GUN-HANDY

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 97, 24 April 1940, Page 20

GUN-HANDY

By Frederic William Fowle

lIM KIRK differed from most men in J this wise: the more whisky he imbibed, the clearer and ealmei did his niind become, until he saw with deadly certainty what he had to do. Word of the killing of Preacher Dan had reached him down in Sonora by anonymous letter. Preacher had been Kirk's dad. The latter, confirming his instant hunch, had strongly hinted at the killer's identity. Sheriff Ed Quinn was the assassin. Kirk drained his pint bottle and banged it savagely on the bar. "Por Dios! Am I a stepchild around here?" The slovenly barkeep scurried to serve him. "I didn't look fer yuh to down it so quick, stranger." Kirk grunted p.ud poured himself a finger from a new bottle. He had chosen K1 Zopilite only because it appeared to be less frequented than other saloons in town. There was less chance he'd be recognised. At present there were but three customers. He would have preferred to walk boldly up the centre of the main drag and trade load with the slierriff under the eyes of tlie whole town. But he couldn't risk being gunned from the rear before he cut down on Ed Quinn. On tl:e hoof or slaughtered an outlaw fetched the same price. Out in the darkness a pair of high heels clicked past the batwing doors, and of a sudden a vision bloomed before him, a vision of Ellen as he'd last seen her, at the Independence Day baile five years back. Ed Quinn and he had come close to gunplay that time. It had been the death of their friendship. He remembered how Ellen had gazed at him over Ed's shoulder as the two glided away . . . the slight parting of her lips, the entreaty in her eyes. He'd gone on the prod and stomped from the liall. . . . Now he was going to make her a widow. Life was funny—damned funny. He had been a little wild. Before he was sixteen there had been a shooting scrape or two, and thirty days in gaol. . Nothing unusual for a young blood of Keno town. But respectable folk had wagged their heads. "Seems like sons of parsons ain't worth a barrel of shucks." As lie got older he'd spread for himself. Looking back, he had to lUlmit he raised hell and put a chunk under it. Some way, he'd saddled himself with a reputation that he had to live up to. Keno had got too hot to hold him. He'd taken to the Owlhoot trail and joined up with a wild bunch. He'd heljted raid many a range, had driven back many a herd of wet dogies. Peculiarly enough, what the law wanted him for was a killing lie had never done; the murder of Sheriff Bill Quinn, who had been Ed's father. Aware of scrutiny, Kirk turned his gaze upon the three card players at a nearby table. Two were greasers—gimhawks by the look of them. The third was a runty man, squint-eyed, his face grooved with evil. Se.ized by a reckless mood, a desire for talk, Kirk invited: "Belly up to the bars, boys; drinks are on me." A quick furtive look shuttled among the three. The undersized man stood up and the Maxes slouched after him to the bar. "Passin' through, stranger?" Kirk nodded briefly. Already he regretted his impulse. "Jepson's the name,"' persisted the runty man, and stuck out his hand. Kirk took it gingerly. "Say, you're, a close one all right," said Jepson after a little. "Well, its a healthy way, eh?" "L'niph." Kirk took a good look at himself in the bar mirror. The man who met his stare was a total stranger, tight-lipped and icv-eyed. Here he was, he reflected bitterly, palling with a rakehell throwback and a brace of greasers in a low life cantina. James Kirk was hellbent for perdition, and no fooling about that . . . When he got through here, lie'd go on the dodge for keeps, befriended only of outlaws and the scum of the border. It was as though a malign destiny had charted a path from which he could not swerve. And yet somehow his deepest self was still the rollicking button who, week-days, had hurrahed the town in company with Ed Quinn, and 011 the Sabbath had sat, awed, in the meeting house under the eye of Preacher Dan Kirk. Preacher Dan gone—gone forever. And his murderer still breathed . . . "Feller, you better check them guns before Sheriff Quinn noseys by." Jepson spat. "Ain't allowed in town no more— say!" Kirk had hurled his glass at the opposite wall. His face -was livid. Jepson's eyes bulged. "You—you're Jim Kirk!" Kirk bent on him a searching, steely glance. "I didn't figure you'd come so soon!" Jepson blurted. "But I'm sure glad you did!" "What are you driving at, hoinbre!" In a flash Kirk knew that here was the writer of that anonymous letter he had received down in Sonora. Jepson's eyes swept the room and he whispered: "I'm sidn' you feller. But I don't want to ge.t mixed up in this, savvy ? It's your own ruckus." "Suits me," stated Kirk. "Look here, how soon will Quinn make his rounds?" "Any time now. Well, good luck, feller. I'm rattlin.' " He started towards the rear, flanked by the greasers. "Hold 011," snapped Kirk. "Where are you going?" "I—l got to get outa sight," Jepson stuttered desperately. Then his face went ashen. Without looking round Kirk knew who had pushed his way through the batwing doors. He held himself grimly in leash. "Jepson!" exploded Quinn's voice; "stand hitched!" Kirk slowly turned, hat pulled low. This was the moment for which he had been living through 15 days and nights. This was vengeance, terrible and sweet. ... Ed Quinn stood there in the doorway, a slight figure, scarcely bigger than lie had been five years back. . . . Kirk moistened his lips, hooked his thumbs in his belt . . . and knew suddenly and tragically that he could not go on with it. It was as though Ellen had rushed in and thrust herself bodily before them. "I'm taking you, Jepson," Ed Quinn was saying. He did not glance towards. Kirk. • "You'll play hell arrestin' me!" snarled Jepson. "I've got Pablo and he's spilled evervtliing. You're through Jepson," Quinn said tensely. "You killed my father and you killed Preacher Dan —two oldsters who couldn't agree about anything much except th«t von and your honkytonks were a blot 011 Keno town, you suake!"

Jepson filled his hand from an armpit holster and winged three slugs at the sheriff with an oath that mingled with the quick roar of Kirk's guns. One of the greasers shot out the swinging lamp and by its last glow Kirk saw Ed Quinn slump to the floor. Himself unhurt. Kirk felt for certain he'd got Jepson and a Mex. Someone was flopping about in the darkness. lie crouched and thumbed his hammers again—and drew fire from two quarters. A slug seared his ribs. He emptied his guns «t the flashes. Ensued a long spell of utter silenec. Kirk ordered the barkeep to light a candle. Across the room three draggled shapes lay inert while the sawdust sopped up their blood. Kirk's only thought was lor Ed Quinn. As near as he could make out, Ed had been shot in two places, through the upper chest and the thigh. His lids flickered wide as Kirk bent over him. "Jim—you've —come back!" "Lie still you ol' leppie," Kirk said huskily. "Ellen will be glad . . ." breathed Ed with a faint smile. "You've kept her— waiting—a long time, Jim." "You mean —" "Shucks it was you —all along." Kirk couJd not comprehend it all at once. But as he staunched Ed's wounds he knew, some way, that a great happiness lay ahead.