Riders Of the Dawn (1980) (17 page)

"Now you know how they felt, Bodie," I said bitterly.

"It's an ugly thing to die with a slug in you because som e punk wants to prove he's tough. And you aren't tough, Bodie , just mean."

He stared at me, but he didn't say anything. He wa s gone, and I could see it. Something kept him upright, standing in that white-hot sun, staring at me, the last face he woul d ever look up.

"You asked for it. Bodie, but I'm sorry for it. Why didn'
t you stay to punching cows?"

Bodie backed up another step, and his gun slid from hi s fingers. He tried to speak, and then his knees buckled and h e went down. Standing over him, I looked at Red.

"I'm ridin'," Red said huskily. "Just give me a chance."

He swung into the saddle and then looked down at Bodie.

"He wasn't so tough, was he?"

"Nobody is," I told him.
"Nobody's tough with a slug i n his belly."

He rode off, and I stood there in the trail with Bodi e dead at my feet. Slowly, I holstered my gun and then led m y horse off the trail to the shade where Bodie's horse still stoo d Lying there in the dusty trail, Bodie Miller no longe r looked mean or even tough. He looked like a kid that ha d tackled a job that was too big for him.

There was a small gully off the trail. It looked like a grave, and I used it that way. Rolling him into it, I shove d the banks in on top of him and then piled on some stones.

Then I made a cross for him and wrote his name on it, an d the words: HE PLAYED OUT HIS HAND. Then I hung his guns o n the cross and his hat.

It was not much of an end for a man, not any way yo u looked at it, but I wanted no more reputation as a killer--m ine had already grown too big.

Maybe Red would tell the story, and maybe in tim e somebody would see the grave. But if Red's story was told i t would be somewhere far away and long after, and that suite d me.

A stinging in my shoulder reminded me of my ow n wound, but when I opened my shirt and checked my shoulder I found it a mere scratch.

Ahead of me the serrated ridges of the wild lands wer e stark and lonely along the sky, and the sun behind me wa s picking out the very tips of the peaks to touch them wit h gold. Somehow the afternoon was gone, and now I was ridin g home to my own ranch, and tomorrow was my wedding day.