Ole Doc Methuselah by L. Ron Hubbard Read Free Book Online

make me go up against a yella ticket signed by a
Soldier of Light.”
    Sudden
intelligence shot through Blanchard’s face. His hands stiffened, clenched. “How
can this be? When did it happen?”
    â€œJust
afore sundown, Mr. Blanchard. He come here and he give me the ticket and he
give everybody else the same yella ticket. And while he didn’t say wot disease,
and while he didn’t even say there was disease, a yella ticket from a
Soldier of Light is good enough for me. I don’t go nowhere and I don’t take you
nowhere, and there’s no use askin’ it ’cause I’d make myself and my crew an
outlaw for all the rest of my days if I was to do it. There ain’t no planetary
port anywhere in the galaxy that’d receive us with a yella ticket from him.”
    Anger
displayed the extent of Blanchard’s defeat. “I can show you there is no
disease,” he cried wildly. Then, bethinking himself that a more proper frame
of mind would better suit his ends, he calmed.
    â€œHow
could you get rid of such a thing as a yellow ticket? Supposing the Soldier of
Light himself were to be stricken by the disease? Supposing he were to die?
Then what? Supposing any number of things happened? Supposing Junction City
burned down? Supposing, well, you can’t stand there and tell me that you would
then refuse to leave.”
    â€œOh,
that would be different, Mr. Blanchard. But them conditions ain’t nowise
appeared. While there’s a Soldier of Light alive and well and as long as I
holds his yella ticket I don’t go no place. There’s no use offering bribes and
there’s no use using threats. I ain’t going! ”
    The
space door shut with a clang.
    If
Blanchard’s eyes had been acetylene torches they would have cut it neatly
through, but they were not. He and Dart, followed by three outlaws who carried
amongst them a quantity of baggage and a peculiarly noisy chest, made their way
back towards the Comet Saloon.
    They
had not gone nearer than the outskirts of the platted town when they encountered
two pioneers at one of the innumerable water hydrants which Blanchard had used
as props to give stability to his swindle.
    They
had just drunk when one of them said, in a sour voice, “Look at that damned
sky. Goin’ to rain, sure as hell.”
    Blanchard
glanced up. The fine brilliance of the stars was not marred by a single cloud
anywhere.
    â€œRain,
hell,” said the other pioneer, “it’ll probably hail or sleet. I never saw a
worse lookin’ night!”
    â€œMy
old woman,” said the first, “she’ll probably die if it turns cold. She’s doin’
awful poor.”
    â€œAnd
you never saw ground,” said the second, “harder to dig a grave in.”
    This
gloomy dissertation caused Blanchard to walk faster. The soft turf yielded, the
night was fine. But there was chill in the wind which was not temperature. A
lot depended upon the state of mind of these people.
    Near
the river he paused and let the three carriers come up. They jostled to a halt
in the starlight.
    â€œMen,”
said Blanchard, “I expect there’s going to be a little trouble.”
    This
did not amaze the three or bother them. They had been spawned in trouble. Their
mental reaction was that Blanchard could be shaken down for a little more now.
Not so Dart. He shifted his mask uneasily and mopped behind it with a silk
cloth and squirmed. He felt rivulets of perspiration running inside his mailed
jacket and yet he was chilly.
    â€œDart
and I,” said Blanchard, “have a task to perform, after which we will get our
white ticket for the captain back there. The three of you leave your baggage at
this point and go to the saloon. We will join you.”
    â€œWhat’ll
we do with this chest?” said one. He looked at the river.
    There
were muffled beatings coming from within it now. It was true that someone might
come near