W. C. Tuttle

“ Still, what should I care, Duke?”
“Damn little difference it makes, after a man’s dead,” nodded Duke Steele.
“True as Gospel, Duke. Life is the only thing that interests me; death I know nothing about—nor care.”
And the Saint spoke truly, when he said he did not care; for the Saint was a fatalist, a gambler, who staked his life against other men’s gold. Just as surely as Kidd and Morgan were pirates of the seas, the Saint was a pirate of the Desert, whose appearance belied his calling. Men seemed to speak softly in his presence, as though awed by the majesty of his face and great white beard. ”

“ But before the priest could begin the ceremony, Jack Meline stepped out from the wall, his bloody lips twisted strangely, and sent a bullet from a heavy revolver into the body of the big Gonzales.
It was so unlooked for that no one moved. Gonzales turned on his heel, a look of wonder on his cruel face. He did not seem to know what had happened. It seemed as if he were waiting for someone to explain. Then he went to his knees and sprawled sidewise, his huge hands gripping at the dirt floor. ”

“ Like two animals, battling to the death, they rolled in the sand, fighting with fists, elbows, knees; berserk creatures of the desert they were, fighting to the finish. There was no conversation, only grunting, choking, panting noises as they fought.
Rolling over and over, they went surging to their knees, only to go down again; digging their feet into the sand, growling, whimpering. Suddenly they fell apart and stumbled to their feet. Without a pause, the sheriff lowered his head and dived for the other, who was clawing at his holster for the gun which had been lost early in the fight. ”

“ Luck turned and went back into the house, where she stopped before a crude mirror and looked at herself closely. A misty-eyed girl stared back at her; a girl with tousled hair and compressed lips.
For a long time she stared into the mirror at herself. Lying on the old-fashioned bureau in front of her was the six-shooter that had belonged to Silver Sleed; the gun he had taught her to shoot.
Suddenly another reflection seemed to fade into the mirror, and she saw Fire French's grinning lips, waxed mustache, sparkling sapphires. ”

“ I want to set down and think about Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs and a dirty Navajo rug.’
Sleepy went into the house, where he flopped on the old couch, burying his nose in an old magazine, while Rex sat down on a corner of the porch, watching the changing lights on the hills as the sun sank lower in the west.
It was as though a painter, unsatisfied with an effect, would swiftly blot out a streak of gold and draw in a full brush of violet; only to change it to a deep mauve and then to an opaque cobalt; striking new highlights with glowing gold. ”

“ Bud staggered away from the rocks, his breath almost knocked from his body. His lungs ached and a stream of blood was running into his mouth, but he managed to pick Joe up in his arms and stagger away from the tunnel.
The glow from the burning hotel seemed to light up the whole country. Men were yelling and running about, but Bud only staggered on, half-falling, laughing foolishly, swearing at himself, as he headed for the wagon and team, which must be somewhere out that way. ”

“ The big shotgun roared like a cannon, kicked Jimmy so hard that it fairly dusted him off. He got to his feet, panting the breath back into his tortured lungs, as he surged forward, looking for concealment. The man dropped off the rock, with a yelp of amazement, possibly tinged with injury. A dozen buckshot are not to be faced lightly.
Jimmy landed behind a boulder, rubbed his shoulder, which was numb from the recoil of the shotgun, and began crawling ahead. He peered over a boulder, and a bullet filled his eyes with rock-dust. ”

“ A big miner lurched into Le Moyne, staggering him. It might have been unintentional, but Le Moyne smashed the man full in the face with a terrific blow and the big miner spun like a top into a roulette table, crashing it down like a mass of kindling.
A woman screamed, breaking the momentary silence after the crash; just outside the door, from somewhere in that mass of men, came the smack of a pistol shot. Pell, who was backed against the bar, with arms outspread, flung his arms across his face, as though to protect himself, and plunged headlong into the crowd. ”

