PISTOLS FOR NOBODY

MANLY WADE WELLMAN

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2020 by Wildside Press LLC.

Originally published in Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, May 1960.

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

INTRODUCTION

Manly Wade Wellman (1903–1986) was an American writer. While his science fiction and fantasy stories appeared in such pulps as Astounding Stories, Startling Stories, Unknown, and Strange Stories, Wellman is best remembered as one of the most popular contributors to the legendary Weird Tales, and for his fantasy and horror stories set in the Appalachian Mountains, which draw on the native folklore of that region. Karl Edward Wagner referred to him as “the dean of fantasy writers.”

A long-time resident of North Carolina, he received many awards over his lifetime, including the World Fantasy Award and Edgar Allan Poe Award. In 2013, the North Carolina Speculative Fiction Foundation inaugurated an award named after him to honor other North Carolina authors of science fiction and fantasy.

Three of Wellman’s most famous recurring protagonists are John the Balladeer (a.k.a. “Silver John”), a wandering backwoods minstrel with a silver-stringed guitar; the elderly “occult detective” Judge Pursuivant; and John Thunstone, also an occult investigator.

In addition to fantasy fiction, Wellman also wrote in a wide variety of other genres, including historical fiction, mysteries, westerns, juvenile fiction, and non-fiction. Much of his best short general fantasy work over the years was collected by Karl Edward Wagner in Worse Things Waiting (1973), which won a World Fantasy Award and revived interest in Wellman’s work. His 1975 novel Sherlock Holmes’ War of the Worlds was collected from a series of Holmes pastiches (co-written with his son Wade Wellman) originally published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction.

At age 82, Wellman suffered a serious fall and sustained severe fractures of his left elbow and shoulder which made him an invalid. Due to the onset of gangrene in his legs following double amputation, Wellman’s health failed further and he died at his home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina on April 5, 1986. Before passing on he had been able to finish his historical novel Cahena, about an African warrior princess. Cahena was published in 1986, as was the final John the Balladeer short story “Where Did She Wander.”

—Karl Wurf

Rockville, Maryland

CHAPTER I

When they tried young George Tebow for murder at Moshawnee, folks vowed up and down there hadn’t seen anything to equal it since Squire William Mitchell Murphy got down on the courtroom floor at Marengo to inquire things from a killed man in hell. Maybe there’d never been the beat of it in all the twenty-seven states of this Union. But Major Trumbitt, who’d done business in Illinois the autumn before, allowed that a lawyer up there handled cases some way the same.

A long tall man, that Illinois lawyer, and an outdoing wrestler and tale-teller, who was fixing to run for Congress. His name, let’s see, was Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln, and he was a big man inside his head, too, said Major Trumbitt, just as hard to defeat in a courtroom as Squire Hud Mottram who’d defended George Tebow.

The evidence for murder and robbery sounded right heavy against young Tebow, who’d been reading law in the office of Squire Joseph Huckleroy and had just passed his examinations. Squire Huckleroy testified to Solicitor Smith Rakeshaw how, the early dawn after Tebow’s passing the questions of Judge Newlands, Milas Clavering had been found dead in the office with his head knocked in and beside him laying a bloody bent-handled cane that belonged to Tebow.

Squire Huckleroy went on to tell the jury that Clavering and Tebow, both law scholars together, hadn’t been on kindliest terms because the both of them wanted to court Squire Huckleroy’s blue-eyed daughter Allie Sue. And not only was Clavering dead of his head broken, but broken open also was a desk drawer where only Squire Huckleroy and Clavering and Tebow knew lay six hundred gold dollars in a long green purse.

The purse was gone, but in that drawer where it had been lay a handkerchief embroidered with G. T. for George Tebow.

That talk made the gentlemen of the jury sit up on their two home-nailed benches, but more was coming. Little Dr. Shumake squeaked out his expert word that one whack of the cane had laid Clavering low from behind, and another whack had broken his skull open and killed him.

Miss Allie Sue Huckleroy, her blue eyes bluer with tears, had to testify to the truth that she’d embroidered that very handkerchief, one of six, to give George Tebow for passing his examination, and she’d sent all six to George Tebow’s boarding house by her second cousin Virgil Croslin.

And Virgil Croslin, the captain of the Moshawnee militia company who owed near about everybody, got up slim and spruce in his roll-collar coat and varnished boots to agree with Miss Allie Sue.

