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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
Get Your Man is a compelling anthology that traverses the vast landscapes of Western literature, capturing the rugged adventures and intense drama that define the genre. Within its pages, readers are introduced to a tapestry of characters and tales that are as varied as the frontiers they inhabit. From stories rich with the dust and grit of the Old West to vignettes exploring the nuanced human spirit, this collection holds poignant reflections on courage, justice, and the relentless pursuit of one's destiny. The featured works blend elements of suspense, romance, and action, offering narratives that resonate with universal themes of heroism and redemption. The anthology is crafted through the unique voices of B. M. Bower and Buck Connor, whose contributions significantly shape the panorama of American Western fiction. Both authors have indelibly marked the literary landscape with their vivid storytelling and authentic portrayals of frontier life. Their narratives not only align with but also invigorate the traditions of Western storytelling, capturing the historical realities and imaginative possibilities of this iconic genre. Through their collective efforts, readers are granted access to diverse perspectives that deepen the appreciation of Western lore and its place in literary history. Get Your Man is a must-read for those seeking a comprehensive exploration of Western fiction, offering a scholarly and entertaining voyage through the heart of a distinct literary tradition. The collection serves as an invaluable resource for students and enthusiasts alike, providing insightful commentary on the social and cultural dynamics of the Old West. It promises to engage readers with its richness of style and multiplicity of voices, encouraging a deeper dialogue with the heritage and evolution of the Western narrative. Dive into this anthology to discover the enduring appeal and significant contributions of its featured authors to the canon of Western literature.
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Get Your Man
Table of Contents
Like the man without a country is the man in this story who was dismissed from the Texas Rangers after a love affair that blinded him to duty. To get back into the service becomes an obsession with him. There is a terrific fight between two men in the tale—one fighting for his life, and the other for what makes life worth while.
IN the gray of a windy afternoon, when the leaden clouds were more sand than vapor, Captain Oakes, of the Texas Ranger force, jerked open the door of his office and looked out just as Bill Gillis was passing.
“Tell Marshall to report to me at once,” the captain hailed Bill, and turned back as though the thing was done.
“Marshall ain’t here.” Bill grabbed for his hat, which the wind had all but swooped from his head, and blinked into the wind and sand while he faced his captain.
“Ain't here? Where is he?” The captain pulled the door shut because the wind was stirring up the papers on his desk, and turned a sharp glance toward the corral and stable.
“Went to town, a little while ago,” Bill said reluctantly, torn between Ranger discipline and his personal sense of loyalty to Marshall.
“You go after him.” The captain went in, and the wind slammed the door shut. Bill, hanging to his big-four Stetson with both hands, went staggering down to the stable, cursing his vile luck for bringing him past the door at the moment when the captain opened it. Why couldn’t it have been Vaughan or Kent or Charlie Horn?
Going after King Marshall did not sound very difficult, since there was only a mile or so to ride; but Bill would gladly have exchanged that errand for a fifty-mile trip in some other direction, nevertheless. Still, when the captain says “Go,” there is nothing to be gained by loitering, so within five minutes Bill was mounted on the horse that day assigned to his use, and was leaning into the wind and riding with his eyes two—thirds closed, so that his lashes might strain the dust that half blinded him.
“It's shore a ticklish job, dragging a fellow away from his girl—and that right after you’ve told him plain and forcible that he’d better cut out running with her,” Bill mused uncomfortably. "King’s liable to forget who he's speaking to, and tell me to mind my own business; and then,” Bill finished, with a quirk of his lips, “the dust’ll shore be stirred up along the trouble trail, ’cause I won’t take anything like that off’n King Marshall, or no other man.”
On the chance that King had met an acquaintance and had loitered in the post office for a few minutes, Bill swung oft his horse at the platform, and went in, spitting grit as he went. Perhaps he was secretly postponing his disagreeable errand—but that could not he for long, because the captain wanted King, and the captain was not one to wait patiently when he had called a man to report for duty. At any rate, King was not in the post office; and Bill, glancing through the glass front of lock box No. 200, saw that he had not been there. Bill opened the box and took out the mail, and returned to his horse.
On the extreme edge of the town lived the girl. Half Mexican in blood, and the traditions of women born to be petted, full American in speech and in a certain careless freedom of the restraining conventions of the better class across the border, Lisa Gonzales had lovers in plenty—yet not so many but she resented fiercely any influence that would take one from her. Bill Gillis she recognized—trust a woman for sensing antagonism a mile off!—as such an influence.
