Adventure stories; American fiction -- 20th century
“My God!” he cried. “I ain't done nothin' to you, Byrne. Haven't I
always been your friend? What've I ever done to you? For God's sake
Byrne you ain't goin' to murder me, are you? They'll get you, sure.”
Billy Byrne let a rather unpleasant smile curl his lips.
“No,” he said, “youse ain't done nothin' to me; but you stand for the
law, damn it, and I'm going to croak everything I meet that stands for
the law. They wanted to send me up for life--me, an innocent man. Your
kind done it--the cops. You ain't no cop; but you're just as rotten. Now
say yer prayers.”
He leveled the revolver at his victim's head. The deputy sheriff slumped
to his knees and tried to embrace Billy Byrne's legs as he pleaded for
his life.
“Cut it out, you poor boob,” admonished Billy. “You've gotta die and if
you was half a man you'd wanna die like one.”
The deputy sheriff slipped to the ground. His terror had overcome him,
leaving him in happy unconsciousness. Byrne stood looking down upon the
man for a moment. His wrist was chained to that of the other, and the
pull of the deputy's body was irritating.
Byrne stooped and placed the muzzle of the revolver back of the man's
ear. “Justice!” he muttered, scornfully, and his finger tightened upon
the trigger.
Then, conjured from nothing, there rose between himself and the
unconscious man beside him the figure of a beautiful girl. Her face was
brave and smiling, and in her eyes was trust and pride--whole worlds of
them. Trust and pride in Billy Byrne.
Billy closed his eyes tight as though in physical pain. He brushed his
hand quickly across his face.
“Gawd!” he muttered. “I can't do it--but I came awful close to it.”
Dropping the revolver into his side pocket he kneeled beside the deputy
sheriff and commenced to go through the man's clothes. After a moment he
came upon what he sought--a key ring confining several keys.
Billy found the one he wished and presently he was free. He still stood
looking at the deputy sheriff.
“I ought to croak you,” he murmured. “I'll never make my get-away if I
don't; but SHE won't let me--God bless her.”
Suddenly a thought came to Billy Byrne. If he could have a start he
might escape. It wouldn't hurt the man any to stay here for a few hours,
or even for a day. Billy removed the deputy's coat and tore it into
strips. With these he bound the man to a tree. Then he fastened a gag in
his mouth.
During the operation the deputy regained consciousness. He looked
questioningly at Billy.
“I decided not to croak you,” explained the young man. “I'm just a-goin'
to leave you here for a while. They'll be lookin' all along the right o'
way in a few hours--it won't be long afore they find you. Now so long,
and take care of yerself, bo,” and Billy Byrne had gone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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