Finally Squire Dandridge Duckett swore that, on the night Milas Clavering was head-knocked, Tebow had bought drinks several times over for all folks at the Moshawnee Tavern.

Young Squire Hud Mottram didn’t much cross-question those witnesses. From Squire Huckleroy he got the reply that Tebow had been a smarter law scholar than Clavering, and that the Squire had favored him, up to now, to run for the State Senate when he himself retired next term.

Miss Allie Sue sobbed and cried while Hud Mottram got her to tell that George Tebow was the cleverest and likeliest young man who ever came calling on her. Virgil Croslin said that Tebow was a right good sergeant in the militia company. Squire Duckett admitted that Tebow hadn’t been anything like drunk at the tavern, just buying for the others.

And Dr. Shumake gave a straight answer to a straight question, that he thought Tebow was a sensible, intelligent young fellow.

For the defense Hud called only Tebow himself, a middle-sized, pleasant-faced boy, to say on the stand that he’d not been near Squire Huckleroy’s office that night of murder, that he’d left his cane behind him when he’d gone to Judge Newlands’ chambers to take his law examination and get his certificate, and that he couldn’t speak to getting but five of those six handkerchiefs Miss Allie Sue swore she’d put his initials on.

As for the money he’d spent at the tavern, that was to celebrate getting his certificate and it was his own saved-up money, not thieved money. But when Solicitor Rakeshaw cross-examined him, Tebow couldn’t prove for certain where he’d been at the murder time.

When he stepped down and the arguing started, Tebow looked to most folks in court as good as hanged by the neck till he was dead, and might the good Lord have mercy on his soul.

But up jumped Hud Mottram before the jury, tall, skinny-hipped and splay-shouldered in his black frocktail coat, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his open-gate collar like a well sweep in a windstorm, and his black hair waving on high with the bob and wag of his head. His voice near about sprung the old axe-cut rafters of the courthouse roof as he talked just the one thing to the jury—George Tebow’s sanity.

“Hark at me now, gentlemen,” he sang out like a dinner horn, “you all heard what Squire Huckleroy and his lovely daughter and Captain Croslin and Squire Duckett and Dr. Shumake vowed on the stand yonder. They vowed, each and all, that George Tebow was sane and clear-headed and sober. And Mr. Tebow his own self spoke before you, and you all can judge your own judgments if he talked sense or nonsense. So much for so much.”

He put up his big long finger to them. “Now, reply me this—what sane, sober man on this whole earthly footstool would fling down his cane for folks to find and trace to him after he’d used it to crack a fellow-man’s skull? What man with a mustard grain of sense would steal money from a drawer and then put down his handkerchief, given him by his own fond love, where the money had been?”

Hud wiped his big broad young brow with his coat sleeve. “Gentlemen,” he dinner-horned out, “you all can’t answer those questions, nor either can I. Nor yet can His Honor, Judge Newlands, up there seeing that the rights of law are being done here in Moshawnee. Because, gentlemen, there’s no sensible answer to be made to them.”

He flung his black hair from his eyes, grinned, and yelled the louder: “Mr. Solicitor Rakeshaw’s witnesses told you all that Mr. George Tebow was no way simple in the head. You saw and heard yourself that he’s got a head on his shoulders, not just a knot to keep his spinal column from unraveling.

“The evidence shows that he’s a right smart-thinking young man, who’s learned the law and won a pretty girl’s fair hand and been sergeant to the brave gentlemen volunteers of Moshawnee and able to hold his liquor at the tavern. Is that the way of it or not? But they’d let you all think George Tebow did all those mindless things in Squire Huckleroy’s office.”

Folks on the jury and off were gaping by then, and two-three of them grinning. Hud grinned, too, he grinned right easy.

“If he’s mindless,” said Hud, “he can’t tell black from white or right from wrong, and it’s your duty to find him so and send him to the crazy-folk house at the State capital. But if he wasn’t mindless, and did that killing and thieving, he must be just purely accommodating to a way beyond any murderer and thief in all this world’s long years.”

Somebody did laugh then, and Judge Newlands rapped for order.

“Why!” bawled Hud. “He’d have to be so kindly and helpful to the law that he’d make it his business to be caught and convicted in his crimes. Hark again at what’s been told against him—that he clubbed his fellow-scholar Milas Clavering to death, then laid his cane down to point to himself. He broke the desk drawer open and thieved the money. Then from out his pocket took that handkerchief with his name-letters and put it where the money had been, like making a fair swap!”