Bill was in no mood for subterfuge or diplomacy. Since he must get King to the captain, he meant to do it as soon as possible. So he rode straight to the flat~roofed adobe house where Lisa lived with her father and a half-grown sister, and struck his knuckles imperatively against the blue-painted door panels.
Lisa herself opened the door six inches, and looked out at him with unreadable, unfriendly black eyes.
Bill tilted his hat in a perfunctory salute—since he recognized and returned in full the antagonism—and wasted no words in preamble. “I’d like to speak to King Marshall,” he said straightforwardly.
“You would?” Lisa smiled guilefully. “Well, I’ll tell him so—when he comes.” And she added, by way of apology, perhaps, “Oh, it is so windy to-day!” and pressed the door shut in the face of Bill Gillis and the swirling clouds of dust.
Bill hesitated, glaring at the blank, light-blue panels so affected by Mexicans. He believed that King was in there, beyond that door—but he wanted to be absolutely sure of it before he forced an entrance. What ailed the man, anyway? he thought angrily, as he swung up into the saddle. He turned his horse and stared for another minute at the house.
He did not go back into the town; instead, he went straight to the little adobe shed where Lisa’s father sheltered a cow and a meager little pony when the winds were too piercing outside. Without leaving the saddle, Bill rode close to the sagging door, reached out, and pulled it open so that he could look within. There, resting on three legs, half asleep under the saddle, stood the horse King had ridden to town.
“The lyin’ little hussy!” Bill snorted unchivalrously. “And I knew she lied, too.”
He rode back to the house, swung off his horse on the sheltered side, where the wall was unbroken by windows, and went around to the back door. He did not know for sure, but he suspected that Lisa had been sharp-witted enough to lock the front door when she shut it in his face. At any rate, he did not intend to expose himself to the humiliation of trying to open a door that was locked against him.
He opened the back door deliberately, as though he had a perfect right to walk in where he pleased to go. He went into the kitchen—and faced King Marshall, seated at a table spread with a red—and-blue-checked cloth and filled with savory Mexican dishes. The arms of Lisa were just drawing away from King’s shoulders when Bill went in; her black eyes spat hate at him over King’s brown bead. Bill paid her no attention whatever; he looked full at King, and he tried to keep his face free of all emotion.
“Captain wants you right away, King,” he announced casually. “He sent me in to tell you.”
“What does he want?” snapped King, lowering a forkful of frijoles to his plate. “I’m not on duty——”
“A Ranger’s always on duty, King,” Bill corrected mildly. He did not so much blame King—a woman’s spell can work an unbelievable change in a man.
“Well—you can tell him I’ll be along after a little.” The soft fingers of Lisa were tapping, tapping on King’s shoulders. His left hand went up defiantly, and prisoned them in his palm. “And, Bill, you’re kinda butting in on another man’s private affairs, don't yuh think?”
“Captain sent me after you, King. You'd better come.” Bill stood just inside the door, with his hat pushed back on his head—ignoring, in the face of bigger things, the little courtesy of removing it in Lisa’s presence—and his voice stopped just short of being apologetic. He hated this situation into which he had been forced—hated it worse than did those two across the table—but it never occurred to him to shirk his duty.
King Marshall flushed. It was Lisa, however, who answered Bill with a spiteful little smile and a barbed meaning that made the blood beat in the temples of the two men.
“You just want to take him from me!” she cried, her arms slipping around King’s neck. “You’re mad because—I know why—if I wanted to tell! You followed him here, and you want to get him away. Bah! I know how much the captain wants him! You can’t fool nobody—but yourself,” was what she said.
Now, every one knows that a man violently in love is in an abnormal state where truth looks trivial, and the things that are false look true and fine and big. King Marshall was suffering from the infatuation which sometimes seizes a strong man who does not know women very well; and the moment Lisa put the lie into speech, punctuated by little, caressing movements, King, who was in a highly abnormal condition, believed she spoke the truth.
“You keep your hands off my affairs, Bill,” he said harshly, forgetting how they two had been friends when Lisa was an untidy schoolgirl in short dresses and long braids. “I’ve had enough of this spying and interfering in my business. I'll go when I get good and ready!”
“You’ll go now, King. The captain told me to bring you.” Bill’s voice was still soft, but his eyes were not. He wanted to tear those clinging arms from King’s neck; perhaps without their insidious influence King would have sense enough to see that he must come when the captain called.
