Showdown With Fear Read Free

searching for a mouse in a forest.’
    The men looked at each other. Finally, the old-timer screwed up his eyes and said, ‘They’ve gone for a few friends... so they’ll be tailin’ us looking for revenge, I’d guess, sheriff.’
    He addressed these words to Dan. It was a force of habit. The others kicked their heels uneasily.
    ‘I don’t wear a star these days,’ Dan murmured, walking away.
    ‘Just a minute there, man... you recall there was a body back there Dan?’ Pearce asked.
    ‘Yeah... I didn’t make out who it was.’
    ‘It was one Slim Hardiman.’
    Dan reacted with a shocked expression, but that melted into a satisfied smile. ‘Hardiman? Hell, I risked my neck for a sidekick of John McVie’s.’ He shoved his hat back and he took in the information. Hardiman had been one of the men that day, one of the bunch he knew had been waiting for him, rifles cocked above the street, just aching for him to walk out and square up to John and Sam.
    ‘One less murderin’ bastard!’ The old-timer cackled. ‘I ain’t gonna bury him... anybody else feeling excessive charity today?’
    There was silence until Dan swung up onto his horse and trotted back towards the bluff.
    ‘Suppose I’ll do it... I should ‘ve done it six year back!’
    *
    The desperadoes had done a good job with Hardiman. He was maimed and cut almost everywhere. A bullet had shattered one arm and half his face was off. This seemed like the work of somebody with a grudge, or some renegades. But he dug and dug, forgetting about the heat, then gathered a heap of stones. It took an hour or so, but he said a few words over the stones while the others rested and took some food and water, just quietly staring at him. ‘He’s yeller and crazy,’ Pearce drawled, as he chewed at some dry bread.
    ‘Yeah... but you gotta respect the guy,’ Savory said, ‘And you know... I recall when he was good. Real good. That man brought fear with him if he set agin some desperadoes. Believe me, you wouldn’t tussle with Dan Mullen, the Dan Mullen that used to wear that star. And he was always broody like. Never a word to spit at a dog. Deep, they said. Read books. Talked about fine things, like he was a dude in some other life.’
    ‘He never had a another life... always wore the tin star, I heard,’ the old-timer said.
    Dan was praying more for Pete than for the soul of this roughneck. He was bringing to mind the last time he saw him, when he waved him off to the Corey’s. He ruffled his son’s hair and smiled at him, telling him to learn some trade... not take up a gun as a profession. God help that John McVie, he swore under his breath... God help that vermin if he so much as touches my boy....
    The men watching were not to know that the thoughts being expressed over Hardiman’s body were more curses than prayers.
    ‘Maybe the man’s got some guts after all,’ a voice called out.
    ‘Yeah... maybe just stupid... taking on ten men like that!’
    They sat down to ease themselves before carrying on the chase. Only Ned Pearce was still hardening his heart to Dan Mullen. Mullen was still the man trying to take his girl away, and this was the best chance he’d get to move the man out of his way. It had been fine until she took an interest in the man who everybody talked about, the one who ran circuits of an evening down by the old mine, and the one who went alone to a house that had been ample for five or six people.
    The talk in town was that Dan Mullen did nothing but read books, eat, sleep and exercise. That was his life. People would stop and loiter in groups to stare at the man who just sat by a window through a long warm day, when folk was taking time off, head fixed in a book. But Helen’s head had started to turn and notice him. One day, as he was walking with her to a dance, they had walked past Mullen as he sat and looked blankly at the horizon. Helen had wished him good evening and asked him what he was looking at. Mullen had quoted a line of