King of Spades by Frederick Manfred Read Free Book Online Page A

they’ll let me enter, I’ll win us a great big fat turkey gobbler for Thanksgiving.”
    â€œAtta way to talk. Might as well be a man as not. While you’re at it.”
    Magnus took his turn with the pistol. Standing a good twenty paces off, he hit dead center five times out of six. A silver dollar could have covered the bullet holes in and around the tiny knot in the log.
    Roddy took pride in his father.
    Magnus found a penny in his pocket. He flipped it into the air above them and with a single shot hit it on the way down.
    Roddy spotted where the penny glanced off. He went over and got it. “It’s bent double, Dad.”
    â€œDidn’t I drill it plumb center?”
    â€œYou hit it dead center all right. But it didn’t go through. Just bent it double.”
    â€œThat’s blunt-nosed bullets for you.”
    â€œWhen can I try the six-shooter, Dad?”
    â€œIn a couple of years maybe.”
    â€œWhy wait that long?”
    â€œA revolver is trickier than a shotgun. Because it’s too handy. It can turn on you so much quicker than a shotgun.”
    â€œThat’s why when a man wants to commit suicide he always takes the revolver then.”
    Magnus winced. “Where’d you hear that fool notion?”
    â€œHeard the kids at school talking about it.”
    â€œGood Lord.” Magnus punched his heel into the green turf.
    â€œSay, Dad, suppose you was to meet a real road agent in a saloon? And he was out to kill you? How’d you take care of him?”
    â€œI suppose you heard about that in school too?”
    â€œYeh.”
    â€œHum.” Magnus touched a hand to his eye as if refixing a monocle in place. “Well, in the case of a vicious road agent, I’d aim with the eyes, never the gun. Gut-shoot him.”
    â€œSay, Dad, when are you going to give me a monocle like you got at home?”
    â€œNever.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œIt doesn’t fit in America.”
    â€œWe’re going back to England someday, ain’t we?”
    â€œNo, boy, no, I guess we never will.”
    Roddy kicked loose a round skipping stone from the grass. He picked it up and fitted it expertly in his eye as though it were a monocle.
    â€œDon’t, son. I have nothing but bad memories about those things.”
    Roddy skimmed the stone away, off across the grass. “Sorry, Dad.”
    Magnus shook himself. “Well now, boy. You got any advice to give me? Turn and turn about, you know.”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so.”
    â€œNothing? Nothing about how I hold the gun or something?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNot even the way I stand maybe?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œGood. Then I can qualify for a pistol shoot.”
    â€œBoy, I can’t wait for the day when I can shoot a pistol.”
    Magnus sat down on the bony cottonwood log, and got out his pipe and lighted up. In a moment the tranquil smell of tobacco smoke wafted around them.
    Roddy checked to see if his double-barreled shotgun was empty, then placed it carefully on the other side of the log with the barrels aimed up and away from them. He settled on the cottonwood log beside his father.
    Magnus sat musing on the scene, eyes lidded half-over, free hand hanging.
    A halo of mist wavered over the spot where the Big Sioux pushed its green water into the tan waters of the Missouri.
    A mosquito wisped across Magnus’ line of vision, so close that for a second he thought it a whistling swan going by legs adangle.
    â€œSay though, Dad.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCan I give you a piece of advice about something else?”
    â€œFire away.”
    â€œMaybe I shouldn’t though.”
    â€œFire away.”
    Roddy gave Magnus a look of young force. “Don’t always be so picky with Mom. There ain’t nobody bothering her. Hanging around her. Really. Exceptin’ just me, Dad. That’s all.”
    â€œSon, I don’t want to believe bad