Read Online Death Waits at Sundown by L. Ron Hubbard - Free Book Online

for a month and—”
    Lon brought his chair
down on all four legs. “Con says there ain’t goin’ to be no mistake this time.
And Doyle reckons there won’t be no lynchin’! What’s the difference? They’ll
hang him on say-so and that’s enough fer me.”
    Susan had stopped at
the top of the steps and they both saw her. Old Bus touched a gnarled finger to
his battered hat, about to speak a greeting to her.
    But Susan was suddenly
angry again. She had a streak in her which made her champion any underdog—the
same streak which had made her father a great criminal lawyer.
    â€œYou ought to be
ashamed of yourselves!” she said hotly. “How do you know he’s guilty?”
    Everybody on the store
porch looked startled. Old Bus shifted his chaw . “Why, miss, you won’t find a
Mex or a white man in the Rio Carlos basin but what kin think up somethin’ mean
about Spick Murphy. He’s the killin’est, lowest, ornery, most—”
    â€œSay-so!” said Susan.
“Public opinion! Rumor! And you call yourselves thinking men! You’ll see that
he hangs just because you believe he’s guilty.”
    Amazement stopped all
activity of knives and sticks. These elder and somewhat shiftless citizens had
only known Susan for a few years, but in that time she had once taken her quirt
to a hard case for beating a horse; she had, single-handed, stopped a
sheep-cattle war by the very weight of her fury and scorn; she had done a
number of surprising things. But to hear her champion a man she knew nothing
about, and that man Spick Murphy . . . ! Well!
    She favored them all
with a glare and forgot about her groceries. She turned and went swiftly along
the boardwalk to the nearby weather-beaten jail.
    Sheriff Doyle, big and
hearty and red of face, was sitting with his feet on his desk, content after
his long morning ride. He saw Susan and quickly lowered his feet and took off
his hat.
    â€œHowdy, miss.”
    She wanted no
preliminaries. “They’re talking about lynching your prisoner, Spick Murphy.”
    â€œShore now, miss,
they’ll always talk. Gives them somethin’ to do. I will say, though, that it
wouldn’t be much loss if they did.”
    â€œWhat? You’d let them
have him?”
    Doyle sensed a
cyclone. “See here, miss, I never thought a good, sweet girl like you would
stand up for a killer like Spick.”
    â€œI’d stand up for
anybody who hasn’t a chance of justice. Trial! You won’t give him a trial.
Regardless of evidence, you’ll hang him if he isn’t lynched first.”
    â€œShore, miss, I
appreciate your interest in justice, seein’ as how your pappy is who he is. But
this country is different, miss. We got a pack of outlaws in Rio Carlos and we
got to trim ’em down. If we make an example out of Spick—”
    â€œExample! Then you
haven’t even the honesty of knowing his guilt. There’s been rustling, there’s
been killing, certainly. But the state has no right—”
    â€œNow, miss, you better
go talk to your pappy before you start blowin’ up about this.”
    â€œMay I see the
prisoner?”
    â€œWhy . . . Gosh, I—”
    â€œIs there any reason
why I can’t?”
    â€œNo, but . . .” He
gave up and got his keys and she followed him back to the cells. He unlocked
the outer door and let her pass and then locked it after her and sat down in
the backless chair.
    Spick Murphy was not
feeling so well. He had a headache from the bullet crease over his ear and he
knew that a noose would soon put a stop to that. He felt very greatly wronged,
as no bad man ever really believes himself bad.
    He came to the bars
and saw Susan and the hunted look went out of his eyes to be replaced by the
most saintly expression imaginable.
    â€œI saw them bringing
you in,” said Susan.
    â€œYes’m. They caught up
with me in the