Free the Mountain Valley War (1978) by Louis - Kilkenny 03 L'amour Page B

that no matter how good a man can become, there is always, somewhere, a better. And he had a weakness, a weakness that Quince had sensed at once. He had compassion.
    It was a land and a time when gentlemen settled disputes with guns, just as they for centuries settled them with battleaxes, lances, or swords. It was a tradition, not peculiar to the West, but common the world over. Perhaps someday it would end, but it was here now.
    In Italy in one decade no less than 2,759 duels had been fought, most of them with swords and rapiers. It was also interesting to recall that while at least thirty of the duelists had been military men, twenty-nine were journalists, and the others a mixture of all types, but at least four had been members of Parliament.
    The Chevalier d'Andrieux had killed seventy-two men in duels, and it had been rumored that Alexander Keith McClung, a nephew of former Chief Justice Marshall, had killed over a hundred.
    The settling of disputes with weapons certainly was not confined to the West. Although some men had sought a reputation of skill with weapons, most of them had not, but had acquired their reputations simply because their skill--if not their intent--had given them victory.
    "Pa figures you for a man good with guns," Quince said, "an' Pa ain't often wrong."
    Did it show, then, as clearly as that? But of course. He himself could almost invariably spot a man who was dangerous, some because of uncommon skill, some because of some innate quality within them.
    Mounting, Trent and Quince rode side by side into the Cup and saw Parson and young Bartram come forth to meet them.
    "You surely got supplies," Parson commented. "I don't know how you done it."
    "Oh, Leathers didn't object too much. When I took him over to the store and showed him what we needed, why, he just laid it out, nice as you please. Most men can be right accommodating if they are instructed in the right way."
    Quince grinned. "Trent taken that poor man right out of bed, never so much as woke his wife. I could almost have felt sorry for him."
    "I'd like to be hiding somewhere to see what happens when he wakes up," Bartram said. "Or when she wakes up."
    Parson Hatfield was pleased, smiling through his handlebar mustache. "Well, I reckon we won the first round. Sure was a sight to see them punchers dust out o' there when you boys opened up on 'em."
    "Who was the man we saw on the ground?" Trent asked.
    "No-good renegade they called Indian Joe. He was no more Indian than you." He chuckled. "I can't say 'no more than me,' because I've got Injun blood. They call him Indian Joe, but he surely ain't Injun, no matter what he is. He was a bad one, so when he wouldn't stop comin', O'Hara gave it to him, dead center.
    "That grub you brought in will sure come in handy, Trent, but you an' me know it ain't goin' to last us long. We got a passel o' folks here, and they be good eaters."
    Parson seated himself on the doorstep. "We surely can't go into Cedar and do that again. We've got to figure some other way."
    "We need a few days," Trent agreed. "And we've got to get to Blazer, there's no two ways about it. I wish I knew what they were planning right now, because I--"
    "You ain't been payin' much mind," Parson said. "You stay to yourself so much. If you was payin' attention, you'd know what he's about, and you'd know that we won't be havin' too much trouble these next two weeks."
    "Why? What's going on?"
    "King Bill has got him a big celebration planned. A carnival like. He's been in this here country ten years now, so he figures to pull off a big celebration.
    "They're going to have horse races, footraces, horseshoe pitching for prizes, and there's to be a prizefight. Hale is bringin' in a bare-knuckle fighter called Tombull Turner. A big feller... good, they say."
    "He is good. I've seen him fight. He's big and strong and mean." Trent thought about it. "Maybe that will give us the time we need."
    He got up. "I'm going to get some sleep." He touched his