Read Online Destry Rides Again by Max Brand - Free Book Online Page A

man,” she said, “and only his ghost come back.”
    “You’ll get yourself fixed up with another right now,” said he. “You ain’t never had no trouble collectin’ young nuisances
     around you. That tribe of young boys has et up a drove of hogs for me, and a herd of cattle, and a trainload of apples and
     such; they’ve drunk enough of my whiskey to irrigate a thousand acres of corn; and all because you’re close onto half as good
     lookin’ as your mother used to be, Charlie.”
    “Thanks,” said she. “You wanta see me tied up in one of these love-me-little-love-me-long marriages. But the fact is that
     I ain’t gunna marry, never.”
    “If you ain’t gunna get yourself a husband,” said he, “you might get yourself some grammar; which a man would think that you
     never been to school, to listen at you talk!”
    “I only dress up my talk once a week,” said she, “and the rest of the time I’d rather go around comfortable and let the pronunciation
     take care of itself. What difference does it make to an adjective if it’s used for an adverb? It don’t give the word no pain;
     it’s easier for me; the niggers understand me better, and everybody’s happy all around.”
    “I’ve seen young Chester Bent look kind of odd at some of your language, though,” observed Dangerfield.
    “Young Chester Bent,” she mocked, “wouldn’t mind the language of a red Comanche if she had the Dangerfield money.”
    “There you go,” said he, “puttin’ low motives into high minds! That boy is all right!”
    “Yeah?” she queried. “Who’s that comin’ across the field?”
    “I don’t care who it is,” said her father. “What I want to say is that Chester Bent is about the best——”
    “It’s somebody tryin’ to catch something or tryin’ to keep from bein’ caught,’ said Charlotte.
    Her father leaned to look through a gap in the trees that surrounded the ranchhouse, and he saw across the hill a rider flogging
     forward a horse so tired that its head bobbed like a cork in rough water.
    “He’s lookin’ back,” remarked the girl, “and the fact is that he’s scared pretty bad. He’s comin’ here like a gopher scootin’
     for a hole in the ground.”
    “Who is it?” asked Dangerfield.
    “Some boy from town,” she replied, “because no puncher that’s worth his salt ever rode so slantin’ as that.”
    “Which Harrison Destry sure could fork a boss,” remarked her father.
    The rider disappeared behind the trees, but almost immediately afterward an excited negress appeared at the kitchen door saying:
     “They’s a young gent here that wants powerful to see you, Colonel Dangerfield!”
    It was the family title for him; it was a title that was spreading abroad, now that he was able to lend money instead of “borrowing”
     it.
    He had no chance to invite the stranger to enter and share the hospitality of his house, for the man that instant appeared,
     shouldering past the fat cook. He was very dusty. Dust was thick in the wrinkles of his sleeve and on his shoulders. His hat
     was off, and his hair blown into a rat’s nest; he walked with a stagger of exhaustion; his face was drawn, and his eyes sunken.
     Yet it was a handsome face; some saidhe was the finest looking fellow on the entire range, for it was Jerry Wendell.
    He fell into a chair, gasping: “Lock the doors, Colonel! He’s not three jumps behind me! He means murder! He’s killed two
     men already, this night. He’s hounded me across the hills. I’ve gone a complete circle around Wham, and he’s been after me
     every minute!”
    “Lock the doors and the windows, Charlie,” said the Colonel with composure. “Hand me that riot gun, too. I loaded it fresh
     with buckshot yesterday. How many of them is there, Jerry, and who are they, and what the devil do they mean by chasing you
     right onto my ranch? There ain’t anything to be afraid of. My niggers will fight for me. How many are there, though? Charlie,