Ketchum stared at him. Something in that steeltrap jaw and those hard eyes sent a chill through him.
“I take it”… London said gravely, “that you are Bill Ketchum. I heard what you said just now. I also heard down the line that you was a horse thief, maybe worse. You get off this place now, and don’t ever come back. You do and I’ll shoot you on sight. Now get!”
“You talk mighty big.”… Ketchum stared at him, anger rising within him. Should he try this fellow? Who did he think he was, anyway?
“I’m big as I talk.”… London said it flatly. “I done killed a man yesterday down to Maxwell’s.
Hombre name of Hurlburt. That’s all I figure to kill this week unless you want to make it two.
Start moving now.”
Ketchum hesitated, then viciously reined his horse around and started down the trail. As he neared the edge of the woods, rage suddenly possessed him. He grabbed for his rifle and instantly a shot rang out and a heavy slug gouged the butt of his rifle and glanced off.
Behind him the words were plain. “I put that one right where I want it. This here’s a sevenshot repeater, so if you want one through your heart, just try it again.”
London waited until the man had disappeared in the trees, and a minute more. Only then did he turn to his wife. She was down on the step with her arm around Betty Jane, who was sobbing happily against her breast.
“Jim”… She whispered. “Oh, Jim!”
He got down heavily. He started toward her and then stopped. Around the corner came a boy of four or five, a husky youngster with a stick in his hand and his eyes blazing. When he saw Jim he stopped abruptly. This stranger looked just like the old picture on his mother’s table. Only he had on a coat in the picture, a store-bought coat.
“Jim.”… Jane was on her feet now, color coming back into her face. “This is Little Jim. This is your son.”
Jim London swallowed and his throat suddenly filled. He looked at his wife and started toward her. He felt awkward, clumsy. He took her by the elbows. “Been a long time, honey”… He said hoarsely, “a mighty long time!”
She drew back a little, nervously. “Let’s I’ve coffee on. We’ll “She turned and hurried toward the door and he followed.
It would take some time. A little time for both of them to get over feeling strange, and maybe more time for her. She was a woman, and women needed time to get used to things.
He turned his head and almost automatically his eyes went to that south forty. The field was green with a young crop. Wheat! He smiled.
She had filled his cup; he dropped into a seat, and she sat down opposite him. Little Jim looked awkwardly at Betty Jane, and she stared at him with round, curious eyes.
“There’s a big frog down by the bridge”… Little Jim said suddenly. “I bet I can make him hop!”
They ran outside into the sunlight, and across the table Jim London took his wife’s hand. It was good to be home. Mighty good.
Riding for the Brand (Ss) (1986) Page 26