J. Allan Dunn

“ You, Curly, you kin git yore gun after the fence is down.”
They both glowered, but the sheriff’s face was stony. His cigarette was still between his lips, but his hands had dropped to his gun butts, signal for prompt action. He watched them as they sulkily dismounted and set to work. Once he looked at the sun and bade them hurry. Both men had wire cutters and the job did not take long, despite one lame wrist. Gorman waited while Curly fished his gun out of the water and started to dry it off.
“Fix that later,” he said. “You’re apt to be too quick with that Colt, youngster. ”

“ Cook shack ain’t good enough for him. Eats his meals in the ranch house, ’long with King an’ his niece. I’m bettin’ he ain’t popular with her. She’s runnin’ with Bud Jarrett over to Two-Bar. He’s some different from Moore. Same feller brought in the note for you this mornin’ when you was out to breakfast. Me, I’d figger Moore a toad. You after him?”
“He ain’t the biggest toad in thet ditch, Pete.”
“Meanin’ King Bradey?” Pete whistled. “He’s some toad.”
Gorman nodded. The deputy regarded him wistfully as he buckled on his spurs and donned his Stetson. ”

“ Under the new sheriff, the jail was far from being overcrowded.
“Put them law books on the shelf, Pete,” he said as the deputy appeared, an ancient whose bowed legs proclaimed the rider as well as his leather skin and the sun-puckers about his faded but still keen eyes. “I’ll be away till middle of the afternoon, likely.”
“Might as well take a real vacation an’ go fishin’. Feller cu’d be deef, dumb, blind, lame an’ ha’f witted an’ hold down this job, way you’ve got the town. Dull an’ dead as ditchwater.” ”

“ The way King Bradey sits pritty with the gents who apply the law, they’ll be gray-haired an’ toothless afore they git a decision, which may be agen ’em. If they don’t die of starvation an’ hard luck in the meantime, havin’ lost all they own.
“I reckon we’ll have to try an’ show Moore the foolishness of his ways. Mebbe King Bradey. He ain’t actin’ modern. He’s usin’ old-time methods an’ he ain’t choosin’ the best kind. But they’re the kind we sabe. I wonder if her man’s showed up agen?”
In a little while they reached a spring that was fenced in. Gorman’s eyes grew cold. ”

“ He said we stole the logs.
“That,” said Gorman aloud, as he folded up the note and put it away, “is what I’d call a mighty sensible letter for a woman in her fix. I’m sure hopin’ Sam got home, for he don’t appear to have bin in Vacada. An’ this habit of fencin’ in public springs is a foolish one.”
He had finished his cigarette at the start of the letter. The mare was cleaning up her oats when he saw her ears prick forward at something concealed from her view, and from Gorman’s, behind the willows. She did not move, but stood motionless as a dog on point. ”

“ There were schoolhouses and churches, a fire department and various lodge rooms. Banks and restaurants and hotels, garages, a steam laundry. Most marked change of all, as many women as men on the streets. ”