W. C. Tuttle

“ The folks are grouped in kind of a half-circle around the doorway. Glory and the old man are on the steps, with the kid between ’em. On the left side of the doorway is Jim Sillman. Standing at the rear of the half-circle, looking like a turkey gobbler in a flock of turkeys, stands Sol Vane, craning his long, dirty neck and chewing a mouthful of tobacco that stretches his face all out of shape. They turns and looks at us.
“Yuh might use up that one look right now,” says Hashknife.
The bunch kinda sway away from each other. One cinch, there’s never any chance for pot-shooting on Willer Crick. ”

“ I seen a feller drop flat and slide under the sidewalk, and I know it won’t take ’em long to get their guns loaded.
We ain’t over a hundred yards from the crowd, and I can see that we can’t scatter ’em much with two guns. I yells at Hashknife to look out. He turned in his saddle, keeping himself between Buddy and the crowd. I saw him throw up his rifle and take deliberate aim. I was trying to shift them books on to the horn of my saddle, so I could shoot. A bullet splatted into the books, but before I could lift my gun, Hashknife’s shot was echoed by a crash that shook up the whole country. ”

“ Our bullets sure have carved our trade-marks in their furniture and walls. Willer Crick wails when they see me with their books.
“Good stuff!” grunts Hashknife. “Now, maybe they’ll sign my little paper.”
I never seen folks so anxious to sign anything. Hashknife held the paper on the brim of his hat so that Sim Sellers can sign. I unloads all them guns and then throws the whole works under the sidewalk, where nobody can get one quick. ”

“ I sees Sol Vane swaller real hard and the bulge is gone from his skinny cheeks. The rest of the bunch just seem to stare at us.
Hashknife has got his eyes on that big-talker, who is just about in the center of the crowd. He’s sort of round-shouldered, fish-eyed and looks like he ain’t been curried for a year. His eyes are flat, if you know what I mean. They’re like the eyes they put in mounted animals. He’s got a big gun hanging on his hip, but he ain’t made a move toward it yet. ”

“ I reckon that Willer Crick was too excited to take a shot at us when we went across the street.
Extending out from the side of the shed is a pile of old lumber, which we proceeds to get behind. It’s about three feet high and ten feet long. Between us and the other side of the street is the tie-rack, full of saddle-horses.
The feller who got knocked down is crawling out of sight behind the saloon, and Hashknife’s bronc is just wandering around between the saloon and the store. ”

“ Me and Hashknife cut cards to see which of us would marry Glory Sillman, accept five hundred dollars in place of a wife and then leave the country. This was to save Jim Sillman from the law of the Crick, and would also allow Glory to go outside and get educated like a human being. Willer Crick had a peculiar law. It seems that they rules that a girl has to stay on the crick until she gets married. After she’s hooked up she can leave. Of course, they means to make her marry one of their own bunch, but their law don’t specify that. ”

“ I glances at the bunch and then at Hashknife, who was facing them with a gun in his hand.
“Hashknife,” says I, “you do take the worst chances. These Willer Crick rattlers has more than one set of fangs. Little more and that Alaska trip would ’a’ been all off.”
“You’re the little snake-hunter, Sleepy,” he grins. “Much obliged.”
Then he faces the bunch and they’re sure one uneasy crowd. Me downin’ that feller don’t mean nothin’ to them—much. Hashknife glances from face to face, and finally looks straight at Sillman. ”

“ And you say that Willer Crick will tend to him. Why—” Hashknife teeters on his toes and hooks his thumb over the belt above his gun—“why, you herd of mangy curs! You pack of gutter pups! Go ahead, you chinless maverick—reach for your gun! No? Then listen to me, you lousy cowards! You, Sillman! I thought you was an inch or two above this carrion, but you ain’t. You’re all alike. You’ve married your own relations until your brains are warped and shrunk so badly that you ain’t above eatin’ your own kind. The cannibal will protect its own blood, but you coyotes won’t.” ”

