Breathitt was at war!
Lewis H. Kilpatrick.
THE FORGIVER
Religion, said the mining man, sometimes puts me in mind of one of those new blasting powders; there’s no just telling when it’ll go off or whom it’ll blow up.
I was thinking then of Radway and Billsky: “Bad” Radway, him that beat up Ellis at Borromeo and shot Fargue O’Leary. You will have heard of him. Every one was hearing of him at one time, and then all the talk kind of faded out. By and by Radway himself faded out. It was Billsky that faded him.
Billsky was a little, serious, hairy fellow, not much higher than Radway’s elbow; a good little fellow, that never gave any trouble to any one. He always seemed, in a meek sort of way, puzzled over existence in general and his own share in it in particular. Men liked him. He was awful kindhearted, but he’d the same sense of humor as an Apache. Primitive, that’s what he was. He was part Russian, and he’d a primitive sort of name that no one ever tried to pronounce. Billsky came near enough.
He scarcely ever came in Rad’s way, though he moved with the same crowd. Rad was in the center, you see, Billsky just wanderin’ on the outskirts. They got mixed up pretty close, though, later.
It began with a girl, of course, a girl at Borromeo. No need for names. She was a nice girl, and a nice-lookin’ girl, just one of many, thank God. No one so much as guessed Billsky was sweet on her till she went away suddenly and was seen no more, and her folks moved away. It was put down to Rad, and he didn’t deny it; sort o’ smiled and looked knowin’. You know the kind. Then Billsky heard of it. He was working up at the Joyeux then, for that was before the irrigation was put through, and it was all cattle. He sent a message through to Radway. “I’m coming down to kill you,” said the message, “soon as I can get my time. Don’t go away.”
Well, that was Billsky all over, and most men thought it was a great joke. Radway did. “What does the little rat take me for?” he said. “I guess he’s in no hurry. I’ll have some time to wait.” Most men thought so, too, but not all.
Meanwhile, Billsky stuck to his job till he could quit without giving inconvenience. Then he got his time. He sunk every dollar of his pay in a fine pony, a quick goer. And down he came the eighty miles to Borromeo, like a fire in grass.