Jurors four and five laughed then, and Judge Newlands blew his nose.

“If George Tebow did such fuzzy-eared fool things,” said Hud, smacking his big right fist into his broad left palm, “he’s too silly for the gallows.”

He waited for the laughter to quiet down. “You’ll just purely have to name him for a gone gump and ignoranter than a pet ’possum. But now, my friends, if you all do that, look out—because that’ll be giving the lie to Squire Huckleroy and all the rest.”

He had to stop again, for the hee-hawing everywhere. Judge Newlands might have rapped for order, but he was snickering himself.

“So why don’t you all take the easy, safe polite way?” Hud inquired the jury. “Why don’t you all say that George Tebow isn’t guilty, because somebody else did those things and tried to nail the guilt of them on George Tebow?”

Further Hud didn’t talk, and the jury was chortling as it went to its room, and chortling again as it came out in ten minutes to tell Judge Newlands that George Tebow was found sane and in his right mind and innocent of murder and robbery.

The fuss that old axe-raftered courtroom raised—cheers and hollers, but mostly laughing. Miss Allie Sue had her arms around George Tebow and her yellow head on his shoulder, and he was drying the tears from her blue eyes with one of the five embroidered handkerchiefs he had left.

Solicitor Rakeshaw was shaking Hud’s big hand, and Judge Newlands, walking to his chambers, shook his shoulders in his robe, but not because he was grief-stricken or outraged. And half the town, it seemed as if, followed Hud and Solicitor Rakeshaw to the big log tavern to drink about it.

CHAPTER II

The solicitor had just paid for the first round and Hud Mottram was just ordering a second, when Captain Virgil Croslin’s spruce figure came in on its varnished boots. His curly hair came about to Hud’s shoulder as he held out a folded paper.

“From Squire Joseph Huckleroy,” he said. Hud asked the company’s pardon and opened the note to read it.

Mr. H. Mottram, Esq.

Sir:

You have derided my intelligence and sneered at my judgment, and I demand the satisfaction due a gentleman, though as to whether you yourself are a gentleman I entertain grave doubts. You may choose your weapons and distance. My friend, Captain Croslin, who will hand you this, is ready to make the necessary arrangements with any person you care to appoint.

I am, sir,

Joseph Sherfessee Huckleroy, Esq.

“I declare, that’s a high-toned letter,” allowed Hud, with everybody looking at him. “Gentlemen, please fill your glasses at my charge. Captain Croslin, I’m puzzled.”

“Squire, you don’t strike me as being slow of wit,” the Captain replied. “You made fun of the prosecution’s witnesses in court just now, and among them was my valued friend, Squire Huckleroy.”

Hud glanced out at the open door, looking at the green trees and the bright sun. “Did he take me to mean him personally.”

“I assure you that he did.” The Captain shrugged gracefully. “I did my best to dissuade him. I said that of my own knowledge you are the best hand with a pistol in your native town of Portici.”

“I’m no better than third best,” objected Hud, “and Portici isn’t what you’d call any great seething community.”

“Perhaps you are too modest,” went on Captain Croslin, smooth as old peach brandy. “In any case, Squire Huckleroy felt that he could not but challenge, lest he seemed to stand in dread of your marksmanship.”

“By your leave, Squire Mottram,” said a voice from behind, and it was Squire Dandridge Duckett at Hud’s elbow. He was a wide-set, pink-faced man, with a big mustache and sorghum-colored side-whiskers that mixed into each other. His fine tail coat was green, and his white vest was nappy, like a store-bought bath towel.

“I could not but hear,” he said, “and since you are an attorney riding the circuit, and perhaps without a friend here present to act for you, I make bold to tender my services.” He bowed. “Squire Huckleroy and I are on terms of mutual respect and esteem, though thrice I have opposed him for his seat in the State Senate. If you will suffer me, I can properly represent you in this affair.”

“Let’s sit down,” said Croslin, and raised his voice. “Gentlemen, excuse the three of us. I request that you honor me by drinking at my expense.”

He threw money on the three-inch plank of the bar, and he and Hud and Duckett went to a round table in the corner. Cards were strewn there, where folks had been playing spoil five. The aproned landlord fetched them a bottle of golden yellow whiskey and three tumblers.

“Captain Croslin feels that it would be useless to seek composition of this difference,” observed Duckett, filling for them.

