Free Tinhorn's Daughter by L. Ron Hubbard

he began to hitch himself along.
    â€œFaster,” said Fallon. “I ain’t got all day.”
    Gilhooly hippity-hopped faster, head down.
    â€œThis is too easy,” said Fallon. “I never did think you had any guts, Gilhooly. We’ll go down to my place and sign. But I’ve cut the price. You don’t get but five hundred. I can’t pay you less without makin’ it suspicious. That all right with you?” he added unnecessarily.
    â€œYeah,” said Gilhooly in a dull voice.
    â€œAnd after you get paid,” said Fallon, “you can leave the country. It won’t be healthy for you. Understand?”
    Gilhooly didn’t answer. He stumped dejectedly along, never turning to look at Fallon.
    They came at long last to the rim above the cabin. Gilhooly was played out from loss of blood and the hot sun, and it was all he could do to make it down the trail to the dilapidated shack.
    Mary Ann was looking out the window at him and there was both pity and disappointment on her face. But there was no respect.
    For her, Gilhooly had passed out of the reach of any respect. He looked so ridiculous with that pail on his head and she judged that his wound would not be serious or else he could not walk at all.
    She felt pity and pity is the pallbearer of love.
    Fallon got down.
    Stogie and Carson and Billings got up from a patch of shade and walked over, gazing amusedly at Gilhooly.
    â€œHe tried to get tough, but I took all the fight out of him,” said Fallon. “Creased his leg and you’d think he was killed. Ain’t that right, Gilhooly?”
    Gilhooly looked at the ground through the slits in the pail and said nothing.
    â€œG’wan inside,” said Fallon, booting Gilhooly.
    Gilhooly walked with difficulty through the door. There was a chair beside the table and he sat down upon it, shoulders slumped in dejection. He would not look up to meet the contempt in Mary Ann’s eyes.
    Fallon was joyously overbearing. He hauled out some printed forms, some ink and a pen, and shoved them at Gilhooly.
    â€œThe more I think about it,” said Fallon, “the more I think it would be a shame to spend money on you, Gilhooly. Supposing we make this for ten dollars. Is that all right?” he challenged.
    Sorrowfully, Gilhooly nodded. His hand was shaking when he picked up the pen. He dipped it in the ink and tried to make a mark with it.
    Stogie and Carson and Billings were standing around grinning.
    The pen would not write.
    â€œI got another one,” stated Fallon with the air of a man of property. He turned around and rummaged in a box against the far wall.
    Gilhooly was still half leaning on his crutch. Stogie and Billings turned to watch Fallon search.
    And suddenly the cabin exploded.
    Carson saw the stick whip level and he dived for his gun. But before he could draw, hard pine hit him between the eyes and he was slammed sideways against Stogie.
    Billings whirled with a warning yell and grabbed at his own gun. Whack— and his wrist was broken.
    With a backhand on the same sweep, Gilhooly smashed Stogie’s nose all over his face.
    Fallon roared with anger and leaped up. Gilhooly struck at him but Fallon had time to dodge. The pine stick sailed to crash into the door and drop outside.
    Gilhooly and Fallon collided in the middle of the room. Fallon had no time to draw. Gilhooly’s fists were too swift. And Fallon’s countering blows elicited yells of pain from him. His knuckles were smashed against the improvised casque .
    Billings was scrambling for a gun on the floor. Gilhooly leaped up and back and his heels crunched down on Billings’ fingers.
    Whirling Fallon around with a right, Gilhooly plucked the Colt from its holster and then, reversing its butt, began to get in some work.
    The cabin floor was covered with dust that now began to rise chokingly in the room. Through this fog of battle Mary Ann, pressing the far wall with her back, saw a