Michael J. Phillips

“ He turned to Pete, who sat immovable, hatred in his narrow eyes.
“I see you have a rifle on your saddle. I happen to have one with me. You take your gun and get down behind that log I saw out here by the road as we came up. That gives you an advantage. I’ll lie out in the open a couple hundred yards away, say.
“When these boys give the word, we shoot. Start advancing whenever you feel like it. We keep on shooting till one has enough, or”—he shrugged his shoulders—“somebody gets hurt.”
“For God’s sake, Henry!” burst out the larger khaki-clad man. “That’s murder! Think of your family.” ”

“ What did you let him goad this drunken cowpuncher for?”
Ed turned a bitter eye on him. “Do something?” he echoed. “Say, I’ve been trying to do something with that little worm for forty years! He jumps from one trouble to another like a mountain-goat! Always jumps out again, though; I’ll say that for him.” This in grudging afterthought.
The traveling man clawed his sleeve. “But this is murder!” he protested. “He hasn’t got a chance. This cowboy’ll stiffen him, first shot.”
Poor little Henry did seem pitifully exposed. From where they stood, he was clearly outlined in the bare sand. Ed grunted. ”

“ He tapped the counter gently with a black, squat, ugly-looking automatic. “Don’t reach for that gun again, kid, or I’ll blow your ribs out.”
Chihuahua Pete gave him a quick, sidewise look and again turned his attention to the little man, standing almost at his elbow. His face was a trifle pale. Sam and the travelers were immovable and tense.
“Thanks, Ed,” returned the little man placidly. “My game’s to teach this young bully some manners. He demonstrated on me just now. Turn about’s fair play. ”

“ But I don’t laugh no more, _hombre_.”
He looked after the pair ahead with a sort of proprietory pride. “Just ordinary citizens, but it shows what kind o’ people us Americans are. Is it any wonder we won that damn’ war?” ”