“That’s how it sounded to me,” Hud agreed. “Squire Huckleroy wouldn’t scare out at that talk about my pistol practice.”

“Not he,” spoke up Croslin. “As a sober fact, Squire Huckleroy’s right gilt-edged with the pistol himself.”

“Don’t go on about that, Captain,” begged Hud, “or I can’t step back either, for fear of being called a coward.”

“As to that,” said Croslin, still brandy-smooth, “Squire Huckleroy is prepared, should you decline to meet him, to post you as recreant and beneath contempt. He told me he will nail up written statements to that affect, at the court house and here at the tavern.”

“Now, I call that wise,” approved Hud. “A many more folks are apt to come to the tavern than to the court house, I reckon. But don’t pester yourselves, gentlemen, I don’t aim to step back. It’s just the shortness of time.”

“Shortness of time?” Croslin raised his eyebrows.

“Squire Mottram means, court week’s over here and the whole troop of lawyers is riding on to the next county seat, tomorrow at dawn,” said Duckett.

“I see,” said Croslin, heavy as hog liver. “Then we’d better get at things promptly. What’s the time, Squire?”

Hud dug out his big silver watch. “Past four of the clock.”

“We’ll have light past six this time of year,” said Duckett. “Shall we say six, then?”

“I’ll take it as a favor,” said Hud. “If we can move so promptly.”

“Oh,” Croslin said, tipping up the bottle over his glass, “we’re fortunate to be in this State, where laws and customs so well accommodate gentlemen in swift settlement of their disagreements.”

“Amen to that,” quoth Duckett. “If we were in one of those Northern States like Virginia or North Carolina, we’d be obliged to cross the border into more civilized country—say Tennessee—to keep officious interferers at a distance. At six, then?”

“Settled,” nodded Croslin. “Now as to weapons.”

“Pistols, I think,” said Duckett, “since both my friend and yours are handy with them.”

“Distance?” was Croslin’s next inquiry.

“Let the distance be close,” urged Hud brightly. “Neither Squire Huckleroy nor I would want our work to turn out ragged.”

“Ten paces, Captain?” asked Duckett.

“Ten paces it is.”

Hud flung up his big right hand. “Landlord! Could I have a pen and paper?”

He wrote quickly, in big sprawling handwriting:

Joseph Sherfessee Huckleroy, Esq.

Sir:

Your note of this date, just to hand, seems to read that your big hope of life is to fight; and so I assure you that I’ll be proud and pleasured to accommodate you the best I can.

I send this by the hand of Mr. Dandridge Duckett, Esq., who is arranging things with Captain Croslin.

I take leave to add my hope that you will get as much profit and instruction out of our meeting as I figure to.

I am, sir, your admiring and well-wishing servant, Hudibras Jonathan Rokeby

Mottram, Esq.

Duckett read it, then passed it to Croslin. Both nodded their admiration, and allowed it did great credit to Hud and Squire Huckleroy and to the both of them. Croslin poured drinks all round again.

“Let us drink a toast,” he said. “Here, gentlemen, is to courage.”

“Aye,” and Duckett lifted his glass. “And to courtesy.”

“Let me throw in mine,” said Hud. “Here’s to common sense.”

When the two seconds were gone, Hud asked the landlord to bring him some supper. It was mightily early, but Hud felt that he ought to eat just in case he might not get a chance to enjoy anything later on in the evening.

He ate a good bait of smoked pork ribs and greens and sweet potatoes, and drank coffee with a little of that gold-colored whiskey floated on top of it. As he was near about finished, in came George Tebow and sat down to grab Hud’s hand that didn’t have a fork in it.

Tebow’s face was nearly as white as his shirt front, and his voice shook when he started talking: “S-Squire Mottram—Hud—you saved me from hanging—”

“That’s what you paid me to do, George. You still owe me fifty dollars.” Hud forked in more food. “I sure enough relish these ribs.”

“I’ll do anything I can,” George Tebow said. “I heard about how you’re to fight Squire Huckleroy—”

“Oh, that won’t amount to much. Here, have a cut of this drinking whiskey.”

“No, Hud, not now. I’d do anything to get Squire Huckleroy to believe me innocent, but he says I robbed and killed. He’s forbidden Allie Sue to speak to me, or even think my name to herself. I want to change his mind, and maybe I will. Meanwhile, if you need a second—”

“I’ve got Squire Duckett,” said Hud, cutting away at the ribs. “He and Captain Croslin decided on pistols, six o’clock tonight.”

