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Show jCS'Sp USELESS Ws&fim COWBOY MkK -grg fy-ALAN Le MAY wu. mv. pfl THE STORY THUS FAR: Melody Jones and George Fury had ridden Into Payneville. Melody wai mistaken for the outlaw, Monte Jarrad. Monte'l girl. Cherry. In trying to save Monte and later Melody, got them involved In the murder ol Luke Packer, the Insurance cop. Fury had met up with Monte and was shot by him. Monte returns to the farm and finds Melody. Cherry soon returns re-turns with the wounded Fury. Some of Monte's men rode up, hard pressed by the posse. Firing started on all sides. Melody took charee In the barn, saw that Fury and Cherry got down behind the bales of hay. Without water or food they knew that they could not withstand . the attack for many days. CHAPTER XVIII George said dimly, "If It only wasn't for the climate of Califor-ny Califor-ny " "He blames everything on he got wet oncet, and shrunk his joints, or something," Melody explained this to Cherry. "He says California ain't a state at all it's a dang fish tank. George, I'll buy you some liniment. Now shut up." Melody had got hold of a knife and a piece of manzanita root, which he was carving into a mestook. It appeared ap-peared to represent some kind of a fish face, but with a long nose, three legs, and wings. When Cherry saw that he appeared to be absorbed in his carving, she leaned against his shoulder, gradually, as if she hoped she would not be noticed. Melody stopped carving on his mestook. He was thinking of old Mrs. Rowntree, who might have laid her head down on her rifle, in the exact spot Cherry had showed him. He could picture that, just as plainly as if it had ever happened. And he could picture something else, that hadn't happened yet: He could see Cherry's head laid quiet on a bale of moldy hay, with the wavering firelight reflected on her spread-out hair. "George," Melody said, "1 ain't a-going to be able to git it done. I've went to work and fell down again. I kind of thought I would. But I had " to try." "Try what?" Cherry asked. "He taken and set out to bust up Monte's wild bunch," George said. "He said he wanted to be somebody." some-body." Cherry stared at Melody. "I reckon It was right silly," Melody Mel-ody said. "I see now that no such thing could be. But that wasn't why I rode Monte's saddle into Payne-ville." Payne-ville." "Then why " Melody looked at her mournfully, but without self-consciousness. "You was all tangled up In Monte's devilments," devil-ments," he said to her. "I could see there wasn't no way to talk sense into your haid, gals being like they be. So, it seemed like the only way to get you out was just to bust up the whole thing." "Is' that why you rode down to Payneville, when you knew you ought to go over the hill?" "Whut did you think it was? Oh, I see. You thought it was the thousand thou-sand dullers. . . . Well, it won't matter much, no more. The wild bunch is gitting busted, all right. But you're still in the middle of it, bad as bad can be. And there ain't much left to do about it, seemingly." "I give up," George said. His words trailed off in such a blur that Cherry and Melody 'looked at each other. Cherry got her feet under un-der her and moved to George's side, but without straightening up. She laid a hand on his forehead and looked uncertain; then placed her lips to his temple to see If there was fever there. Melody felt again that disarming surprise, that a woman should take pains over some old man whom she hardly knew. Fever Crick was whining for water wa-ter again, and Cherry took it to him. "Why does this happen to a man like me," he whimpered, "that would have fit 'em to a standstill? Why can't they hit a no-good punk like that -Ties, that ain't worth his room t ' ,.dy?" ForNonce Cherry answered him in a tone that would have cut the hide off a mule. , "He'll be hit soon enough," she said, "and when he is, you'll be flabbergasted flab-bergasted because you'll get a look at a man who can act a little different dif-ferent from a squaw papoose!" There was quiet now for some little lit-tle time. The widespread, tremendously tremen-dously overmanned posse was getting get-ting ready to try something else, but those within could not judge what it would be. Melody finished his job of carving on the plank, and he signaled sig-naled Cherry to come to him. Even when she had looked at it, she did not understand what it was, at first. "It's a tombstone, kind of," Melody Mel-ody said sheepishly, "in case it's needed, after while." Carved deeply into the oak were the words: I BE DAMN IF I AIM TO STAND FOR THJS. GEORGE FURY. "All of his life he's harped on that one string," Melody explained. "I know this Is the way he'd feel about it, if he realized he was being buried." " 'Damn If I aim to stand' " Cherry read; and burst into tears. "This time he's right," Melody said, "for this one time. They gone too far! We cain't stand for it. Not even from Monte." He turned the slab face down. "But but Monte " He shook his head. "From Monte least of all." He walked across and counted George Fury's pulse; then he propped up George's head with a swathe of hay, and turned George's face toward a crack in the wall. "What are you doing that for?" "He he might want to see." "See?" She was turning panicky. "See what?" "Jest a kind of thing here . . ." Methodically Melody checked the loading of his gun, and when this was done he stared at her steadily for a disconcertingly long time. "Look," Melody said to her. "This one time, listen to me. You're pretty, pret-ty, and you're sweet. Don't you never nev-er doubt yourself no more. Because anybody would love you, always, any time. Don't you ever forget that, any more." He grinned. "You don't have to lean on no pistol-punk, like him. That's ridie'lous." He turned away from her, and walked to the door of the barn. He stood there a moment in the sunlight, sun-light, almost in the open. "Where you going?" Avery demanded. de-manded. "What you up to now?" "Nothing," Melody said. "Nothing "Noth-ing you can hinder, son." Melody stepped out into the open, gun in hand, exposed to the house and to the hills. He raised his He groped around on all fours, and found his gun. voice as drivers shout to lift mules. "You, Montel Monte Jarrad!" There was a moment of dead silence; si-lence; the attackers held paralyzed, taken by surprise. Then one bullet flew over, lisping "Thweet!" as it passed overhead; but it went very high, as if the gun had been struck up. Some voices out there were heard yelling to hold