Fifty-Fifty O'Brien Read Online Free

pace, and headed doggedly for his goal.
    A second shot bullwhipped from the edge of the woods. Again he changed his course, getting as far as possible into the open.
    He had made three hundred yards when he heard the rattle of hoofs on the trail behind him. He whirled and threw himself down into the dust, twisting about and staring back, rifle propped on one elbow, finger tensing on the trigger.
    Two horsemen were charging at him, hat brims pressed back, legs jerking as they thumped bare heels into their ponies’ sides. Smith aimed carefully and squeezed. The first rider went down in a skidding swirl of dust. Smith fired again. The second threw up his arms; his mount whirled and plunged back toward the woods, dragging the bouncing body by the foot.
    Smith got up and faced Pelo, breaking into a jog trot. He had the uncomfortable sensation of eyes staring at him from cover, and he knew that men had picked up his tracks. If they guessed that he was a courier, they would be waiting for him on the return trip.
    A n hour later, drenched with muddy sweat, he came to a halt before a low tent pitched at the side of a rude, sunburned parade ground.
    A man in Marine uniform came out, a weary but immaculate man who bore the silver triangle of the Guardia on his hat. Surprise flickered for a moment on his face.
    â€œWhere the hell did you come from?”
    Smith grinned. “From Company K.”
    â€œWhat the hell? They’ve been sending their stuff over by PC and plane. Didn’t you have trouble getting through?”
    â€œA little. There seems to be something up.” Smith handed the slips of onionskin over to the Guardia captain.
    The captain loosed an oath which would have done credit to Fifty-Fifty O’Brien. “We’re to fall back. What the hell?”
    â€œDon’t ask me,” said Smith, bold with weariness. “I’m just the messenger boy around here.”
    The Guardia captain looked at him for several seconds, observing the muddy, ripped condition of the clothes, noting the absence of a clip in the bandolier, seeing the red veins in the haggard eyes.
    â€œI meant,” said the captain, almost losing his gunnery-sergeant gruffness, “that this is funny. They tell me the post is in danger and we’re too far out. They tell me to fall back toward the PC. What the hell do they know about it? Sergeant Mallory and I don’t have to depend upon guesses. We’ve got plenty of boys here that know all the answers.
    â€œIt isn’t this outfit that’s in danger, dammit, it’s Company K. And the fools had you come through all that just to give me a couple screwy commands. What do they do down there? Cork off ?
    â€œBut,” he added, rubbing his raw beef jaw judicially, “if they say move back, my people move back, and that’s that. But Pelo, damn her hide, won’t be easy to take again.
    â€œSee here, soldier, tell the cook to shovel you out some chow and then pipe down for some snores. You’ll go back with us, of course.”
    Win Smith looked at this gunnery sergeant of the corps, this captain of the Guardia, and thought about another man like him—Fifty-Fifty O’Brien. The sensible thing to do would be to follow this gyrene ’s advice, but a bull-tempered streak in Win Smith made him shake his head.
    â€œO’Brien told me to come back. They’ll want to know the score. I’ll rest up and leave at dark.”
    â€œSo O’Brien sent you out here, did he? Now tell me what you did to O’Brien.”
    â€œI … well, I guess I saved his life.”
    â€œYou saved his life and he sent you out here?”
    â€œYeah, you see, I shouldn’t have taken time to do it. I was carrying dispatch and I wasn’t supposed to swing off my course.”
    â€œAw, bunk! That isn’t the answer to it.”
    â€œThen what is?”
    The Guardia captain scratched his head in a puzzled way and shrugged. “I