“Where, Hud?”

“Now.” said Hud, chewing thoughtfully, “they didn’t rightly say where. George, let me inquire you, how does Squire Duckett really set with Squire Huckleroy?”

“All right, I reckon. They’ve argued law cases against each other, and they’re run for the same seat in the State Senate, but Duckett’s all right for your second.” George Tebow frowned. “Duckett would like right well for you to shoot Squire Huckleroy down.”

“I see, I see,” and Hud sounded the way you’d think he sure enough did see. “Don’t be despairing about Miss Allie Sue, George. She loves you truly, from what I saw, and won’t choose any other man.”

“Milas Clavering’s dead—”

“Yes, and you didn’t kill him. Speaking of those who yet live, did Captain Croslin ever cut his eye toward Allie Sue?”

“Yes, once or twice. But that’s just like all the young fellows in Moshawnee. They all admire Allie Sue. Anyway, Croslin can’t think about courting a girl seriously. He owes more money than he can pay, and Allie Sue’s father wouldn’t hear to his paying his addresses to her.”

“I see,” nodded Hud again. “Hark at me, George, I wish I knew where we’d hold our duel, you might be amused to see the fun.”

“Fun!” groaned out Tebow.

“Duels are a sight of fun to watch,” said Hud. “Not that I ever watched one, but that’s what I hear tell. I’ll leave word where—”

“You want me to watch?” Tebow jumped to his feet. “What sort of a man are you, Hud?”

“Well, now, I’ve been inquiring myself that all my life,” said Hud, “but there’s not time to reply you the answer now. Just come along and watch.”

“I said that whatever you asked—”

“I’ll ask that. And something else, too, you still got those five pretty handkerchiefs with your name initials embroidered on by Allie Sue?”

George Tebow began dragging them out of this pocket. “What do you want of them, Hud?”

“Oh, just the loan. Come back here for them around quarter of six o’clock.”

Tebow stared, but he was past inquiring things of Hud. He went out, and Hud finished his supper. The landlord came to ask if Hud would like the pen and paper to draw his will.

“Shoo,” said Hud, “I don’t have that in mind. My horse is a hired horse, and nobody will want these clothes if I get pistol-shot in them. All else I’ve got is home at Portici in my Aunty Lo’s house. But I’ll write something else if you don’t mind.”

Left alone, he sprawled out his handwriting:

George T in love with Allie Sue.

Allie Sue not in love with Milas C.

Capt. Croslin in debt to everybody.

Sq. Duckett in politics against Sq. Huckleroy.

Sq. Huckleroy in arms against H. Mottram.

George not guilty, Milas dead—who told about Squire H’ s secret money?

& who was told?

& how did I get into this duel so quick?

A fly fluttered past Hud’s ear as he finished. Hud shot out his right hand and caught the fly out of the air, then let it go. He called for the landlord. “What’s my score for this good supper you set me?” Hud inquired of him.

“Captain Croslin settled for anything you’d have, Squire. But let me offer you this fine segar.” It was a long segar, anyway.

“Thank you kindly,” said Hud. “I swanny, Captain Croslin’s an accommodating gentleman, even to folks he brings notes to say they’re to fight for their lives.”

Hud folded the paper with his writing, and put one of the handkerchiefs on it. “Oh, and here’s something belongs to Mr. George Tebow—Squire Tebow, he’s got the right to be called now. When he comes after it, say he’s to follow me for the others.”

Then came Squire Duckett, wide and stern-looking, like a preacher at a kissing game. “It’s twenty to six,” he said. “We’d better be started, sir.”

Hud got up. “Where’s this thing going to take place?”

“Please accompany me,” said Duckett.

Hud put on his wide black hat and followed him outside, where the sun was better than an hour above the horizon still, and never had Hud seen the land so bright or the trees so green or the sky so blue, or a face so tight-pulled and solemn as Squire Dandridge Duckett’s face under those side-whiskers.

“Which way?” Hud asked.

“To the left here, along the main street.”

CHAPTER III

Mottram dropped another handkerchief about ten paces along, where it could easily be spied from the tavern door. Then he said and did nothing for a while, just walked along with Duckett. Moshawnee wasn’t a town so big that the main and only street took long to walk out of into the country. There the street turned into a wagon road between tall pretty trees, and a bird sang in the top of one of those trees.

“This way,” said Duckett after while, turning off into a path through the thickest of the timber.

“Why do you stop, Squire?”