“ Willer Crick is stuck. They shuffles their feet and swallers hard.
“Your home-made law is a thing of the past,” observes Hashknife. “I’ll send the sheriff in here after Cale Ames, and mebbe Cale won’t be the only one he rounds up.”
I got the horses, while Hashknife holds the crowd. Hashknife takes Buddy with him, while I take the law of Willer Crick. We starts away, with the crowd watching us, but all to once they makes a dive across the street toward the hitch-rack. ”

“ Them Willer Crick hills sure do look natural. We rides past the old Godfrey ranch, which me and Hashknife owned for a few days. The old ranch-house is still squeegeed from the force of the dynamite, when the “heirs apparently,” as Sol Vane called ’em, dug into the alleged grave of poor old Godfrey. It looks like nobody had ever lived in it since we left.
We rides on past the Sillman ranch, where Hashknife came danged near being a bridegroom and a cash-widower. We don’t see anybody around there, but Willer Crick is a great place for folks to not be in evidence. ”

“ We hereby agree to see that the ranch is run right and the money turned over to Buddy. We hereby agree to abolish all our old laws and live like the rest of the world. We hereby sign our names.”
“You’re crazy!” wails Sim Sellers from where he sets in the street. “We’ll never sign that.”
The rest of ’em shake their heads.
“Yuh can’t get away with nothin’ like that,” says Sol. “We aims to live as we please. Yuh can’t set there and keep us rounded up forever.”
“Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “go up into the hall and see if yuh can’t find some Willer Crick records.” ”

“ Which wasn’t true in Glory’s case, being as her dad had busted the law by marrying outside the colony.
This close relationship has bred a fine bunch of chinless horse-thieves, gun-men and hard drinkers. Seems like the men with the least chins always carries the most guns. There had never been a Willer Cricker arrested for anything else. Willer Crick dealt with ’em in their own way, and kept its mouth shut, except when it came to lying about their own innocence.
Me and Hashknife rides along for a while and then Hashknife pulls up his horse and looks back. ”

“ Did the mule kick yuh or did the old man bite yuh?”
Bassett refuses to talk, and the other feller is too sick to remember.
“A feller by the name of Poky Vane is tied up in Mitch Ames’ cabin,” says Hashknife. “I reckon you’ll see that he gets loose.”
“Willer Crick will git you yet!” snarls Bassett.
“I refuse to argue,” grins Hashknife.
“Home won’t never seem the same to you fellers. Adios.”
We left ’em there in the road.
“Why didn’t we take Cale Ames out with us, Hashknife?” I asks. “Mebbe the sheriff won’t be able to find him.” ”

“ Willer Crick wouldn’t hurt a preacher.”
“Not while he’s preachin’; but he can’t sermonize all the time. Willer Crick needs reformin’, Sleepy, but it’s got to be done in a language they understand.”
“It’s a fool idea,” I argues, “Willer Crick ain’t forgot us. They may be ignorant, but their memory ain’t weak. They may be shy on literature and art, Hashknife, but they sure as —— can shoot, and they’ll just about put the kibosh on us ever getting to Alaska.”
“You sure do get morbid, Sleepy. If Willer Crick had brains I’d pass ’em by. They can’t think beyond next drink-time. ”

“ We’ve got to be careful that we don’t hit Buddy.”
Then Willer Crick starts in to make a lead mine out of our lumber pile, but them old boards sure do stop bullets. One feller gets cocky and looks out of the door. I lifts his hat and I think a part of his scalp, cause he yelps like a bee had stung him.
“Don’t shoot until you’re sure,” grins Hashknife. “We can’t take any chances of hittin’ our little jigger.”
“Think a lot of that kid, don’t yuh,” says I.
“’Thout a doubt in the world, Sleepy.” ”

“ THERE IS A CLICK ON WILLER CRICK
THE WORST IN ALL THIS NASHUN.
THE HITE OF THEIR AMBISHUN
IS TO BEAT THEIR OWN RELASHUN.
“Still advertisin’, I see,” grins Hashknife. “Them folks sure are a caution to ——, Sleepy. I wonder if Sol Vane’s hair ever growed on his head again. Wonder if Glory—say, Sleepy, there was a reg’lar girl. ’Member how she used to fill the magazine of her rifle after shootin’ once or twice? Reg’lar little he-woman. ”

