as a lanky, slab-sided Texan who'd come up north on a drive ten
years before and liked the Arizona climate and stayed. He was a good
sheriff--tough enough to handle most men, and smart enough to handle
the rest. Fourteen years of it had kept him lean and fast.

When I told him about Buck, I could see he didn't know whether he was
tough or smart or fast enough to get out of this one.

He leaned back in his chair and started to light his pipe, and then
stared at the match until it burned his fingers without touching it to
the tobacco.

"You sure, Joe?" he said.

"Ben, I saw it four times. At first I just couldn't believe my
eyes--but I tell you, he's fast. He's faster'n you or me or Hickock or
anybody. God knows where he got it, but he's got the speed."

"But," Ben Randolph said, lighting another match, "it just don't
happen that way." His voice was almost mildly complaining. "Not
overnight. Gunspeed's something you work on--it comes slow, mighty
slow. You know that. How in hell could Buck Tarrant turn into a
fire-eating gunslinger in a few days?" He paused and puffed. "You
sure, Joe?" he asked again, through a cloud of smoke.

"Yes."

"And he wants me."

"That's what he said."

Ben Randolph sighed. "He's a bad kid, Joe--just a bad kid. If his
father hadn't died, I reckon he might have turned out better. But his
mother ain't big enough to wallop his butt the way it needs."

"You took his gun away from him a couple times, didn't you, Ben?"

"Yeah. And ran him outa town too, when he got too pestiferous. Told
him to get the hell home and help his ma."

"Guess that's why he wants you."

"That. And because I'm sheriff. I'm the biggest gun around here, and
he don't want to start at the bottom, not him. He's gonna show the
world right away."

"He can do it, Ben."

He sighed again. "I know. If what you say's true, he can sure show
_me_ anyhow. Still, I got to take him up on it. You know that. I can't
leave town."

I looked at his hand lying on his leg--the fingers were trembling. He
curled them into a fist, and the fist trembled.

"You ought to, Ben," I said.

"Of course I ought to," he said, a little savagely. "But I can't. Why,
what'd happen to this town if I was to cut and run? Is there anyone
else who could handle him? Hell, no."

"A crazy galoot like that," I said slowly, "if he gets too damn nasty,
is bound to get kilt." I hesitated. "Even in the back, if he's too
good to take from the front."

"