Ralph Compton the Evil Men Do Read Online Free

when a rotund man came out of the back carrying a sack of seed. His florid face creased in a smile and he nodded at the marshal. “Fred. What brings you here this time of the day?”
    â€œHiram,” Fred said pleasantly.
    Tyree had turned to a shelf as Hiram Bigelow came out, but now he turned back and placed his right hand on his right Colt. “Tom McCarthy,” he said. “I’m here to take you back to Cheyenne.”
    â€œLike hell you are,” the salt of the earth said, and threw the bag of seed at them.

Chapter 3
    For Fred Hitch, the day was one astonishment after another. He’d known Hiram Bigelow for the better part of a year. Ever since Hiram bought the feed and grain from Sam Goodman. He’d never have imagined Hiram was a lawbreaker. The notion of Hiram being a killer was downright laughable. And yet there he went, running off in a panic.
    The seed bag was heavy. It hit Tyree Johnson on the shoulder and knocked him back a couple of steps. Clawing at a Colt, he hollered, “Stop right there, mister!”
    Hiram—or Tom McCarthy—did no such thing. He continued fleeing down the hall.
    â€œWait!” Fred yelled, but it was useless. McCarthy didn’t listen. Fred grabbed awkwardly for his own revolver and started to give chase, but Tyree suddenly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of the hallway. It was well the boy did, for the next moment the hall rocked to the boom of a shot and lead whizzed. “He’s shootin’ at us!” Fred exclaimed.
    â€œThey do that.” Tyree peered warily into the hall. “There’s a warehouse back there.”
    Fred nodded absently. He’d been into the back a few times. It was where Hiram—no, McCarthy—kept a lot of feed and seed and whatnot.
    â€œIs there a back door?” Tyree asked.
    â€œOf course,” Fred said. “Every place has a back door.” He would have liked to stand there where it was safe, but the boy broke into a sprint.
    â€œCome on. We can’t let him get away.”
    Fred followed reluctantly. He wouldn’t mind at all if McCarthy got away. The man had never done him any harm. For that matter, McCarthy had been a model member of their community since he arrived in Sweetwater. From what the kid claimed, that business in Cheyenne had been over McCarthy catching his wife with another man. Granted, strangling her and cutting open the no-account who trifled with her was going too far, but people did things in the heat of rage they’d never do otherwise. And McCarthy never struck him as a killer.
    â€œHurry up,” Tyree urged, dashing to a small mountain of grain bags.
    Puffing, Fred joined him. No shots rang out. He considered that a good sign. Maybe McCarthy had ducked out the back door and they wouldn’t have to swap lead.
    The kid raised his voice. “Tom McCarthy! Throw down your six-shooter and give yourself up. All I want is to take you in.”
    From somewhere deeper in the maze of stacks and crates and piles came a mocking laugh. “That’ll be the day, boy.”
    Forgetting himself, Fred said, “Hiram? What’s gotten into you? Do as he wants so no one need get hurt.”
    â€œI let him take me, they’ll put me on trial and I’ll be hanged or sent to prison for the rest of my life.”
    â€œYou don’t know that,” Fred said. “You could be let off. They have to prove you did the crime.”
    â€œThat won’t be hard,” McCarthy said bitterly. “They found me standing over the bodies with the knife I used.” He paused. “My best friend. And he was carrying on with my wife behind my back.”
    â€œI’m sorry for you, Hiram. I mean Tom,” Fred said. “I’ll come testify if you want. Say as how you never oncebroke the law in Sweetwater and were a credit to the town.”
    For a bit McCarthy didn’t answer. Then he said, “That’s damn decent of