Gila Bend, Patrick Shelton. Klyne bade good bye to his friend’s wife, complimented her for her hospitality and started rolling in his vehicle with his friend on the second step of their revenge.
The road to Gila Bend was raged, hilly and winding, It was quite laborious for the two friends to dive the distance. Since they were somewhat on the run they did not wish to make their presence known to anyone they decided not to book into any hotel. Instead they camped out off the road among a huge pile of tumbled boulders and kept a vigilant eye.
Just as dawn paled the eastern sky, Bates woke Klyne shaking his shoulder, whispering in his ears. “I can hear some men lurking nearby. Sounds like half a dozen men.”
Klyne was instantly awake, gun in hand, the other hand dropping to his shoes. Camping out for the night in those sort of surroundings, it was only a fool who would be without shoes.
“What we going to do, Roy?” asked Bates, nervously holding his gun out towards the light brush around them.
“Wait for them, or don’t wait for them. Me, I reckon it’s better not to wait for them.” Klyne said, not willing to get involved with anyone. So they beat the hell out of that place.
Patrick Shelton was the town undertaker. A quiet man, slipping painlessly into middle-age. It only took Bates and Klyne a half hour in the small town bar to learn that up to four years ago Shelton had been just another quiet man in a quiet town. Then he provided the funeral arrangements for the richest man in the area, and married his widow two months later.
Six months after that she fell down the stairs of their house and broke her neck. Shelton’s brother was the doctor and he told everyone that it was accidental death. Which didn’t stop the rumors about how the lady in question got bruises round her throat just from falling down a flight of stairs.
But it meant the Shelton instantly became one of the big men around Gila Bend, and was currently running for the post of mayor. The bar-tender reckoned that he could be bucking even higher within five years with all that heap of dollars backing him.
Lounging on the sidewalk outside the bar, the two men leaned back in a couple of battered easy chairs and watched the town going on round them.
“That’s Mister Shelton now. In the gray suit with the silvery hair. The wife of our pastor passed away a couple of days back, and they’re shipping her back to her folks somewhere in Vermont. Mister Shelton’s handling all the arrangements for it.” Informed the very talkative bar tender.
“I’m obliged,” said Klyne, rising slowly, and walking across the street after the undertaker, followed by Bill Bates. As they neared the office of Shelton, they both slipped the safety catches off their guns.
“Number two, Roy,” Bates whispered.
They had agreed while they waited outside the bar to play it as it came. Klyne went in first, with Bates at his heels. A tiny silver bell over the door tinkled and an inner door swung open. A bird-like head peeped out, with a face that seemed all bone and teeth.
“Yes?”
“Mister Shelton?”
“Yes? What do you want? It’s a busy time and my assistant’s gone out to have his dinner. Unless it’s important, I’d rather you come back later and saw him.”
Both men looked at him, seeing a man with a face like a fox, with sharp pointed nose and thin gray moustache. His tie was gray, tied in a loose knot, and held at the front with a gold pin, topped by a massive seed pearl.
“That mean you’re here on your own, Mister Shelton?” asked Klyne.
“Yes it does.”
“I’s a sort of private matter, you see. Perhaps we could go through the back and talk it over. Bill, shut the door there so we won’t be disturbed.”
Bates slipped the catch on the front door, tugging down a sun-bleached roller blind that stubbornly resisted his efforts to get it to stay. Finally, with
The road to Gila Bend was raged, hilly and winding, It was quite laborious for the two friends to dive the distance. Since they were somewhat on the run they did not wish to make their presence known to anyone they decided not to book into any hotel. Instead they camped out off the road among a huge pile of tumbled boulders and kept a vigilant eye.
Just as dawn paled the eastern sky, Bates woke Klyne shaking his shoulder, whispering in his ears. “I can hear some men lurking nearby. Sounds like half a dozen men.”
Klyne was instantly awake, gun in hand, the other hand dropping to his shoes. Camping out for the night in those sort of surroundings, it was only a fool who would be without shoes.
“What we going to do, Roy?” asked Bates, nervously holding his gun out towards the light brush around them.
“Wait for them, or don’t wait for them. Me, I reckon it’s better not to wait for them.” Klyne said, not willing to get involved with anyone. So they beat the hell out of that place.
Patrick Shelton was the town undertaker. A quiet man, slipping painlessly into middle-age. It only took Bates and Klyne a half hour in the small town bar to learn that up to four years ago Shelton had been just another quiet man in a quiet town. Then he provided the funeral arrangements for the richest man in the area, and married his widow two months later.
Six months after that she fell down the stairs of their house and broke her neck. Shelton’s brother was the doctor and he told everyone that it was accidental death. Which didn’t stop the rumors about how the lady in question got bruises round her throat just from falling down a flight of stairs.
But it meant the Shelton instantly became one of the big men around Gila Bend, and was currently running for the post of mayor. The bar-tender reckoned that he could be bucking even higher within five years with all that heap of dollars backing him.
Lounging on the sidewalk outside the bar, the two men leaned back in a couple of battered easy chairs and watched the town going on round them.
“That’s Mister Shelton now. In the gray suit with the silvery hair. The wife of our pastor passed away a couple of days back, and they’re shipping her back to her folks somewhere in Vermont. Mister Shelton’s handling all the arrangements for it.” Informed the very talkative bar tender.
“I’m obliged,” said Klyne, rising slowly, and walking across the street after the undertaker, followed by Bill Bates. As they neared the office of Shelton, they both slipped the safety catches off their guns.
“Number two, Roy,” Bates whispered.
They had agreed while they waited outside the bar to play it as it came. Klyne went in first, with Bates at his heels. A tiny silver bell over the door tinkled and an inner door swung open. A bird-like head peeped out, with a face that seemed all bone and teeth.
“Yes?”
“Mister Shelton?”
“Yes? What do you want? It’s a busy time and my assistant’s gone out to have his dinner. Unless it’s important, I’d rather you come back later and saw him.”
Both men looked at him, seeing a man with a face like a fox, with sharp pointed nose and thin gray moustache. His tie was gray, tied in a loose knot, and held at the front with a gold pin, topped by a massive seed pearl.
“That mean you’re here on your own, Mister Shelton?” asked Klyne.
“Yes it does.”
“I’s a sort of private matter, you see. Perhaps we could go through the back and talk it over. Bill, shut the door there so we won’t be disturbed.”
Bates slipped the catch on the front door, tugging down a sun-bleached roller blind that stubbornly resisted his efforts to get it to stay. Finally, with
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