“Just to wipe my nose, Squire,” Hud replied, using another handkerchief. “And I think I’ll put a match to this segar the landlord gave me so kindly.”

He lighted it, and when he threw away the match he made out to hang the handkerchief to the twigs in sight of the road.

They walked maybe a half mile in all—out of pistol sound of Moshawnee, Hud reckoned—and there was another path, running along a creek. Hud was patting a fourth handkerchief between his hands as they turned on that new way, and he dropped the pretty embroidered little square of cloth on the muddy ground at that moment.

Now he’d used up four of George Tebow’s five loaned handkerchiefs, and there was just the one left to him when they came out into a clearing beside water that ran like a pretty music, and there were three men waiting for him.

Across the clearing, Squire Huckleroy watched. Though the evening was warm, he wore a long gray-caped coat buttoned up to his big square chin, and on his head stood a tall silk hat. He was near about as tall as Hud, and stood straight for all his white hair. His close-shaved lips were lean and tight, and his eyes were the hardest and the straightest-looking in all the sovereign State.

Over away from Squire Huckleroy was little Dr. Shumake, with his black bag beside him. And toward Duckett and Hud walked Captain Croslin, so graceful in his varnished boots he was near about dancing. Under his arm were two pistol cases, one covered with glossy-rubbed leather, the other wooden with black lacquer and gold hinges.

“Gentlemen,” said Croslin, chock full of manners, and shook hands with Duckett and Hud. “You are prompt, we were but early. Squire Mottram, your second and I have asked Dr. Shumake to attend in his professional capacity. You do not object?”

“Proud to have him,” said Hud, and raised his hat to the little doctor, “but I don’t reckon he’ll be much in request for his services.”

“Hmmm,” said Croslin, the way as if he didn’t understand. Then he held out the cases, one in each hand.

“I have provided one pair of pistols,” he said, “and Squire Duckett the other. Since you, Squire Mottram, are not acquainted with either pair, please choose one.”

“I haven’t any preference,” said Hud. “The case in your right hand.”

“Very good,” Croslin nodded. “The pistols in the other case will be loaded for Squire Huckleroy and myself.”

“Oh, the both of you?” said Hud. “That strikes me like an almighty lot of pistols getting loaded here today.”

“Sir,” put in Duckett, “surely you understand the code of honor more fully than you suggest. The seconds, too, are armed, to deal with any infraction or irregularity on the part of the principals.”

“I vow and swear,” said Hud admiringly, “I call that foresighted of the code of honor.”

He puffed segar smoke and looked from Croslin to Duckett, then off to little Dr. Shumake at one side, then to Squire Huckleroy burning eyes at him across the clearing. Hud grinned at Squire Huckleroy all round the segar. But Squire Huckleroy snorted like a mean horse, snorted so loud Hud could hear him all that way across.

“Captain Croslin,” said Duckett, “suppose you toss a coin and I call it for choice of positions.”

“Agreed, Squire,” said Croslin, and took a coin from the pocket of his neat tight breeches. He tossed it up.

“Heads,” called Duckett, and both he and Croslin bent to look. “Tails,” said Duckett.

“Then I have the privilege of stationing our two friends,” said Croslin. “You, Squire Duckett, have the word.” He pointed to the west of the clearing. “Yonder my principal shall stand, and yours opposite him at ten paces to eastward. You and I, Squire Duckett, take our places at the same distances apart, along a line midway between. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Squire Duckett.

Croslin went to Squire Huckleroy and led him by the arm to his post. Then he stepped off ten paces, and where he set the heel of his vanished boot was where Duckett set Hud. Then Croslin stepped off ten paces on a line midway, and marked the two positions for the seconds with his heel.

After that, he and Duckett opened the pistol cases and fussed over them with powder measures and bullets and ramrods. Squire Huckleroy kept raking Hud with his eyes the way he might be picking out a good spot to shoot at, and Hud grinned at him again, once, then watched the loading. The sun from the west came over the trees behind Squire Huckleroy, and Hud tilted his hat forward to shade his eyes.

Back to him came Duckett, with a pistol in each hand. Hud could see they were almighty fine-looking pistols, with eight-squared steel barrels and silver mounting on the stocks and trigger-guards. Duckett held a pistol out to Hud.

“Hold it midway of the barrel in your left hand,” he said, and Hud did so. “Now turn your right side toward Squire Huckleroy. When Captain Croslin and I take our positions, take the stock in your right hand, raise it before your face so that the muzzle points up, and draw back the hammer. Then wait for my word about firing. Is that clear?”

