Free Gambling Man by Clifton Adams

home, Nate. Then I want to see you in my office.”
    Nathan gave him a short nod as if to say maybe he'd come and maybe he wouldn't. Red in the face, Blasingame left them.
    There was a strange gray look around the edges of his pa's lips, Jeff noticed, as Nathan picked his spare Colt's out of the grass and put it into his back pocket. He did not mention the gun at all, nor the fact that Jeff had taken it from the saddlebag. All he said was: “I left my black down the creek a piece. We can ride double to town.”

    They had hardly more than reached the cowshed when Beulah flew into them. Jeff had never heard such carrying on. She was red in the face and her eyes popped, and that tight little mouth of hers spewed the meanest things Jeff had ever heard—even for Aunt Beulah.
    The way she pitched into them, you'd get the idea that Jeff had been at fault all the way and Feyor Jorgenson was as white as snow. And it beat Jeff why his pa took everything she had to say and didn't come back with a word of his own. Aunt Beulah was going at it so hard that Jeff didn't have time to wonder how the news had got around so fast. It seemed as if the whole town knew about it.
    When his aunt started accusing Nathan of being a murderer and of teaching his son to kill, Jeff started to pitch in with a piece of his own. But his pa squeezed his shoulder with a hard, lean hand, and Jeff shut his mouth without saying a word.
    The same thing happened when Aunt Beulah told his pa that he was a disgrace to the family and she didn't want him in her house any more.
    Jeff was going to tell her that he wasn't going to stay either if his pa couldn't. But that strong hand on his shoulder silenced him.
    Then Nathan said, “All right, Beulah, that's enough.” There was something in the quiet way he said it that made Aunt Beulah pull up short. She scowled, her round little mouth as hard as a knothole in an oaken plank.
    Nathan said, “I'll get out of your house, Beulah. You don't have to say any more.”
    Jeff pulled himself up as tall as possible, filled with anger. “I'll go, too!”
    “No,” Nathan said quietly. “Not now. I'll tell you when.” Beulah looked as though she had been slapped, but Nathan did not look at her again. Jeff wanted to argue, but he watched his pa turn and walk ramrod-straight to the cowshed, and decided against it.
    Nathan got his saddlebags from the shed. He walked stiffly to the kitchen and got his roll. The saddlebags slung across his shoulders, the roll under his arm, Nathan walked over to his son.
    “I'll put up in town someplace,” he said. “Jeff, you stay here and mind your aunt and uncle.”
    Jeff's mouth flew open to protest, but his pa said sternly, “This ain't the right time for palaver. You do as I say.” He put one strong hand on the boy's head and shook him gently. “I'll be seein' you.” He swung up to the saddle and rode out of the yard.



Chapter Six
    T HE NEXT DAY JEFF began to feel the new status that he had achieved in Plainsville. He was heading for the academy that morning and ran across Bud Slater near the public corral.
    “Did I catch the dickens when I got home last night!” Bud said proudly. “My old man was mad as hops when he found out I'd gone to the creek without tellin' him anything about the fight.”
    Jeff nodded, but said nothing. Although they were nearly the same age, Jeff felt much older than he had a few days ago.
    “I'll bet your aunt raised the roof,” Bud said hopefully.
    “With me?” Jeff asked coolly, implying that his aunt wouldn't dare.
    “Well, Beulah Sewell's got a temper. Anybody in town will tell you that.”
    Jeff let it slide, suggesting that he had more important matters on his mind.
    “Say,” Bud said, holding the best for the last, “did you hear Alex Jorgenson and his old man lit out of town last night?”
    This was news to Jeff, and he didn't try to hide it. “They did? When?”
    “In the middle of the night some time; nobody knows for sure. Sam