa quickly.

“Your room,” she said.

When Louisa had reached the top of the staircase, Agatha Winston moved to where her sister stood.

“What’s the matter with you?” she challenged. “Do you want her to know? Isn’t there enough to worry about already?”

“But it doesn’t seem fair to—”

“Fair!” Agatha Winston burst out angrily. “Would it be fair to make her sick with worry? Would it?”

Elizabeth Harper looked at her sister and was lost in hopeless confusion. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Perhaps . . . you’re right. I . . . don’t know. If only my dear—”

“I do know,” snapped Agatha Winston and went back to the stairs to listen for the closing of the upstairs door.

Up in the hallway, Louisa stood leaning against the wall watching the clock pendulum move endlessly from side to side. And there seemed to be a pendulum in her chest too that swung and struck against her heart and her ribs. Back and forth hitting her heart—her ribs—heart—ribs—heart—time passing inexorably.

Her hands shook and there was a great sick churning in her stomach.

Suddenly she sobbed. “Robby!” His name fell like a shattered thing from her lips.

In an hour and a half . . .

Chapter Twenty-seven

She’d been silent all the way back to the ranch; silent as he unhitched the mare but left his own horse saddled and tied up in front of the house. Silent as they went into the house and found the kitchen table covered with the remains of the dinner the boys had made for themselves; silent as John went into the bedroom, silent as she stood in the middle of the small kitchen, listening to the sound of his footsteps, the sound of the clock ticking, her eyes fastened to the doorway he would return through. All this time, silent.

But when he came back in, buckling on his gunbelt, she felt herself twitch suddenly and words came.

“John, you can’t,” she said, “you just can’t.”

He stopped walking and looked at her, his face strained with unvoiced tensions. For a moment his hands were motionless on the belt buckle. Then they finished up and dropped to his sides and a heavy breath of air expanded his chest before slowly emptying from it.

“I have to,” was all he said.

“But why?”

His lips pressed together a little as he stood there looking at her. Then he turned and glanced at the clock. It was almost two.

“I think you know why,” he said.

He went over to the stove and opened one of the covers. Dropping in some kindling and crumpled newspaper, he lit them with a sulfur match. Julia stood there, without a word, staring at the pistol butt bobbing slightly on his left hip as he stirred up the flames and put the coffee pot over them.

Suddenly she moved to him and her hands clutched at his arms.

“Just don’t go,” she said impulsively. “Just refuse to fight him.”

He tried to look patient with her but it didn’t work. He shook his head once, very slowly.

“But why?” she asked again, a tremor in her voice.

“Julia, you know why. You heard what Matt Coles said. If I don’t come into town, Robby’ll come out here.” His head shook again. “I won’t have that, Julia,” he said.

“But he won’t come out.”

“You know different,” he said calmly. “You know what’s behind him, pushin’.”

“But he wouldn’t shoot you down in cold blood!”

“He would if his father made him,” John said, a little more loudly now. “No, it’s no good, Julia, it’s just no good. I’m not goin’ to set here and wait for Robby to come out lookin’ for me.”

“But John, he wouldn’t shoot you, he’s not that way.”

Benton blew out a tired breath and turned back to the stove to move the coffee pot restlessly over the fire.

“Whether he shot me or not,” he said, “it’d be the same. I’d be a laughin’stock.”

“Laughingstock?” she said, uncomprehendingly. “I don’t—”

“I could never ride into town again without bein’ laughed at.”

“Well who cares about that?” Julia argued. “Isn’t it more important that—”

“I care,” Benton said, turning abruptly, his face hard and determined. “I didn’t start this fight, Julia; you know I didn’t start it. But I’m not lettin’ anybody push me into a corner and make a fool of—”

“You’d rather kill, is that it?” she said sharply.

“If that’s what you think . . .” Benton didn’t finish up but turned slowly to the stove again.

Julia felt herself trembling with nervous anger.

“We’ll move then,” she said desperately. “We’ll go away.”

“What?” He looked at her incredulously. “After all the work we’ve put into this place? Just move? What kind of an idea is that?”

“I just don’t want you to fight that boy!” she flared up at him.

His face stiffened as if he were about to yell back at her but he repressed it instantly.

“Listen, Julia,” he said, “I’ve done everything you ever asked of me. I finally left the Rangers because you couldn’t take worryin’ anymore, it wasn’t just the Grahams. I never wore a gun in the town, I only wore it on the ranch. I didn’t even join that posse though I should have. But don’t ask me to back out of this.”

“You said you’d never put on a gun against anyone as long as you lived,” she said in a hollow voice.

He looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

“Julia, what do you want me to do—forget I’m a man? Creep away from this fight? I didn’t start the damn thing, I didn’t have a thing to do with it. But, for God’s sake, don’t expect me to run away from it when—”

“You promised, John.” It was all she could say.

“I said I wouldn’t put on a gun against anybody! I never said I wouldn’t defend myself! Can’t you see there’s a difference?”

“This isn’t just anybody!” she said vehemently. “This is a boy who hasn’t got a chance against you!”

“I make it that way?” he asked. “Did I tell him to challenge me?”

“It doesn’t matter who challenged who! You can’t fight him, that’s all!”

“Julia, I’m going to fight him.”

The words seemed to come from the very depth of her fear and her fury; they fell from her lips slowly and