Free The Gun Fight by Richard Matheson

Zorilla.”
    Robby hesitated long enough for O’Hara to lean forward and look intently at him.
    “You goin’ after Benton, Robby?” O’Hara asked, almost eagerly.
    It felt like someone driving a cold fist against his heart. Robby jolted in the saddle with a grunt they didn’t hear because of the milling horses.
    “N-no,” he faltered, “I—”
    “Heard what he done to your girl,” O’Hara said grimly. “You ain’t lettin’ him get
away
with that, are you?”
    It was like a nightmare—sitting in darkness on the shifting saddle, watching the three horsemen move about him in the jerky little movements caused by their restless mounts, hearing the deep-chested snortings of their horses.
    “No, I’m . . . going to do what . . .” Robby’s mind searched desperately for an answer that wouldn’t commit him. Then he grew nervous at his own revealing hesitation and finished quickly.
    “I’ll do what has to be done,” he said, his voice sounding thin and strengthless.
    “Damn right,” O’Hara said vengefully and the other two men said something between themselves. “The bastard’s got a slug comin’ for what he done. Him and his damn
rep.
Why’d he leave the Rangers anyhow? And, he’s so brave, why don’t he tote no gun?” O’Hara’s voice was tight with a bitter jealousy. He was one of Kellville’s young men who had made the inevitable step from idolizing Benton to envying and hating him.
    Robby sat his mount numbly, hearing the voice of Dave O’Hara as if it were a million miles away.
    “When you goin’ for him, Robby?”
    Robby bit his teeth together. “I . . .”
    The three riders watching him, Dave O’Hara and the other two. When are you going for him? When are you going to die? A shudder ran down Robby’s back. Then he stiffened himself.
    “When the time comes,” he said, his voice unnaturally loud.
    The dark riders still moved around him. “Well, that’s your own business, Robby,” O’Hara said, “but I want yato know we’re all behind ya. Everybody knows Benton’s a dirty coward who’s too
yella
to tote a gun. And after what he done to your girl . . . well, there ain’t nothin’ more to say.”
    “That’s right,” Robby said, feeling as if he were trapped there with the three of them. “There’s nothing more.”
    “Well how about headin’ for the Zorilla with us and let me buy ya a drink?”
    “No, I . . . have to get home.” Loudly, forcedly. “I was just on an errand for my father.”
    “Oh . . .” O’Hara punched him lightly on the arm. “We’re all behind ya, Robby,” he said, almost happily. “Ain’t a man in town that ain’t behind ya. When the time comes . . .” Another punch. “We’ll back ya.”
    They were gone in a clouding of night dust. Robby waited a moment, then twisted around in his saddle and saw the three of them spurring for the square.
    How did the story get around so
fast
? Robby couldn’t understand it. Only three men had seen the fight outside of Pat and Pat wasn’t the kind to spread tales.
    It was horrible how fast the story was traveling. And now he’d be trapped further, now O’Hara and his two friends would tell everybody that he was going to get John Benton.
    “
No.
” Robby couldn’t keep the shaking word from escaping his lips. No, he didn’t want to fight Benton, he didn’t
want
to! A shudder ran down his back and he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs to breathe.
    Ten minutes to nine, Kellville, Texas, September 12, 1879. The end of the first day.

The Second Day

Chapter Ten
    B enton was riding fence. There were only three men working for him and he couldn’t afford to spare any of them for this simple but hour-consuming chore. Mounted on his blood bay, Socks, so named for the whiteness of its feet extending to the fetlocks, Benton was riding leisurely along the rutted trail that preceding fence rides had worn.
    Five times during the morning, he’d stopped to fix loose or broken wires,