“Right complicated,” said Hud, “but right clear.”

“The good luck.”

“The same to you.”

Duckett walked to Hud’s right and took his own position. Croslin stood opposite Duckett. Both the seconds held their pistols hanging at their sides. Hud lifted his own pistol and roostered back the hammer. It made a nice, well-oiled snicking sound. With his left hand Hud took the segar from his mouth and blew the smoke away.

“Pray give me your attention, gentlemen,” said Duckett. “My first words will be, ‘Gentlemen, are you ready?’ When I say that, please answer me, both of you. I will then say, ‘Fire, one, two, three, halt.’ You must not lower your piece to aiming position until I have pronounced the word ‘Fire’, and you must not touch trigger after I have pronounced the word ‘Halt’.”

He looked at Hud, then at Squire Huckleroy. “Gentlemen, are you ready?”

“Ready, sir,” growled out Squire Huckleroy, pistol poised. It was the first word he’d spoken since Hud had come.

“But I’m not,” said Hud, loud and clear and cheerful.

They all looked. He could feel their wide-open, wonder-filled eyes.

“Sir, what are you saying?” Croslin snapped out.

“I’m saying I’m not ready to start shooting yet,” Hud replied. “Not till I tell you all who it was really killed Milas Clavering and thieved Squire Huckleroy’s money and blamed George Tebow.”

“Squire Mottram!” That was Duckett, pointing his pistol smack at Hud. “In observance of the code governing formal duels—”

Hud laughed at him, happy as a dog in a meat house. “Oh, don’t waste that powder,” he said, “because it’s all there in your pistol. You gave me the loaded one instead of keeping it.”

“Wh—what?” squealed out Dr. Shumake.

“Squire Duckett loaded only one pistol with ball, and the other just with powder and a wad,” said Hud to the Doctor. “Then he forgot and kept the one with just the powder, the one I was supposed to fire off while Squire Huckleroy yonder was shooting me dead. Squire Duckett, you and Captain Croslin had so much to do in a short time you got hasty and careless.”

CHAPTER IV

There was silence while a slow counter could get to maybe six. Hud could hear the rippling water and, somewhere along it, a frog going a-hoong. Finally:

“Explain that!” Croslin yelled out.

Hud shifted to face him.

“Squire Duckett can’t do anybody harm, Captain,” said Hud, “and your pistol points down while mine points up. I can get into action before you do, and this close in even the third best shot in Portici could drill you right where you’re wondering how I found out so much.”

“What in the name of—” Dr. Shumake began to verbalize interferingly.

“Just hold your tater, everybody, till I say the rest of my say.” And Hud laughed again. He hadn’t felt so good about things since he’d set his big foot in Moshawnee.

“I started in to patch-quilt things together when Captain Croslin walked in with Squire Huckleroy’s challenge,” he said, “and Squire Duckett spoke up so quick to be my second. You two rigged this duel business up in short minutes, for fear I’d learn and tell who was the real robbing murderer.

“Captain, you pollyfoxed Squire Huckleroy into challenging me by that talk to him about how he’d be a coward not to face my pistol. As for Dr. Shumake, I don’t have any evidence that he’s one of this committee of killers.”

“Young sir,” squeaked up Dr. Shumake, “I never killed anybody in my life except by wrong medical guessing. Go on with your talk, up to now it’s the interestingest I’ve ever heard, not excepting your speech to the jury.”

“As for Squire Huckleroy—” went on Hud.

“Prove your charge, sir!” barked Squire Huckleroy, his pistol poised another sight more tightly than Hud’s.

“Legal proof starts with motives,” said Hud. “George Tebow’s cane and handkerchief were left to charge murder and robbery to him. But how might someone have fixed that silly business? All right, Squire Duckett, you can throw away that pistol with nary a bullet in it. You were the one that fixed it.”

“You insolent country fool,” Duckett blathered at him.

“Maybe I’m insolent,” said Hud, “maybe I’m country. But let’s find out who’s the fool here. Squire Huckleroy kept you out of the State Senate, and you feared that he’d back George Tebow to keep on keeping you out. I reckon Milas Clavering told you about the secret money and talked about disgracing George, because Milas Clavering wanted to win Miss Allie Sue.

