Richard Matheson - The Gun Fight

“What’s wrong with you, sir?” Matthew Coles demanded. “And where were you this entire morning?”

“I was—” Robby leaned over suddenly, jamming the end of one fist against his pale-lipped mouth.

“Matthew, he’s ill,” Mrs. Coles said suddenly. “Please don’t—”

“This is not your discussion,” her husband informed her, face tensed with the expression of a soldier attacked on all sides. “I have an appointment at the bank at one o’clock. I expect to be there exactly on time—fed.”

Jane Coles’ hands twitched in futile empathy with her upset condition and she turned back to the stove, a hopeless expression on her face.

“Where is the boy?” her husband asked her.

“He’s not home from school yet,” she answered.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I say, he’s not home from school yet.”

“He’s supposed to be home. I think a little strapping is in order for that young man.”

His wife said nothing, knowing that no answer was expected. She went about quietly at her work as Matthew Coles concentrated on Robby again.

“Why weren’t you at your work this morning?”

Robby looked up at his stern-faced father with pain-glossed eyes.

“Sir, I expect an answer.”

“I went out,” Robby said, weakly.

“Out? Out where?”

“T-to . . . John Benton’s . . . ranch.”

“And what, may I ask, were you doing there?”

“I . . .” Robby swallowed and gasped in air. “I wanted to see . . . to see him.”

“About what?”

Robby stared at his father, his lean chest rising and falling with tight, spasmodic movements.

“I am waiting, sir,” his father said clearly.

“I . . . sir, I’d rather not—”

“ What was that? ” His father spoke the words in a cold, threatening tone and spots of color flared up in Robby’s pale cheeks. His throat moved again as he looked up fearfully into the hard face of his father.

Robby bit his lip. “I had to see B-Benton,” he said.

“What about?” Matthew Coles spoke the words slowly, with the repetitious demanding of a man who would not be put off.

Robby looked down at his boots. “Lou-Louisa,” he said.

“Miss Louisa Harper?” asked his father, announcing her name as if it were the title of a book.

Robby nodded slowly without looking up.

“And what about Miss Louisa Harper?”

“I . . .”

“Answer me this moment, sir!”

Robby looked up in hopeless despair. “I wanted to f-find out about her and . . . and Benton.”

At the stove the father and son heard Mrs. Coles catch her breath. “Robby,” she murmured faintly.

Matthew Coles paid no attention. His face a block of carved stone, he caught at the situation as one worthy of his stern attention.

“Make yourself clear, sir,” he said firmly and distinctly.

Robby’s throat moved convulsively as he stared up.

“Well?”

“Louisa told me that . . . that Benton annoyed her and . . . tried to . . . to—”

“ To effect a meeting? ” His father completed the sentence with imperial outrage, his nostrils flared, his hands clenched suddenly at his sides.

Robby’s head slumped forward and a harsh breath shuddered his body. “I guess,” he muttered.

Mr. Coles drew back his shoulders slowly as if he were getting ready to gird his loins for a battle with all the forces of evil in the world.

“You saw Benton,” he said and it wasn’t a question.

Robby nodded. “I . . . yes, I . . . did.”

“And what was his defense?”

“He . . . he acted like he didn’t kn-know anything about it.”

A thin, humorless smile raised the ends of Matthew Coles’ lips. “Of course,” he said quietly, “that would be what he’d say.” He looked down dispassionately at his son’s pain-tightened face. “There was a fight,” he stated.

Robby nodded and mumbled something.

Then Matthew Coles was leaning over his son and Mrs. Coles was watching her husband with uneasy eyes.

“Miss Harper is your intended bride, is she not?” said Matthew Coles, his voice calm.

Robby looked up quickly at his father and nodded. “Y . . . yes,” he said, almost tentatively, as if he suspected that his father was going to throw the admission back in his face.

“Well, then,” Mr. Coles said, still calmly, as he straightened up. “What do you mean to do about it?”

In the sudden silence of the kitchen, Robby distinctly heard the frightened sound his mother made. But there seemed nothing visible in the entire room except his black-suited father looking down commandingly at him.

Chapter Five

Alittle after twelve, the spotted hound raced to the Dutch door and reared up excitedly, its blunt claws scratching at the wood, its hoarse barking echoing in the kitchen. Julia Benton looked up from her pea shelling with a quick smile that drove the tense absorption from her face.

Five minutes later the buckboard came creaking across the yard and braked up in back of the house.

Julia walked over to the door and opened the top half. She saw her tall husband reaching over the iron railing for one of the baskets in the buckboard. “ Hush now,” she told the baying hound.

“Hello, ma,” John said, grinning as he came struggling toward the door with his heavy load.

“Hello, dear.” Julia pulled open the bottom half of the door and the wriggling hound rushed out, its long tail blade whipping at its flanks. “Howdy, mutt,” Benton said as he entered the kitchen, heeled by the excited dog.

Benton set the basket down heavily on the table and straightened up with a quickly exhaled breath. “Am I late?” he said.

Julia nodded, smiling. “The boys finished half hour ago. Sit down and I’ll warm you what’s left.”

“Right. I’ll get the rest of the chuck first, though.” Benton left the kitchen, the dog prancing and growling happily at his boots. “Easy there, Jughead,” Julia heard her husband tell the hound.

A minute later, Benton sat at the table, checking the supply list while Julia warmed his dinner.

“Twenty pounds Arbuckle’s,” he said, laying down the coffee sack. “Canned cow. Salt. Flour.”

“Molasses?” she said.

He nodded with a grunt. “Yup,” he said, “black strap.” He checked off the item. “Oh, I forgot,” he said, “I got you canned peaches. Maxwell just got some in from the east.”

“ Oh ,” she said, happily surprised, “that’s nice. We’ll have them Sunday morning.”

Benton smiled to himself and worked on the list until Julia put his dinner on the table. Then he washed up and sat down. By the stove, the hound was going back to twitching sleep again.

“John?” Julia asked him while he ate.

“What?”

“What did Robby Coles want to see you about?”

He looked up from his plate in surprise. “How did you know about that?” he asked.

“He rode here first looking for you.”

“He did, eh?” Benton sipped a little hot coffee from the mug. “Well, I’ll be,” he said, shaking his head.

“You saw him in town then,” she said.

Benton nodded. “Yeah. Funny thing too,” he said. “He was all horns and rattles. Came into the Zorilla Saloon and threw a fist at me.”

She stood by the table looking concerned. “But why?” she asked.

He shrugged, food in his mouth, then swallowed. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the part that don’t make sense. He told me to stop botherin’ his girl.”

She looked at him silently a moment. “His girl ?” she said.

“That’s right. Came up to me blowin’ a storm and tells me to leave his girl alone. Then he throws a punch at me. What do you think o’ that?”