Catlow (1963) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Louis L'amour
pointed for a hangin' or prison, so don't try to head me off."
"You're too good a man, Bijah. Too good to go that way."
"Maybe ... but I'm a born rebel, Ben. You're the smart one. You'll ride it quiet and come out of it with a sight more than me. I only hope that when the chips are down and they send somebody after me that it won't be you. You wouldn't back up from what you figure is your duty, and I sure wouldn't want you to ... and I'd never back up, either."
"I know it. I've asked for a transfer to another district, anyway. We may never see each other again."
Bijah slapped him on the shoulder. "That's gloomy talk. I figure to whip your socks off four or five times yet." Bijah threw him a quick glance. "Ben, what you figure to do when we hit Abilene? You said you might help."
"First, I'll clear it with Hickok. He's all right. He doesn't give a damn what happened in Texas or anywhere else. All he wants is peace in Abilene."
"You still have to stack your guns when you come into town?"
"That was under Smith. Wild Bill doesn't care whether you wear them or not, as long as you don't do any shooting. If you decide to do any, you'd better start with him, because if you shoot he'll come after you."
"Smith was a good man. I met up with him that time I rode up to Colorado with that Indian beef." Bijah moved downslope to turn a ranging steer back into the drive. "Why are you so willing to front for me with Wild Bill?"
"He'll listen to me. I'm an officer, too. And you might just be cocky enough to try to throw a gun on him and get killed."
"The way I remember it, you fancy yourself with that hogleg you're carryin'. Why, there was a time you claimed you were faster than me!"
Ben chuckled. "Only said it to you, Bijah and you know it, you Irish lunkhead. If anybody shoots you, let's keep it in the family."
Catlow laughed good-humoredly. "When the time comes it'll simply bust my heart to kill you. For a sheriff, you're a pretty good sort."
Ben eased his foot in the stirrup, keeping his face straight against the pain. He had no right to complain, with only a bullet through his calf. Johnny Caxton was riding back there with a stump for an arm; but with one arm or two, Johnny Caxton was a good man, and he drove that team of broncs as though he sat the saddle of a bad horse.
Turning in the saddle, Ben Cowan glanced along the herd. Three thousand head of cattle string out for quite a distance when they are not bunched up, and handling this herd was a good big job for the available men. They had about six horses per man, and it wasn't really enough, short-handed as they were.
Ordinarily a herd of three thousand head would have eleven or twelve riders, and the cost was figured at about a dollar-per-head for the drive from Texas to Kansas. In this case, with the herd owned by the drivers, there would be no outlay for wages, and the men owned their own remuda, so there had been no cost for the purchase of horses.
Dawn to dusk they drove, usually trying to water somewhere late in the afternoon, then pushing on a few miles before bedding down. Cattle watered late had a way of starting off better and traveling better than those allowed to water in the morning.
Abilene in 1871 was a booming town, but the boom was almost over, although few as yet realized it. There were many in town who detested the cattlemen with their vast herds--600,000 head were driven to Abilene that year--and the men who drove them.
Texas Town was wild and woolly, and it was loud. The more staid citizens looked upon it with extreme distaste, and wanted to be rid of the yelling, whooping cowboys, the dusty, trail-seasoned men who were making the town what it was. Only a few months later they were to issue a bulletin saying they wanted no more of it, and to their discomfiture the cattlemen took them at their word and went west to Newton, to Ellsworth, to Dodge. By 1872 the citizens of Abilene were crying for them to come back, but it was too late.
But in 1871 the
"You're too good a man, Bijah. Too good to go that way."
"Maybe ... but I'm a born rebel, Ben. You're the smart one. You'll ride it quiet and come out of it with a sight more than me. I only hope that when the chips are down and they send somebody after me that it won't be you. You wouldn't back up from what you figure is your duty, and I sure wouldn't want you to ... and I'd never back up, either."
"I know it. I've asked for a transfer to another district, anyway. We may never see each other again."
Bijah slapped him on the shoulder. "That's gloomy talk. I figure to whip your socks off four or five times yet." Bijah threw him a quick glance. "Ben, what you figure to do when we hit Abilene? You said you might help."
"First, I'll clear it with Hickok. He's all right. He doesn't give a damn what happened in Texas or anywhere else. All he wants is peace in Abilene."
"You still have to stack your guns when you come into town?"
"That was under Smith. Wild Bill doesn't care whether you wear them or not, as long as you don't do any shooting. If you decide to do any, you'd better start with him, because if you shoot he'll come after you."
"Smith was a good man. I met up with him that time I rode up to Colorado with that Indian beef." Bijah moved downslope to turn a ranging steer back into the drive. "Why are you so willing to front for me with Wild Bill?"
"He'll listen to me. I'm an officer, too. And you might just be cocky enough to try to throw a gun on him and get killed."
"The way I remember it, you fancy yourself with that hogleg you're carryin'. Why, there was a time you claimed you were faster than me!"
Ben chuckled. "Only said it to you, Bijah and you know it, you Irish lunkhead. If anybody shoots you, let's keep it in the family."
Catlow laughed good-humoredly. "When the time comes it'll simply bust my heart to kill you. For a sheriff, you're a pretty good sort."
Ben eased his foot in the stirrup, keeping his face straight against the pain. He had no right to complain, with only a bullet through his calf. Johnny Caxton was riding back there with a stump for an arm; but with one arm or two, Johnny Caxton was a good man, and he drove that team of broncs as though he sat the saddle of a bad horse.
Turning in the saddle, Ben Cowan glanced along the herd. Three thousand head of cattle string out for quite a distance when they are not bunched up, and handling this herd was a good big job for the available men. They had about six horses per man, and it wasn't really enough, short-handed as they were.
Ordinarily a herd of three thousand head would have eleven or twelve riders, and the cost was figured at about a dollar-per-head for the drive from Texas to Kansas. In this case, with the herd owned by the drivers, there would be no outlay for wages, and the men owned their own remuda, so there had been no cost for the purchase of horses.
Dawn to dusk they drove, usually trying to water somewhere late in the afternoon, then pushing on a few miles before bedding down. Cattle watered late had a way of starting off better and traveling better than those allowed to water in the morning.
Abilene in 1871 was a booming town, but the boom was almost over, although few as yet realized it. There were many in town who detested the cattlemen with their vast herds--600,000 head were driven to Abilene that year--and the men who drove them.
Texas Town was wild and woolly, and it was loud. The more staid citizens looked upon it with extreme distaste, and wanted to be rid of the yelling, whooping cowboys, the dusty, trail-seasoned men who were making the town what it was. Only a few months later they were to issue a bulletin saying they wanted no more of it, and to their discomfiture the cattlemen took them at their word and went west to Newton, to Ellsworth, to Dodge. By 1872 the citizens of Abilene were crying for them to come back, but it was too late.
But in 1871 the
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