fire. Monte Jarrad opened the door of the kitchen, and stood in its frame. His face could not be seen clearly, there in the shadow, but he was moving very slowly, like a man in a fever dream. Behind Melody Cherry screamed, "No, no, no. . ." Melody called out, "Take care of yourself, Monte!" Monte's gun came up; but instead of firing he half lowered it again. His left hand moved over and seemed to feel of the gun, as if something had gone wrong there, and he didn't know what it was; but his astounded eyes did not leave Melody. Melody fired, without effect. He knew where his shot went. Even without seeing the splinters jump from the door jamb, he knew it wasn't any good. He was concentrating concen-trating everything he had on putting a shot where he wanted it; but he never had had any way of doing that, and he had no way now. He walked closer. Instantly after Melody's first shot Monte fired; He fired from belt-level, and he leaned into it, as if trying to put his weight behind the starting of the bullet. His whole body curved to it, with the effort of will that was behind the lead. Melody faltered, fal-tered, but he did not go down. He came ahead, walking steadily. Melody fired again, and missed clean. A clear blaze of fury broke up the blank astonishment of Monte's face. He fired three times, crazily, as fast as he could drop the hammer. Melody Mel-ody jerked a little and swayed, but kept his feet. He fired again, and his shot split the edge of the broken screen door. This wasn't Monte, firing from the door, but a different proposition, torn in two by enough crazy anger to poison a bull train. Melody saw that, and he didn't understand it. but he knew his chance. He knew he had a fraction of a second of time now. for he was standing in front of Monte Jarrad. and he was not dead. He fired, and put a bullet through the top of the door. "Dear God." he whispered, and it was a prayer. "Dear God, dear God in heaven. . . ." He put a shot into the kitchen, past Monte Jarrad. Monte had one cartridge left, and he sent it now; and Melody was hit again, this time hard. He half spun, and dropped his weapon; but he didn't fall down. He caught himself, him-self, and stood for a moment on spread legs. It was only when he tried to catch up his gun out of the dust that he came down on his hands and knees. He groped about on all fours, and found his gun. Somehow he got up, stumbled forward two steps more, and cocked the gun. A shot sounded behind him, and in the same instant a bullet said "Cousin!" directly in his ear. Monte Jarrad flailed forward onto the gallery, all joints gone loose, as if everything was cut down at once. Melody could not believe it at first. When he had got it through his head he backed off watchfully, his heels dragging in the dirt. Lee Gledhill was still in action in the house; but Lee did not take him under fire. George Fury was prone in the barn door, collapsed from a crawling crawl-ing position, the carbine in the dust by his hand. Melody said, "George, how many times I got to tell you " He let it go, speech being considerable effort, and George being three-quarters out and not listening. Fever Crick was standing around stunned and useless, use-less, and Avery was just coming to his senses, but somehow Cherry and Melody got George Fury back into shelter. "That's the first time," Melody said vaguely, "I ever knew George to fire left-handed. . . ." The girl caught the carbine up, as if she were rescuing something alive. "You you imagine it." Suddenly Sud-denly she dropped the carbine in the dirt, covered her face, and sat down. Melody stepped toward her, lurching a little; he reached out a hand, and touched her hair. "Don't touch me," she said, and Melody took his hand away. "Don't ever touch me!" Melody Jones stepped back, looking look-ing befuddled. He swayed a little, and sat down slowly, his back against a bale. "Heck," he said. A little after that, Lee Gledhill walked out and surrendered, Lester Cotton taking over. At the heart of Payneville rose an unceasing tireless gabble, in the name of investigation, while everybody every-body and his brother questioned Melvin Jones, alias Melody Jones and forced him to answer, too, on pain of unhopeful consequences for three long everlasting weeks. . . . They turned him loose at last, and he rode out to the Busted Nose morosely, nursing a grouch for almost al-most the first time in his life. He still had one arm in splints; and he was bandaged in places, under his clothes. George Fury was still out there, for the reason that there wasn't any way to move him. He was still flat on his back, and getting blanket-sore blanket-sore around the shoulder blades, but he was on the mend all right, to judge by his conversation. "So you finally sobered up," were his first words to Melody. "They only just now cut me loose," Melody said glumly. "And you already knowed that, without I said it." "What all went on down there? How many counts was you accused on, and how did you lie clear?" "They brung a open verdict. That's the legal way of putting that they ended up confused, kind of." "I know that much, you nump! But what happened?" "Listen, George," Melody said wearily, "my ears is wore thin. I cain't stand to hear all that stuff over again, not even in my own voice. You can go down and read the damn records some time. Or else send down some pack mules and git 'em hauled up here. Allow for a short ton." "It beats me," George said. "I never see such a town for kicking away their opportunity. I'd of swore they'd hang you. What did they say when they unloosed you?" "They said, 'Goodbye.' " George gave it up then. He glared at Melody for a while. "But the reward re-ward you anyway got the reward?" "Whut reward?" George Fury whimpered inarticulately. inarticu-lately. "Oh, the thousand dullers," Melody Mel-ody remembered. "Thet. Well, they give it to me." "Why in hell didn't yew say so?" "Well, George, you see, I give it back." "Wha Why, yew befewzled " "I jest didn't figure it was coming to me, George. You can go git it yourself, when you're abler. I'm sick of them jiggers." It was some time before George could speak. He turned his face to the wall, chewed his mustache, and prayed for the strength to get up and kill Melody. He was under control, though, when he turned back. "After I turned back the thousand dullers," Melody said, "they come up with a bill for my board. O' course I couldn't pay it. So they held me in the jail three days more, on a charge of vacancy. Or something some-thing like that." (TO BE CONTINUED) |