Out of Context

Bad habits are gonna die hard it seems

The Rangeland Avenger
Max Brand

“None. Your score is exactly one hundred percent, sheriff.”

Kern sighed. “Gents,” he said, “the average is plumb spoiled.”

It caused a general lifting of heads and then a respectful silence. To have offered sympathy would have been insulting; to ask questions was beneath their dignity, but four pairs of eyes burned with curiosity. The least curious was Arizona. He was a fat, oily man from the southland, whose past was unknown in the vicinity of Woodville, and Arizona happened to be by no means desirous of rescuing that past from oblivion. He held the southlander’s contempt for the men and ways of the north. His presence in the office was explained by the fact that he had long before discovered it to be an excellent thing to stand in with the sheriff. After this statement from Kern, therefore, he first glanced at this three companions, and, observing their agitation, he became somewhat stirred himself and puckered his fat brows above his eyes, as he glanced back at Kern.

“You’ve heard of the killing of Quade?” asked the sheriff.

“Yesterday,” said Red Chalmers

“And that they got the killer?”

“Nope.”