Further Titles in the Series by Andrew C. Rouse

Level A2

Mr Codie of Scotland Yard

The British Pub

The Ride of Johnny Ringo

Level B1

My Christmases

Tales from Watchet

Small Ads

Level B2

The English Village

For all levels

with Audrey V. Rouse

Eating Around Britain

Further Titles in the Series

Level A2

István Fekete Thorn Castle

(Tüskevár)

Hungarian Folk Tales

(Magyar népmesék)

Hungarian Legends

(Magyar mondák)

Level B1

Frigyes Karinthy Please, Sir

(Tanár úr kérem)

László L. Lőrincz The Shame of the Great Dome

(A Nagy Kupola szégyene)

Ferenc Molnár The Paul Street Boys

(A Pál utcai fiúk)

Level B1

István Csukás Bowler Hat and Red Nose

(Keménykalap és krumpliorr)

Frigyes Karinthy A Journey Round My Skull

(Utazás a koponyám körül)

Géza Ottlik School at the Frontier

(Iskola a határon)

The Ride of Johnny Ringo

A2 (700 headwords)

Written by ANDREW C. ROUSE

Illustrated by RONTÓ LILI

ISBN 978 963 05 9316 8

ISSN 2062-6150

Published by Akadémiai Kiadó,

member of the

Association of Hungarian Publishers and Booksellers

founded in 1795.

1117 Budapest, Prielle Kornélia u. 21–35.

www.akademiaikiado.hu

First edition: 2012

© ANDREW C. ROUSE, 2012

© AKADÉMIAI KIADÓ, 2012

Responsible for publication: Director of Akadémiai Kiadó

Responsible for editing: POMÁZI GYÖNGYI

Managing Editor: KÁCSOR LÓRÁNT

Page-Setting: LACZKÓ LÁSZLÓ

Cover Design: SÜTŐ RÓBERT

Technical Editor: KISS ZSUZSA

Print: Akadémiai Nyomda

Managing Director: UJVÁROSI LAJOS

Copyrights are the sole property of the copyright owners

listed above. Any copying, distributing and reproducing in any form

(electronically, mechanically, by print or photography)

without prior permission of all copyright owners is prohibited.

Printed in Hungary

The Ride of Johnny Ringo

THE RIDE OF JOHNNY RINGO

The Wild West was not a place for weak men. There were Indians there, bandits and outlaws. Sometimes the sun was so hot, you could cook an egg on a stone. Sometimes it was very cold, and men froze to death. The land was bad, and the men in it were bad, too. Some of them took your money, and some took your life.

Johnny Ringo was a strong man and he was a good man, but he was a very angry man, too. It was difficult to be good in the Wild West, and easy to be bad. At the moment, it was very, very difficult for Johnny to be good. He had no home, he had no wife, and he had no child. He was looking for a man, but he didn’t know his name. But he would find that man and then he would kill him.

Johnny was standing on the top of a hill. He could see a long way. But he was not looking; he was thinking. He was thinking of his house, of his dead wife and his dead son, Little Charlie. Today was Charlie’s birthday. But Charlie was dead. He was lying in the ground, under a big stone. Next to him was his mother. There were words on the stone.

That is what everybody believed. When Johnny came into town the Sheriff called him into his office.

“Johnny,” he said, “I have some bad news for you. Three days ago, the Indians came to your house, and killed Bet, and, and Little Charlie.”

The Sheriff was crying. Betty was his sister’s daughter and he was Little Charlie’s great-uncle.

Johnny did not cry. He stood like a stone. He said nothing. He turned round, and went out of the Sheriff’s office. He rode to his house. Inside it, on the floor, were two bodies. There was a white sheet over each one.

Johnny bit his lip. He would not cry. He took a spade, and he dug a last resting-place for his dead wife and son. Then he walked slowly around the outside of the house. He looked carefully at the ground, at the bushes, in every corner and at every leaf. Johnny Ringo was a hunter and the land told him many things. He knew the tracks of every animal. But today he was not looking for animal tracks. Today he was not hunting animals. He was hunting a man.

