Free Tinhorn's Daughter by L. Ron Hubbard Page A

monster with a shining helmet take four men apart with such savage efficiency that it chilled her.
    Billings was out of it, a stumbling block on the floor. Stogie could not see for blood and a final crack on the head spilled him into the ashes of the fireplace.
    Carson came to and came up fighting. He fired once, but he did not fire twice.
    Like a javelin thrower, Gilhooly lanced Carson out through the back window and Carson started an avalanche as he went down the slope.
    Gilhooly’s helmet had come off in the fray and now, face streaked with sweat and eyes wild with battle, he advanced one final time upon the flailing fists of Fallon.
    There was a swift exchange of cracking blows and suddenly Fallon collapsed over Billings. Methodically, Gilhooly reached down and yanked Fallon to his feet only to knock him over again.
    â€œDon’t kill him!” screamed Mary Ann.
    Gilhooly picked Fallon up and carried him to the water barrel and dumped him in it upside down.
    Then he set the bedraggled sheepman in what was left of the chair.
    Slowly Fallon came around.
    He looked up and saw Gilhooly’s set jaw and quailed. “Don’t hit me again,” pleaded Fallon, fending off.
    â€œYou’re dumb,” stated Gilhooly. “You are the dumbest man I have ever met, in fact.”
    â€œHow was I to know you wasn’t hit?” whined Fallon. “You wasn’t square!”
    â€œI’m being square now,” said the awful specter of fury which was Gilhooly. “You want my place. Well, I’m going to sell you land, see? I’m going to sell you land and its going to cost you fifteen hundred dollars.”
    â€œYou’ll sell?” gaped Fallon.
    Gilhooly snatched the forms to him and grabbed the pen. He scrawled names and locations onto the dotted lines and then signed at the bottom. He reversed the paper and handed the pen.
    Fallon read, and what he read he thought must be distorted by his swelling eyes. “But … but you’re only selling me one acre! You’re selling me one acre on the driest part of your land! You can’t do this. I won’t …”
    Gilhooly’s voice was quiet but Gilhooly’s voice went through Fallon’s head like a bullet. “Sign and get the money!”
    Fallon looked at Gilhooly’s face and then Fallon signed. He stumbled over to the box against the back wall and dug out an iron container. Dolefully he counted the contents and found fifteen hundred and forty-five dollars.
    Gilhooly snapped it out of his hands. “The forty-five bucks is rent on my horse. Now get out of here. Kick some life into those gents and travel. And don’t never come near the Painted Buttes country no more.”
    He collected the guns and strung them on a piece of wire and went outside to hook them over Calico’s horn.
    Mary Ann was watching him with wide eyes.
    He came back and suddenly he picked her up and carried her out and put her on Carson’s sorrel .
    The four were collected now. They mounted, watching Gilhooly for any swift move, and then, almost gladly, they rode up the trail and out of sight.
    â€œOh, Jigs,” said Mary Ann, “I never saw anything so wonderful in my life! To fool them into thinking you were wounded and then beating them up and then getting fifteen hundred and forty-five dollars …”
    â€œI didn’t fool them,” said Gilhooly, tenderly regarding his leg. “But say, you know that guy Ivanhoe?”
    â€œYes, Jigs?”
    â€œHe was a fake.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYeah, why the dickens didn’t you tell me that bein’ romantic was just beatin’ up guys with your bare fists? You’d a saved me a pile of trouble.”

Story Preview
    N OW that you’ve just ventured through some of the captivating tales in the Stories from the Golden Age collection by L. Ron Hubbard, turn the page and enjoy a preview of Branded Outlaw. Join Lee Weston, who’s