Payback at Morning Peak by Gene Hackman Read Free Book Online Page A

mean, ‘or what’?”
    “‘Or what’ means what are you big enough to do, Billy? I was just having a giggle with that farmer.” The man yelled toward Jubal and his father. “You want a handful of this, pig-sticker? Say the word and we can do it.”
    With his hands still cupped around his privates, he started walking to Jubal, Sr., ignoring Tauson, much to the delight of his friends. The more they cheered him on, the more animated his walk became.
    “Step away, son,” Jubal’s father whispered. “This bastard is out of control.”
    A loud command from Tauson slowed the monkey walk. “Wetherford, stop the foolishness and come on back. Now.”
    Pete turned to face his friends and boss. He giggled and spoke in a child’s voice. “But, Da-da, I want to go pee-pee on the farmer man.”
    Tauson walked away in disgust while Pete turned back to Jubal, Sr. “Do farmer man and his”—he winked at Jubal—“daughter want to play paddy cake with Petey boy?” He was even closer now. Dropping his hands from his crotch, he raised them into fists, chest-high.
    “Why don’t you leave us alone?” Jubal had never seen anyone act so blatantly foolish. “None of this is any of your business, mister.”
    Jubal’s father reached across to secure his son’s arm. “Easy, this fellow’s just drunk. He’ll be moving along directly.” He nodded toward the man. “Won’t you?”
    Pete hesitated and reached toward his pistol, but his long coat had worked its way from behind the holster and now smothered the six-shooter. Jubal’s father lunged forward, grabbing Pete’s right hand, driving his shoulder into the man’s chest.
    They both went down as Jubal scrambled along the ground next to them, grabbing Pete’s .44 from under his coat. He held the gun by its barrel, ready to crack the man’s head if needed. “Got his gun, Pa.”
    “Watch out for the rest of them, son.” Jubal’s father secured Pete with his arm tucked up under his shoulder blade. Jubal watched as Pete’s friends started moving down the street toward the fight, the gun hanging limp in Jubal’s hand.
    A group of townspeople crowded around the two men wrestling on the ground. Shop owners and customers deserted their pursuits to be entertained by the rowdy display in the center of the busy street, cheering on the combatants as if this were a paid circus.
    Pete kicked back hard against Jubal, Sr.’s leg and spun around, but his exit was blocked by a knee driven into his groin.
    “That should give you something special to hold on to, mister.” Jubal, Sr., took the pistol from his son and broke open the breech, emptying the bullets into his hand and tossing them into a nearby water trough.
    Pete writhed on the ground, his hands firmly holding his crotch.
    Jubal, Sr., bent over him. “Have some respect for others. This land business with your jefe Tauson is never your mind, you hear?” He dropped the pistol in the dirt.
    The gathered townspeople cheered, swelling Jubal’s chest with pride. As they walked to the blacksmith’s shop to retrieve the wagon, his father said, “That was a brave thing you did, Jube. Taking that gun when we were scuffling around on the ground. What would you have done if he’d gotten the better of me?”
    “I don’t know, Pa.” Jubal paused. “It didn’t occur to me that I would have to do anything as long as I had the gun.”
    “Maybe you’ve got a point.” He smiled. “He who has the gun, rules. Unfortunate, but true. Mind you, recognize that things can change very quickly. As I’ve said before, a gun can be a useful tool, but in the wrong hands, dangerous to a fault.”
    Pru and his mother were already in the wagon. “Jube, dear, you look a mess,” she said to her husband. “What happened to your clothes?”
    “I was larking around with some jaybird and tripped and fell.” He swung easily up to the wagon seat. “Jube here was a big help. He stepped in and… saved the day. Guess I’m getting old, tripping