The first thing he saw was the mark of a horse-shoe. He looked for more and found some, down by the riverside, where the ground was wet. Now he knew that only one man was the killer. He also knew that the man was not an Indian. The Indians did not put shoes on their horses.

Then he found some footprints. There were five footprints; three left ones and two right ones. There was a longer step between the left and right prints than between the right and left ones. Johnny began to know his man.

This was his first piece of real information. The killer pulled his right leg after him. Perhaps there was a bullet in his leg, or maybe his right leg was shorter than his left one. But one thing was certain, the killer could not walk properly.

The next thing Johnny Ringo found was some black horsehair on a bush. Johnny’s horse was a grey and the Sheriff had an Indian pony of many colours, but no black.

Most people rode brown-coloured horses. Johnny knew only two local people with black horses and neither of them had a bad leg. One was Judge Perry, an old man of seventy. He was Betty’s godfather. The other was Dirk Cutler. Johnny did not like Dirk. He did not look after his animals well, he used bad language and he drank too much. But Johnny knew that Dirk was not a killer.

Slowly Johnny was putting together a picture of the man he was hunting. The man was a stranger, he could not walk properly and he rode a black horse.

He got on his horse and began to ride round his house in circles that got bigger and bigger. He was looking for more signs. At first the ground was hard and stony. He couldn’t see anything near the stream, either.

After many hours, he found something at last. It was a small fire. The fire was not more than a few days old. Beside the fire he found the end of a cigar. He smelt the tobacco. It was a very cheap, strong cigar. He noticed deep tooth-marks in it. So the man held his cigar in his mouth with his teeth. Perhaps he talked with his cigar in his mouth.

Johnny wanted to find out more information. He looked carefully about him. He saw some small bones. He was a hunter, so he knew at once that they were rabbit bones. Now he was very excited. You couldn’t see it on his face, but he was. He went down on his hands and knees, and moved very slowly around the fire. Then he found what he was looking for: a .38 bullet. Most gunmen wore a .45 gun. A .38 was not so popular. Johnny Ringo knew he was very lucky. With this extra information, it was much easier to look for the killer of his wife and child.

But Ringo was not in a hurry. Some men jump on their horses and ride very fast after the man they want to kill. They ride until their horses are very tired and perhaps break a leg, or they wait for days in a saloon until their horses are fresh again. They spend all their money on drink and on cards. Sometimes they get into a fight, and often the other man is quicker. Many men died in saloon fights in the Wild West. Most of them were too young to die.

But Johnny Ringo was a methodical man. You cannot catch animals if you jump, or run, or shout.

When he was kind he was quiet, and when he was angry he was silent, and he closed his mouth into a straight line. He was quiet when he carried his dead wife to her cold bed in the ground – now he was as silent as death.

He got on his horse, a big, strong animal, and rode to the next town. He tied his horse outside the saloon, and went in. He bought many drinks that night, but he drank only one small glass of whisky, and he didn’t finish that. But soon every drinker in town knew that there was a man in the saloon who was buying drinks for anyone who sat down and talked to him. Many men sat at his table that night. He told all of them the same story.

“I am looking for an old friend. He has a black horse, he pulls his right leg, he smokes cheap and smelly cigars and he wears a .38 revolver.” But nobody could tell him anything.

Johnny Ringo’s heart became heavy. He thought that he had enough information. His stomach was empty, and his pocket was almost as empty as his stomach. He got up from his table and walked out of the saloon to his horse. Then the world went black.

When he woke up he didn’t know where he was. He was not in the town. He was cold. He looked around. There were trees all around him. His back was against one of them.

Then he saw the three men. They were sitting several feet away from him, and they were drinking coffee. He tried to move but then he found that he was tied to the tree.

One of the men turned round. He was sitting down, but Johnny saw that he was a big, strong man. He had a rifle in his hand.