Ride the Man Down by Luke; Short Read Free Book Online Page B

the reputation of being a garrulous young man with a kind of shiftless, cheerful foolishness about him. His vest and shirt were close to tatters, his boots cracked and barely holding together. But in spite of his smile, his air of foolish unconcern, there was an uneasiness about him that Evarts couldn’t fathom. This impression was strengthened by the fact that Kennedy didn’t ask him to step down, although it was the custom of the country and the day was foul.
    Kennedy just watched him uneasily, hands in pockets.
    Evarts said, “You’re a neighbor to Cavanaugh, aren’t you?”
    Kennedy nodded cautiously.
    â€œEver see him?”
    â€œNow and then, Mr. Evarts. Just every once in a while, you might say.”
    â€œNext time you see him give him a message for me, will you?”
    Kennedy looked vastly relieved. He grinned uneasily and said, “Sure.”
    â€œTell him we’re holding his cattle at the house. If he wants them he can come and get them.”
    Kennedy said quickly, “I’ll tell him. Sure thing, Mr. Evarts.”
    Evarts nodded and was about to pull his horse around when a man stepped out of the shack behind Kennedy. Kennedy wheeled, as if to stop him, and was shoved roughly aside.
    Ray Cavanaugh stood there, a rifle held at his side. In the first brief glimpse of him Evarts thought he was drunk. His tight, tough face was flushed, his hair awry, and he was in his sock feet. Then he coughed. He did not cease watching Evarts with his wild, bloodshot eyes, but his coughing, deep and pulpy, almost doubled him over. He dragged in a couple of deep, almost choking breaths of air, and when he spoke his voice was rough and hoarse.
    â€œGet down off that horse!”
    Evarts just watched him in silence. “You’re sick.”
    â€œDamn right I am,” Cavanaugh said. “I footed it for five hours in that rain to make it here. You’re goin’ to do the same.” Evarts had a swift, momentary pity for the man, and then it vanished. A man accepted the consequences of his own acts, and Cavanaugh must accept his. There was a new stubbornness in John Evarts as he shook his head.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    Cavanaugh raised his rifle almost to his shoulder. “Have I got to shoot you off that horse?”
    â€œYes, you do.”
    For a moment the two men looked at each other, and then Evarts saw the maniac rage mount in Cavanaugh’s eyes. A cold dismay struck him, and he yanked his horse around, seeing the gun lift to Cavanaugh’s shoulder as he wheeled.
    He never heard the shot. Something smashed his breath out of him. He tasted mud, and that was all.
    As Evarts slipped to the ground Kennedy lunged for the rifle and wrenched it out of Cavanaugh’s hands. He dropped it, plunging off the porch into the slippery yard. He fell once, rose and raced on, and when he reached Evarts he knelt, pulled him off his back, and turned him over. A thin ribbon of blood licked out from the corner of Evarts’ muddy mouth spread fuzzily as the rain touched it, and vanished down behind his jaw.
    Kennedy, in panic, shook him, and when Evarts’ head rolled loosely he dropped him. Coming to his feet in the rain, the full horror of it held him motionless a moment, and then he turned and looked at Cavanaugh on the porch.
    â€œYou killed him.”
    Cavanaugh stepped down and came across to him, his bare feet leaving big splayed tracks in the mud. Both men stood there staring at Evarts, and then Cavanaugh whispered, “O Jesus.” Kennedy didn’t even hear him.
    Cavanaugh wasn’t mad any more. The memory of the bitter humiliation, of Will Ballard’s contemptuous beating, of his wild rage at anything Hatchet was gone, and only fear remained. His sick mind raced ahead now, picturing the chain of frightening events this shooting would put in movement, and he shivered uncontrollably.
    â€œYou saw him,” he said fiercely to Kennedy.