issue of Ranch Romances Magazine.
He had stemmed a gold stampede, laid down the law to four women, started a town with his two fists. Now he was trying to hold these things--without using his guns.
The wagon was piled high with the girls' things, trunks, bags, Chris's clavichord. The wagon rumbled its way down the long, rutted main street, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake, like a curtain closing over their final act.
Men sighed and turned toward their businesses, pleasures and problems, bringing movement to the board walks again. Old Si Turner slipped his green eyeshade in place, squirted tobacco juice in the dust and turned toward his newspaper office.
At the door he paused. "Gents, we lost some of our spunkiest citizens today. But they'll kind of stick in our memories, their laughter, singing and music. And it's my bet that a lot of the domesticated critters of this here town will one day, in the distant future, tell yarns to their grandsons about the ladies of the Golden Peacock. They'll tell of their beauty.
"And they'll tell how Les Barrett, the most feared gunman of them all, came to the Peacock quiet-like, minding his own business. But he had to kill a man to keep from being killed, because that was the brand he wore and there were always fire eaters eager to erase the notches off his gun. Them younkers of the future will hear how the town council met and the organized females of the community met with them, leading to the Peacock being padlocked and the ladies being given the choice of leaving or going to jail for vagrancy.
"I wonder what the end of the story will be? Them gals got a good hundred miles of pure wilderness between here and Goslin Town, their destination. A lot can happen in that distance. Yessir, something tells me them ladies is going to write a lot of history yet!"
Format: Electronic PDF File
First Published: 1952
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