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    Rifle Pass
    Rifle Pass
    Rifle Pass
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    Rifle Pass

    By Max Brand

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The name Max Brand is synonymous with great adventure and quality. Good men gone bad fill the pages of this Western trio, with stories of outlaws, horse thieves and a rowdy ranch hand who turns to stage robbery. This book contains three short novelettes: „The Nighthawk Trail”, „Vamp’s Bandit” and the title story, „Rifle Pass”. In „Rifle Pass”, ageing Sheriff Thomas Weller has one major problem: his son Dick Weller. Dick cannot seem to apply himself to anything. In a desperate attempt to have Dick’s courage tested, the sheriff deputizes his son and charges him with the capture of Harry Sanford. „Rifle Pass” is another outstanding collection that demands your attention!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKtoczyta.pl
    Release dateNov 26, 2019
    ISBN9788382009163
    Rifle Pass
    Author

    Max Brand

    Max Brand® (1892–1944) is the best-known pen name of widely acclaimed author Frederick Faust, creator of Destry, Dr. Kildare, and other beloved fictional characters. Orphaned at an early age, he studied at the University of California, Berkeley. He became one of the most prolific writers of our time but abandoned writing at age fifty-one to become a war correspondent in World War II, where he was killed while serving in Italy.

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      Book preview

      Rifle Pass - Max Brand

      Max Brand

      Rifle Pass

      Warsaw 2019

      Contents

      I. UNLOCKED HANDCUFFS

      II. COVERT SIGNAL

      III. CLOSE IN, BOYS!

      IV. LONE RIDER

      V. GAME OLD DEVIL

      VI. WATCHFUL, WAITING

      VII. OUTSIDE THE LAW

      VIII. RIFLE PASS

      IX. PA LERMOND

      X. ONLY A WELLER'S DUTY

      I. UNLOCKED HANDCUFFS.

      THE sheriff said: "There was a Weller at sea when the Constitution sunk the Guerrière. There was a Weller at the taking of Mexico City. There was a Weller under Sheridan and another under Mosby. There was a Weller that died with Custer. And I’ve been sheriff of this country for twenty years. Not that I rank with the rest of the family. But I’ve kept on riding, and I’ve never turned my back. And now the Wellers come down to you–to you–and there’s not another man in the family. You’re the last. And you spend your time playing cards, thrumming on a damned guitar, making love to girls, and lazying around the ranch smoking cigarettes."

      He pulled a long, sleek Colt forty-five with an eight-inch barrel from the holster. Take this! he directed.

      Young Dick Weller took the revolver without rising from his position of perfect leisure in the veranda hammock. He had the long, sleek, easy lines of a mountain lion and a smile which was the most good natured and disarming that a man could wear. He used that smile on his father now, but it had no effect on the iron-gray sheriff. Thomas Weller had become a sheriff twenty years before, in order to carry on the bold tradition of public service in the Weller family and also because his huge holdings of land and cattle made it necessary for him to keep a close eye upon law and order. For twenty years he had struggled, and after all his ten wounds and his many battles he could only say that he had succeeded in part. Five years before, Papa Lermond, that prematurely bald young son of a lightning flash and the devil, had appeared on the horizon, and since that day the rustling of cattle had increased, to say nothing of stage and even train holdups. Ranches were raided constantly. In the three big towns there had been three big bank robberies. And the people who had looked up to Sheriff Tom Weller for twenty years were beginning to murmur against him more than a little.

      This gun, said the idle son who was to inherit all the wealth of the family–and the family’s unstained name–dandled the long Colt for a moment and then said: Has a good feel. Nice balance to this gun, dad.

      Look yonder, said the sheriff. You see that pair of crows on the fence, there? Knock them off it. Sit up and try your luck!

      I’ll try my luck lying down, said Dick Weller, and swaying the gun to the side he flicked the hammer twice with his thumb. One crow disappeared from the top of its post, leaving a puff of black feathers hanging in the air.

      The other shining bird left some feathers behind it, also, but rose with a startled squawking, then dipped towards the ground to gather more speed, quickly.

      It kept on dipping, however. The revolver spoke the third time from the leisurely hand of Dick Weller, and the black crow skidded along the ground, turning over and over. It lay still. Only the wind fluttered the red-stained feathers.

      Shoots high and to the right, said young Dick Weller. I wouldn’t have it for a gift.

      The sheriff narrowed his eyes. He was still staring at the two dead birds, but he seemed to be seeing his own thoughts, farther away than the dim horizon.

      Get your own guns, then, he said. Saddle your own horse, the best you’ve got, and go get Harry Sanford for me. I appoint you deputy sheriff for this job.

      All right, said the son. But who’s Harry Sanford?

      He’s the right-hand man of Papa Lermond.

      Why go after Lermond’s right hand? Why not go after Lermond himself? asked the son.

      Why not go after the blue in the sky? demanded the sheriff. What I been doing for five years except trying to get Lermond? Do what I tell you, and do it fast!

      Yeah. But tell me where this Sanford hangs out, and what sort of a looking hombre he is, answered Dick Weller.

      He’s big. Dark as a Mexican. Last seen down near San Jacinto on the river.

      What’s he done, recently?

      Raised hell all over the map. Some crooks run off the cattle from his ranch and now he seems to think that the world owes him a livin’.

      Dad, said Dick Weller, you know where he is and what he looks like. Why don’t you give this job to Hughie Jacobs or Walt Miller, or one of the other deputies that’s all set to make himself a big reputation?

      You– said the sheriff, you don’t need any reputation, eh?

      I’d rather take it easy till there’s some excitement around, answered Dick Weller.

      You know what you’re going to be? said the sheriff. "You’re going to be a disgrace to the family name. There’s plenty of people right now that say you haven’t the nerve to be a man!"

      People will always be talking, said Dick Weller.

      Get up and out of that hammock and go get your horse and guns! shouted the older Weller. I don’t want to see you back under my roof till you’ve put young Sanford in jail! Understand?

      Well, answered Dick Weller, that sounds pretty serious, I must say.

      He sat up, slowly, in the hammock.

      "I don’t come back till I’m

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