The Gun Fight by Richard Matheson Page A

sense?”
    Julia smiled a little at the Reverend Bond and he repressed an answering smile. “He really doesn’t know,” Julia said.
    Omar Bond nodded slowly. “I believe it,” he said. “Yes, I believe that firmly. Your husband is not the sort of man who indulges himself in false modesty.”
    “Know what?” Benton asked. “What are you two talking about?”
    “What I said to you yesterday, John,” Julia said. “Louisa Harper is in love with you.”
    Benton looked pained again. “Oh . . . come on, Julia,” he said.
    “I think the assumption is justified,” said the Reverend. “You see, Mister Benton, you represent something to the young people of this town. In . . . all honesty,” he went on reluctantly, “I must admit that I’m not sure what you represent to them is a . . . healthy thing. Needless to say, I do not, for a moment, think that you still are what they conceive you to be. No, I—”
    “What’s that, Reverend?” Benton interrupted. “What do they think I am?”
    Bond looked embarrassed. “A . . . fearless . . . and a very dangerous man,” he faltered. “Mind you, I’m only assuming now. But I think that . . . well, they regard your skill with a gun as one of paramount achievement.”
    “But I don’t
wear
a gun in town,” Benton said stiffly. “They’ve never even seen me with a gun on.”
    “They’ve never seen John Hardin either,” Bond countered, “but they know what he’s done.”
    The Reverend’s face grew sadly reflective. “It was people like this who . . . lined the roads for miles when John Hardin was taken to prison. People who waited for just one momentary glimpse of a man who had killed others with guns.” Bond shook his head grimly. “It makes no sense—to me, at any rate—but it
is
so, let us admit it freely; now. Your reputation as a Texas Ranger is immense, Mister Benton. It caused a, perhaps, foolish young girl to become enamored of what she conceived you to be. It caused her, in a moment of . . .” he gestured searchingly with his hands, “. . . shall we say, a moment of
un
thinking delusion, to pretend out loud; unhappily, to pretend in the presence of her intended husband. Perhaps she meant nothing by it; I’m sure she didn’t. It was a girlish whim, I imagine, perhaps done to make her intended husband jealous of someone—anyone. Young girls are . . . often misled by their feelings.”
    Bond leaned back, hands clasped in his lap.
    “And I believe it was your reputation—exaggerated as it may be—that caused this event. Believe me, sir, I’m not accusing you of anything but . . . perhaps this is, in some measure, an unfortunate result of the life you formerly led.”
    “Reverend, is that . . . well,
fair
?” Julia asked. “My husband worked for law, for order. If he killed, it was not for the sake of killing; it was because it was his job.”
    “My dear lady,” said Bond warmly, “I would not, for a moment, accuse your husband of being anything that he is not. That he, voluntarily, chose to put aside violence and live as a peaceful citizen, speaks wonderfully for his character. It is just that . . . well, I must repeat, I fear, were it not for the past events of Mister Benton’s life, this situation would not have occurred.”
    “Well, this is getting us nowhere,” Benton said, gruffly. “All right, maybe this Harper girl made up the story. But you said her aunt checked with her. Why didn’t the Harper girl tell the truth
then
?”
    Bond smiled gently. “You are not acquainted with her aunt, Mister Benton. Miss Winston, though, I cannot deny, a loyal Christian, often shows in her dealings with others more hasty righ teousness than understanding. And her niece is very sensitive, very retiring. Cornered . . . frightened, perhaps, she would hardly have confessed that she . . . pretended, shall we say. You can understand that.”
    “I can understand it,” Julia said. “John, you mustn’t be angry with