“ No, Willer Crick has been a closed incident to us. Not that we’re silent folks, ’cause we ain’t. I can talk the bark off a greasewood, and Hashknife Hartley—man, he’s a conversationalist. It’s kinda funny that we never talked about the Willer Crick folks, ’cause they sure are worth talking about. Sol Vane, who does the lawin’ for the Crick, Jim Sillman, one of the Council of Three, old Ebenezer Godfrey—they’re one goshawful layout. ”

“ Glory looks at Buddy and then at Hashknife.
“I’m goin’ to adopt him,” says Hashknife. “Yuh might come with us, Glory. There ain’t no more Willer Crick law to stop yuh now. The trail’s wide open.”
Glory and Hashknife sets there and looks at each other. I looks at the old man and he looks at me. ”

“ Me and “Hashknife” Hartley sets there on our broncs and spells out the old sign, just like it was the first time we ever seen it. The good Lord only knows why we’re back at the old sign. Willer Crick don’t mean nothing to us. Glory Sillman lives, or did live, on Willer Crick, but her name ain’t never figured in any of our conversations since the day we fogged away from Willer Crick. ”

“ There ain’t much furniture, but it’s clean, which is something in Willer Crick.
“Don’t yuh never have no little boys to play with?” I asks.
“Li’l boys?” says Buddy, “I’m li’l boy.”
“This country ain’t human, Sleepy,” says Hashknife. “This here family must ’a’ been ignored complete, the same of which would drive anybody loco. Honest, I thought Jim Sillman was half-human, but he ain’t. Glory’s a humdinger, but she’s sure handicapped. Think of these hombres spyin’ on her to see if she ever comes to see her sister-in-law. Ain’t they the meanest, sneakinest bunch of pariah dogs yuh ever seen? ”

“ There’s several saddle horses tied to the rack. The town hall has an outside stairway and around the bottom of this is grouped four men. When we get off our broncs one of the men strolls over to us. It’s Al Bassett. Al was one of those who was very active in seeking our demise when we were in Willer Crick before, but me and Hashknife never figured him much of anything but a talker. He squints at us. ”

“ I reckon I shot high.”
“Eph went to see if he could get a little medicine,” says Glory, and her voice is high pitched. Then she adds, “But it wouldn’t ’a’ done any good.”
“Did—did she die?” asks Jim Sillman.
“She was my daughter,” says the old man. “My daughter.”
“This here e-state will need considerin’,” says a voice.
“My gosh, there’s Sol Vane!” gasps Hashknife.
“How about the kid?” asks some one.
“He don’t count,” declares another. “He’s the brat of a outlander. Mebbe we better look around fer them two gun-fighters.” ”

“ The brush is kinda thick and we can only see one side of the cabin. We lay there quite a while, but there ain’t no more shots. We kinda snakes along until we works up beside the cabin, where we listens for a while, but can’t hear a thing. ”

“ Tell your friends that we’re receivin’ company at any time.”
They files past us and picks up Lem Seller. I don’t reckon Lem’s plumb dead, but he ain’t in no shape to help himself much. They loads him up and drifts, while me and Hashknife and the little kid stands there and watches ’em go. ”

“ He’s got a fifty-pound box of dynamite in his arms, a box of blasting caps and a coil of fuse.
“Whatcha goin’ to do?” I asks.
“Give ’em a taste of their own medicine, Sleepy. When I get around the corner here start shooting. Empty your rifle and then empty mine. Sabe? Fan them windows to a fare-thee-well, and I’ll do the rest. Buddy, keep down low. Ready?”
I takes both rifles, nods to him and starts throwing lead. ”

“ They has that room fixed up like a court-room, with kind of a place for the judges and all that kind of thing. Cale Ames is setting on the floor near a window, holding onto the side of his head. I looked him over for weapons, but he’s harmless. ”

“ Council meeting called, I think. They met here last night, but I didn’t get any chance to hear what was said. They’re all suspicious of me. Sim Sellers wants me to be punished for assisting Eph’s wife, and him and dad had a run-in over it. ”