“ Calico-clad wives of miners, children, dogs, and even a group of burros poked onto the flat to add their faces to the mournful proceedings.
Up the desert trail came two men and a lightly-packed burro; all of them gray with the dust and heat. The one who led the caravan was a mighty, weatherbeaten man, with a long, white beard. In appearance he might have been a saint. Surely he could not be a sinner, with the eyes of a dreamer, the nose of a prophet and the beard of a saint; but nature does queer things to disappoint students of physiognomy. ”

“ Anyway, she told Slim that she wouldn’t divide him up with any woman, even if there was enough of him to divide.
Poor Slim had poked his nose to the sky and wailingly assured her that he was “her’n, and only her’n.” But Sadie parted the honeysuckles, or whatever grew about the porch, and sent Slim uptown, pawing his way through a haze of indigo blue.
Slim didn’t want a drink; he wanted solitude. And where may a man find more assorted kinds of solitude than on the heat scourged planks of a desert depot. He made up his mind to be a martyr—and melt. ”

“ And on this same ranch was Dave Stevens, nicknamed Sleepy, a cowboy with an itching foot. Together they rode the range of the Hashknife, bunking together, sharing what they had, until the horizon called them and they rode away together, for ever ordained by Fate to keep on going, always looking to see what was on the other side of the hill.
Hashknife was the son of a range preacher, who propounded the gospel of life in bunk-house or in the open; teaching men how to live rather than how to die; and Hashknife had absorbed much of his philosophy as a foundation. ”

“ It is not difficult to imagine the frame of mind of those at the Flying H when eight-thirty passed and no sign of the groom and best man. The aged minister paced up and down the veranda, trying to make himself believe that everything was all right.
Down by the big gate stood Jim Wheeler, a dim figure beneath the hanging lantern. All hilarity had ceased in the kitchen. Uncle Hozie was seated in the living-room between Aunt Emma and Grandma Owens, grinning widely at nothing whatever.
Up-stairs in a bedroom were Peggy Wheeler and Laura Hatton. ”

“ I reckon that when a shepherd goes into cow-land, it’s like taking a ship into fresh water to knock off the barnacles.
He’s a queer old coot. Imagine a man of his cognomen, add the smell of sheep, dress him up around the neck like a preacher, tuck his pants into the top of a pair of heavy boots, and you’ve got a portrait of Old Testament. He rides a little calico bronc, with one cropped ear and a rat-tail, and calls it Ebenezer. ”

“ Came the sharp thud of a blow, as if something had struck the burro with a heavy impact, and the ancient animal dropped as if its legs had been suddenly yanked from under its body. In fact, its fall was so sudden that Marion jerked forward, lost her balance, and fell sprawling across its neck.
And as she fell, from somewhere back in the hills, came the report of a rifle shot. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that no one moved for a moment. Then Hashknife flung himself forward, grasped Marion in his arms and ran back to the shelter of the bunk-house, with Sleepy and Jimmy following. ”

“ Dobie was a dreamer. Old Dan had taught him how to trail, to shoot straight with a rifle and revolver, and Dobie knew every inch of those boulder-strewn, mesquite-covered hills; but Dobie did not seem to have the slightest ambition to be a border guard.
He still lived in the little half-adobe shack about two miles from the border; doing his own cooking, mending and washing. Dobie had little need of money. Odd jobs gave him enough for his immediate needs. He seemed to care for no one, except little Jane Langdon. ”

“ Johnny Grant says I’ll make a good one, if I live to finish my education.”
Marion laughed at his naive confession.
“I didn’t know that anybody ever wanted to be a cowboy,” she said. “It’s just hard work.”
Jimmy Legg looked at her, a curious expression in his eyes.
“And romance,” he said slowly. “It is a big world out here. The blue nights, the sweet air of the hills in the morning, the midday, when the air fairly hums with the heat; and then when the shadows of sunset come, and the birds call—isn’t it worth learning to be a cowboy, to live here?” ”