The Gun Fight by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online

seriously, that he’d go looking for Benton to fight him. Robby just wasn’t that kind; he was the quiet, dull kind, not at all like John Benton.
    Louisa Harper sat on the edge of the bed, her sobs gradually subsiding, her breathing getting more and more even. She rubbed at the tears with shaking fingers, then stood and got a handkerchief from her bureau drawer.
    She sat on the bed again, looking down at the hooked rug her mother had made for her sixteenth birthday.
    Now that Aunt Agatha was out of the room, the situation didn’t seem so bad. She knew she really should have told the truth but there was something about her aunt that terrified. She just didn’t dare tell that she’d made up the story; especially now after she’d failed to confess it when she’d had the opportunity.
    Besides—her right foot began kicking a little, thumping back against the bed—besides, it would all blow over. It wasn’t
that
serious, no matter what Aunt Agatha said. Robby wouldn’t go any further and certainly John Benton wouldn’t;
he
was a gentleman.
    The hint of a smile played on Louisa Harper’s full lips and something stirred in her. There was something strangely exciting about the thought of John Benton fighting over her.
    Louisa shuddered, lips parted suddenly.
    The two women stood in the downstairs hall. Elizabeth Harper was wringing her hands disconsolately.
    “If only my dear husband were alive,” she said miserably.
    “Well, he isn’t,” snapped her irate sister, “and we have to fend for ourselves.”
    Agatha Winston’s hand closed over her umbrella handle with the grip of a warrior on his battle sword.
    “There’s work to be done,” she said, her angry voice threatening in the Kellville house.

Chapter Seven
    “S top that kicking!”
    Jimmy Coles’ right foot stopped thumping against the chair leg and hooked quickly around the back of his left ankle as his eyes lifted in a cautious glance at his father. His fork hovered shakily near his mouth, a piece of meat impaled on its tines.
    Then his father’s cup slammed down furiously and made everyone at the table start.
    “
Yes, sir,
” demanded Matthew Coles.
    “Yes, sir,” Jimmy’s faint voice echoed his father’s outraged prompting.
    “You had better learn your manners, young man,” his father said, his voice threatening slow, “or you’ll feel the strap across your legs.”
    Jimmy swallowed the suddenly tasteless beef and sat petrified on his chair, blue eyes staring at his father. Mrs. Coles looked toward her younger son with that look of futile despair which, so often, showed on her face.
    Now Matthew Coles picked up his fork and dug it ruthlessly into a thick slice of beef. Shearing off a piece with one tense drawing motion of his knife, he shoved the meat into his mouth and sat chewing it with rhythmic, angry movements of his jaw.
    “In my day,” he went on as though he had just utteredhis previous comment on the subject, “we valued the honor of our women. We defended it.”
    Robby sat picking listlessly at his food, his stomach still queasy from the brief fight. He hadn’t wanted to sit down with his family at supper but his father had insisted.
    “You’re not eating, sir,” Matthew Coles told him.
    Robby looked up at his father. “I don’t feel well, sir,” he said quietly.
    “You shouldn’t feel well,” his father drove home another lance. “Your intended bride is insulted and you do nothing.”
    “Matthew, please don’t—” Jane Coles started imploringly.
    Her husband directed one of his women-were-not-created-to-speak looks at her and she lowered her head, the sentence unfinished. She had been tensely worried ever since Robby had told his father the reason for the fight with John Benton. She knew her husband; knew his unyielding strength and was afraid of what he might badger Robby into doing.
    “This is something which must be spoken of,” Matthew Coles went on firmly. “And it
will
be spoken of. There will be no