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Updated: May 11, 2025
Each succeeding marksman had exploded his own theory, and passed on. Liquor was still to be obtained at the general store. Provisions were occasionally teamed in and were made up of peculiarly conglomerate lots. There were no women in Gophertown. There was little local gossip. There was no regular watch kept on the outlands. Gophertown felt secure in itself. Each man was his own argus.
I want a drink. I'm goin' over to Gophertown to get it. I'll treat the bunch." "Which bunch?" "Any and all come stand up and down it." "We'll be there when you call our numbers, sister. You comin'?" asked Pars Long, nodding toward Overland. "Me? Nope.... I'm goin'. I'm goin' to ask you boys to kindly allow me the privilege of gettin' my drink first and by my lonesome.
How does the Saunders insec' wear his clothes?" "He's kind of lame in one arm and here he comes now. You can see for yourself. The one on that pinto." As Saunders rode past the two men, he turned in his saddle. Despite Overland's finery he recognized him at once. Overland's gaze never left the other's hands. "Mornin'," said Overland, nodding. "Ain't you grazin' pretty far this side of Gophertown?"
"Two-gun Jack Summers on that red Yuma hoss, ridin' into Gophertown with both hands filled and lookin' for trouble.... God! He was bad enough when he was dodgin' trouble. Well, I'm glad I'm livin' to see it. I was commencin' to think they wasn't any more men left in the country. I'm forty-seven year old. To-morrow I'll be twenty again ... or nothin'." Some towns "nestle" on the plain.
Overland Red had once wintered in Gophertown. Immediately previous to his arrival in Gophertown he had been obliged to maintain, in an unofficial capacity, his former prestige as sheriff of Abilene. The town of Abilene had sympathized with him heartily, but had advised him to absent himself indefinitely and within the hour.
Overland shifted his foot to his other knee and leaned back luxuriously, puffing fluently at his cigar. "Billy did get to feelin' kind of down, a spell back. He had a argument with a Gophertown gent about our claim. I wasn't there at the time, but when I come back, I tied up Billy's leg " "Goodness! His leg?" exclaimed Anne. "Yes, ma'am.
"Did you see Brand lift the Gophertown guy out of his saddle the one that was shootin' at Red in front of the joint? Brand threw a forty-five into him, and comin' on the jump, too. The Gopher humped up like he'd been horned by the Santa Fé Limited. Now what's the dope?" Overland Red had again fallen from his horse. Williams beckoned to Long. "Take the Yuma colt, Pars, and fan it for the cañon.
Billy's hit, and Miguel's goin' to be, the dam' little fool. Look at him!" The Gophertown men were drawing away toward the cañon. They turned occasionally to throw a shot at Miguel and Pars Long, who followed them. Bud Light sat his horse, gazing solemnly at the stump of his gun-finger. His shirt was spattered with blood. Suddenly Williams raised a shrill call.
The Gophertown men poured from the saloon, and, seizing their ponies, circled round to the back of the building, firing as they retreated. Miguel spurred his big pinto in among them and emptied his gun. He rode out at a lope, reloading. The front of his flannel shirt was shot away, but he was not aware of it.
The Gophertown gent snuck up and tried to stick Billy up when Billy was readin' po'try some of mine. Billy didn't scare so easy. He reaches for his gun. Anyhow, the Gophertown gent's bullet hit a rock, and shied up and stung Billy in the leg. Billy never misses a tin can now'days, and the gent was bigger than a can. We never seen nothin' of him again."
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