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Authors: Bill Crider
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plowed the street beside him, but this time he didn't move. He had figured out that she wasn't going to hurt him.
"You leave my daddy out of this," she said. "I'll handle my daddy, don't you worry." She pulled the trigger again, and the heavy pistol jumped in her hand.
She didn't want to talk about her father. It was her father that had got her into this, all right, and she wasn't going back to his house ever again, or at least not for a while. She had a little money of her own, and she could live in the hotel for a good while if she had to. She wasn't going to let her father marry her off to some two-timing cow-waddy, even if the waddy did have those pretty blue eyes.
She was about to squeeze off another shot when she saw someone running down the street from the direction of the jail.
Ward Vincent, she thought. Well, he didn't have much gumption, in her opinion. He wouldn't do anything to stop her, and if he tried, she'd just tell him why she was shooting up the town in the first place. That would give him a surprise, and it would shame Charley.
That was just fine with her. She didn't care if Charley was shamed. Right now, she didn't care if they strung him up. In fact, that might make her feel better.
She glanced down the street in the other direction and saw Jack Simkins coming, too. The sheriff and his ugly deputy. They didn't have enough grit between the two of them to fill up a turkey's craw. They wouldn't do anything to her. She was Roger Benteen's daughter, and they'd think twice before they tried to stop her from doing anything she wanted to do.
She let another bullet fly in Charley's direction.
It cracked a clod of dirt and showered the toe of Charley's boot, but he didn't move. He could see Vincent, too, and he was already wondering what he would say to the sheriff. It all depended on Lucille, he guessed.
"What the hell's . . . goin' on here?" Vincent huffed. He wasn't used to running. He looked up at the window. "Lucille Benteen, is that you?"
Lucille didn't say anything. She didn't pull the gun back inside the hotel room, either.
Jack arrived on the scene about that time. He was even more puzzled than Vincent. He had his pistol drawn and ready, but he looked as if he were uncertain about what to do with it.
Vincent had recognized Charley by then. Davis was Roger Benteen's foreman, in charge of taking care of all the rancher's land and cattle. It was probably the best job in the whole area, and it commanded a certain amount of respect.
"Put your gun up, Jack," Vincent said. "Charley, you want to tell me what this is all about?"
Charley did not want to tell, at least not all. He knew that he was going to have to tell some of it, however.
"Aw, it's nothin', Sheriff. Lucille -- Miss Benteen -- and I, we've had us a little argument."
"Argument?" Vincent said. "Looks more like a damn war, to me."
Davis put his hat back on and settled it on his head. When he was satisfied, he said, "We got engaged, did you know that?"
Vincent had heard about it. So had most people in town. It was hard for most of them to believe that old Roger Benteen was going to let his little girl marry up with an ordinary cowhand, but it looked like that was the case. In fact, the way Vincent heard the story, the old man was all in favor of the marriage.
"If you're engaged, why's she shootin' at you?" Jack asked. It just didn't seem right to him, a woman shootin' at a man. He couldn't remember ever seeing anything like that before.
It was a good question. Vincent looked up at the window and said, "Why're you shootin' at your intended, then, Miss Benteen?"
"Ask him," Lucille said. "He knows." She pulled back the hammer of the pistol, and they could all hear the click it made when it locked into position.
Vincent took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a yellow bandanna handkerchief that he pulled from his back
"You leave my daddy out of this," she said. "I'll handle my daddy, don't you worry." She pulled the trigger again, and the heavy pistol jumped in her hand.
She didn't want to talk about her father. It was her father that had got her into this, all right, and she wasn't going back to his house ever again, or at least not for a while. She had a little money of her own, and she could live in the hotel for a good while if she had to. She wasn't going to let her father marry her off to some two-timing cow-waddy, even if the waddy did have those pretty blue eyes.
She was about to squeeze off another shot when she saw someone running down the street from the direction of the jail.
Ward Vincent, she thought. Well, he didn't have much gumption, in her opinion. He wouldn't do anything to stop her, and if he tried, she'd just tell him why she was shooting up the town in the first place. That would give him a surprise, and it would shame Charley.
That was just fine with her. She didn't care if Charley was shamed. Right now, she didn't care if they strung him up. In fact, that might make her feel better.
She glanced down the street in the other direction and saw Jack Simkins coming, too. The sheriff and his ugly deputy. They didn't have enough grit between the two of them to fill up a turkey's craw. They wouldn't do anything to her. She was Roger Benteen's daughter, and they'd think twice before they tried to stop her from doing anything she wanted to do.
She let another bullet fly in Charley's direction.
It cracked a clod of dirt and showered the toe of Charley's boot, but he didn't move. He could see Vincent, too, and he was already wondering what he would say to the sheriff. It all depended on Lucille, he guessed.
"What the hell's . . . goin' on here?" Vincent huffed. He wasn't used to running. He looked up at the window. "Lucille Benteen, is that you?"
Lucille didn't say anything. She didn't pull the gun back inside the hotel room, either.
Jack arrived on the scene about that time. He was even more puzzled than Vincent. He had his pistol drawn and ready, but he looked as if he were uncertain about what to do with it.
Vincent had recognized Charley by then. Davis was Roger Benteen's foreman, in charge of taking care of all the rancher's land and cattle. It was probably the best job in the whole area, and it commanded a certain amount of respect.
"Put your gun up, Jack," Vincent said. "Charley, you want to tell me what this is all about?"
Charley did not want to tell, at least not all. He knew that he was going to have to tell some of it, however.
"Aw, it's nothin', Sheriff. Lucille -- Miss Benteen -- and I, we've had us a little argument."
"Argument?" Vincent said. "Looks more like a damn war, to me."
Davis put his hat back on and settled it on his head. When he was satisfied, he said, "We got engaged, did you know that?"
Vincent had heard about it. So had most people in town. It was hard for most of them to believe that old Roger Benteen was going to let his little girl marry up with an ordinary cowhand, but it looked like that was the case. In fact, the way Vincent heard the story, the old man was all in favor of the marriage.
"If you're engaged, why's she shootin' at you?" Jack asked. It just didn't seem right to him, a woman shootin' at a man. He couldn't remember ever seeing anything like that before.
It was a good question. Vincent looked up at the window and said, "Why're you shootin' at your intended, then, Miss Benteen?"
"Ask him," Lucille said. "He knows." She pulled back the hammer of the pistol, and they could all hear the click it made when it locked into position.
Vincent took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a yellow bandanna handkerchief that he pulled from his back
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