“And if Miss Allie Sue sent six handkerchiefs to George by Captain Croslin, then Captain Croslin was in the thing too, keeping one of the six out, and likewise Captain Croslin better not raise that gun or he’ll get a bullet in him.”

“Bide still,” Squire Huckleroy told Croslin, “and let’s hear this thing out.”

“Aye,” said Croslin. “Let’s hear it out. He’s talking because he’s afraid to face you, Squire Huckleroy. He dares insult poor Milas Clavering, who—”

“Poor Milas is dead where he belongs,” Hud broke him off, “seeing he helped you fix the business. You and Duckett, Captain Croslin. That six hundred dollars would go into your pocket, so you could pay the drink bill at the tavern and my supper and still have a coin to flip here, when up to then your pocket was empty.”

Hud lifted his segar to his mouth, but it had gone out. He wagged his head, the way he wagged it in a law case.

“While George Tebow was celebrating his law certificate, you three went to Squire Huckleroy’s office. Milas Clavering let you all in and showed you where the money was. But about that time, it was Captain Croslin who had the thought that if Milas was out of the way, too, Allie Sue would be maybe in the state of mind to marry a poor but clever kissing cousin with pretty varnished boots.”

“No, you idiot!” yelled out Croslin. “It was Duckett struck Milas down!”

“You lie!” bellowed Duckett, and Croslin brought up his pistol.

Quick as quick, Squire Huckleroy fired his own pistol, and at the same moment Duckett’s gun went off.

Croslin spun clear around on those boots Hud had praised and slammed down on his face:

“See to the Captain, Dr. Shumake,” called out Hud, “on account he mustn’t die with a lie on his tongue.”

Then Hud ran to Duckett, but Squire Huckleroy was there first, snatching the smoky pistol from Duckett’s hand.

“I meant only to shoot the gun from his hand,” Squire Huckleroy was asking pardon.

“And that’s what you did, sir,” said Hud. “It was Duckett’s bullet hit the Captain.”

He ran back and stooped for Croslin’s gun. It was dented in the barrel with Squire Huckleroy’s ball, but it was still cocked.

“I reckon,” said Hud, “this is the only sidearm we’ve got left With a killing charge in it, and I hope it doesn’t have to go off.”

“This man’s shoulder is broken,” Dr. Shumake reported as he bent over Croslin.

Duckett gobbled and goggled. “My weapon went off of itself,” he said. “But if there was no bullet in it—”

“Oh,” said Hud, cheerful as a squirrel, “I just said you’d handed me the wrong pistol to pester you. I didn’t want you popping at me and spoiling my speech in the loudest part.”

Into the clearing came charging George Tebow, and beside him Solicitor Rakeshaw, and behind them the sheriff of Moshawnee.

“I showed your note to the solicitor,” panted Tebow to Hud. “Then we followed that string of handkerchiefs you left us.”

“You didn’t know yet who was guilty,” added Rakeshaw.

“I had a good notion,” said Hud, “but I didn’t put it in writing, I reckoned you’d be curious enough to hurry. Sorry you didn’t get here in time to hear my arguments.”

“It’s Duckett who’s guilty,” gritted out Croslin, sitting up and pressing a hand to his bleeding shoulder.

“You triple liar!” Duckett found voice to say back. “You killed Milas Clavering!”

“Squire Mottram,” said Solicitor Rakeshaw, “I want to engage you as special prosecutor, to show in court which of these men is the murderer.”

“Well, I’d be happy to help,” said Hud. “Whichever did it, the other’s an accessory.”

Squire Huckleroy had grabbed George Tebow’s hand in both of his, like a father welcoming a son. “George,” he said, “I hope you and Allie Sue have a boy like you, not foolish in the head and stubborn in the heart like me.”

The sheriff was helping Dr. Shumake raise Croslin to his feet. Duckett made a move as if he’d like to go off somewhere alone, but Hud stepped a big foot on Duckett’s toe and showed him the pistol that had been knocked from Croslin’s hand.

“Stay with us,” said Hud. “Ever see a jail yawn, Squire? Well, there’s one in Moshawnee yawning for you and Captain Croslin, right this minute.”

“Gentlemen,” muttered Rakeshaw, “this is legal brilliance.”

“It’s luck,” snarled out Duckett. “That’s all. Luck told Hud Mottram. It’s plain for anybody to see.”

“Well now, Squire, I think you’ve got it about right,” Hud agreed him, and struck a match to light his gone-out segar. “I always was a pure down fool for luck.”