Showdown at Yellow Butte (1983) Read Free

and women seemed jammed together without rhyme or reason.
    For the West was of all things, a melting pot. Adventurers came to seek gold, new lands, excitement. Gamblers, women of the oldest and most active profession, thugs, gunmen, cow rustlers, horse thieves , miners, cowhands, freighters and just drifters all crowded the street. That bearded unshaven man in the sun-faded red wool shirt might, if prompted, start to spout Shakespeare. The slender young man talking to the girl in the buckboard might have graduated from Oxford, and the white-faced gambler might be the scion of an old Southern family.
    All men wore guns, most of them in plain sight. Few of them would hesitate to use them if need be. The man who fought with his fists, although present, was a rarity.
    A big man lurched from the crowd. Tom glanced at him, and their eyes met. Obviously, the man had been drinking and was hunting trouble. In Kedrick, he thought he found it. Sensing a fight, other passers-by became wary and stopped to watch.
    "So?" The big man stood wide legged, his sleeves rolled about thick, hairy forearms. " 'Nother one of them durn thieves! Land stealers!" He chuckled suddenly. "Well, your murderer ain't with you now to save your bacon, an' I aim to git my share of you right now! Reach!"
    Kedrick's mouth was dry, but his eyes were calm. He held the cigarette in his right hand near his mouth. "Sorry, friend. I'm not packing a gun. If I were, I'd still not kill you. You're mistaken, man, about that land. My people have a rightful claim to it."
    "Have they, now?" The big man came a step nearer, his hand on the butt of his gun. "The right to take from a man the land he's sweated over? T o tear down his home? To run his kids out on the desert?"
    Despite the fact that the man was drunk, Tom Kedrick saw beyond it a sullen and honest fury and fear. Not fear for him, for this man was not afraid, nor would he be afraid of Dornie Shaw. He was afraid for his family. The realization of that fact struck Kedrick and disturbed him anew. More and more he was questioning the course he bad chosen.
    The crowd murmured and was ugly. Obviously, their sympathies were with the big man, and against Kedrick.
    A low murmur, then a rustling in the crowd, and suddenly: deathly silence. Kedrick saw the big man's face pale, and heard someone whisper hoarsely, "Look out, Burt! It's Dornie Shawl"
    Kedrick was suddenly aware that Shaw had moved up beside him. "Let me have him, Cap'n," Shaw's voice was low. "It's time this here was stopped."
    Kedrick's voice was sharp, cold. " No! Move back, Shawl I'll fight my own battles!"
    "But you ain't got a gun!" Shaw's voice was sharper in protest.
    Burt showed no desire to retreat. That the appearance of Shaw had shocked him was evident, but this man was not Peters. He was going to stand his ground. His eyes, wary now, but puzzled, shifted from Shaw to Kedrick, and Tom took an easy step forward, putting himself almost within arm's length of Burt.
    "Shaw's not in this, Burt," he said quietly. "I've no quarrel with you, man, but no man calls me without getting his chance. If you want what I'v e got, don't let the fact that I'm not armed stop you. I wanted no quarrel, but you do so have at it!" Suspicion was in the big man's eyes. He had seen guns come from nowhere before, and especially from men dressed as this one. He was not prepared to believe that Kedrick would face him unarmed. "You got a gun!" he snapped. "You got a hideout, you durned coyote!"
    He jerked his gun from the holster and in that instant, Tom Kedrick moved. The edge of his left hand chopped down on the rising wrist of the gun-hand, and he stepped in, whipping up his right in an uppercut that packed all the power in his lean, whipcord body. The punch was fast and perfectly timed, and the crack of it on the corner of Burt's jaw was like the snap of a teamster's whip. Burt hit the walk just one split second after his gun, and he hit it right on his shoulder blades.
    Coolly then,