“Then that gubernatorial campaign came along where Jeff Rich was running against Larry Beeson, and you remember there never was bloodier politics in Texas. I was for Jeff Rice, to the limit. And when he was licked, after a close election, it looked as if word went out that it was an open season on the fellows that had fought Beeson the hardest. Anyway, a lot of them got killed pretty soon, one way and another.
Well, I wouldn’t leave the county, and my turn came.
“That man Bristow, of Sarran’s gang, had a good reputation compared to most of the rest of them. He hadn’t ever killed a man—at least it never had been proved that he had—and maybe Gater and Sarran had that in their minds when they set him to get me. I suppose the scheme had been all worked out for some time, waiting for the cards to fall just right. Anyway, he and I met one evening along about dusk near the post office—and there wasn’t one single man in sight that didn’t belong body and soul to Gater. And Bristow said fighting words to me and went after his pistol and I beat him to it. Seems funny that I could beat fast gunmen to the draw in those days, when you think how slow I went after that pistol of mine just now, doesn’t it? But after twenty-two years without practice——
“If another man, that they couldn’t manage, hadn’t come into sight just as I shot him, they’d probably have finished me right then and there, although perhaps I could have taken two or three of them along with me. But there was a preacher—one of these circuit riders—came around the corner just as Bristow fell. They didn’t know, I suppose, whether he saw Bristow go after his gun first or not, although it turned out at the trial that he didn’t. So they didn’t keep the fight going—but one of them sneaked Bristow’s pistol from where it lay beside him before the parson could get near enough to see what he was doing and everybody swore I’d deliberately killed an unarmed man that had always had a reputation of being peaceable.”
For three seconds the speaker stared gloomily before him, his eyes on that tragic past. Then:
“That’s all,” he said, simply. “Gater had the jury and why they didn’t hang me I don’t know. Perhaps he thought it would be a bigger punishment to send me to the pen. The sentence was life. And Deputy Sheriff Dominguez started with me for Huntsville.”
“And you jumped off the train, handcuffed, while he was asleep.”
“I jumped off the train, but he wasn’t asleep—and I had the handcuffs loose in my hand when I jumped, because they’d just been unlocked. And there was a thousand dollars in Miguel Dominguez’s pocket the next day that hadn’t been there before. It was pretty nearly all the money I had in the world and Dominguez was willing to double cross his own gang if the temptation was strong enough. He knew I’d never come back, and if I did, and told it, I’d be just an escaped lifer trying to make trouble for an officer.”
“I’ve been trying to think of your first name, Alsbury,” said Carmichael. “It is ‘Martin,’ isn’t it? You were always called ‘Red.’”
“Martin Alsbury,” the other agreed. “‘Red’ Alsbury to everybody, in those days. The color’s been gone out of my hair a good many years. The girl’s got it. That exact shade. She’s a fine-looking young woman, Carmichael. Just to think that until day before yesterday I didn’t even know whether she had lived or died! A man doesn’t have much affection for a little bit of a baby, less than a year old—especially if its mother died when it came. I never thought much about Edith till lately. But as a man gets older——”