always knock a ma n down." Don't you believe it. I could relate at least a hundred cases where men took .45-caliber bullets an d kept right on coming.
Another cliche of motion pictures and television is th e gunman or outlaw who, alone or with a gang, terrorizes a western town. One has to remember that the period of th e gunfighter was in the years of the mining booms and cattl e drives f ollowing the Civil War. Several hundred thousan d men went west, from the army or civilian life, who ha d been using guns. Many were veterans of the Union o r Confederate armies, and they not only could shoot bu t had been shooting. Others were veterans of Indian fighting, and a large percentage of those who came west ha d hunted meat for the table. They knew just as much abou t guns and had used them as much or more than any pack o f ratty outlaws who came down the pike. And they weren' t about to take any nonsense.
Buckskin Run (ss) (1981)
*
In Northfield, Minnesota a bunch o f or two days they had seen no other traveler, not even a solitary cowhand or an Indian. There had been the usua l stops to change teams, an overnight layover at Weston' s ranch, but no other break in the monotony of the journey. There was no comfort in the west-bound stage. The fou r passengers alternately dozed or stared miserably at th e unchanging desert, dancing with heat waves.
No breeze sent a shaft of coolness through the afternoon's heavy heat. Aloma Day, bound for Cordova, a tin y cowtown thirty miles further along the trail, felt stifled - and unhappy. Her heavy dress was hot, and she knew he r hair "looked a fright."
The jolting of the heavy coach bouncing over the rocky , ungraded road had settled a thin mantle of dust over he r clothes and skin. The handkerchief with which she occasionally touched her cheeks and br6w had long since becom e merely a miserable wad of dam ? cloth.
Across from her Em Shipton, proprietor of Cordova' s rooming and boarding establishment, perspired, fanned , and dozed. Occasionally she glanced with exasperation a t Aloma's trim figure, for to her the girl seemed unreasonably cool and immaculate. Em Shipton resembled a barre l with ru ff les.
Mark Brewer, cattle buyer, touched his mustach e thoughtfully and 1ooked again at the girl in the opposit e corner of the stage. She was, he decided, almost beautiful.
Possibly her mouth was a trifle wide, but her lips wer e lovely, and she laughed easily.
"I hope," he ventured suddenly, "you decide to sta y with us, Miss Day. I am sure the people of Cordova wil l do all they can to make your visit comf o rtable."
"Oh, but I shall stay! I am going to make my hom e there."
"Oh'? You have relatives there?"
"No," she smiled, "I am to be married there."
The smile left his eyes, yet hovered politely about hi s lips. "I see. No doubt I know the lucky fellow. Cordova i s not a large town."'
Lorna hesitated. The assurance with which she decide d upon this tri ? had faded with the miles. It had been a lon g time since she had seen Rod Morgan, and the least sh e could have done was to await a reply from him. Yet ther e was no place in which to wait. Her aunt had died, an d they had no friends in Richmond. She had money now fo r the trip. Six weeks or a month later she might have used i t all. Her decision had been instantly made, but the close r she came to Cordova the more uncertain she felt.
She looked at Brewer. "Then you probably know him.
His name is Roderick Morgan."
Em Shipton stiffened, and Mark Brewer's lips tightened. They exchanged a quick, astonished glance. Alarme d at their reaction, Lorna glanced quickly from one to th e other.
"What's the matter? Is something wrong'?"
"Wrong ?" Em Shipton had never been tactful. "I shoul d say there is! Rod Morgan is an insufferable person! Wha t can you be thinking of to come all this way to marry a ma n like that?"
"Please, Em, Brewer interrupted. Remember, you ar e speaking of Miss Day's fiance . Of course, I must admit it i s