Flint (1960) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Louis L'amour
flat-heeled boots did not go with cow country, and the man's clothing showed little wear.
"I never knew a man who did not want something."
"You are looking at one."
Nugent got to his feet and Kettleman arose too. "I don't like a man who takes a crowd when he goes hunting."
Really angry, Nugent replied shortly, "Even the law does it."
"You are not the law. I think a man who can't do his own hunting is a coward."
Nugent's face went white, and with an effort he fought down the urge to reach for a gun. But he was no gunfighter, and knew it.
"My advice to you is to clear out. We don't take to hard-talking strangers."
Deliberately, Kettleman yawned. "Get the hell out of here. I want to sleep."
Unable to think of a reply that might not get him killed, Nugent walked to his horse and mounted.
'I'll see you later," Nugent said when he was in the saddle. "If I didn't have a squatter to chase, I'd -- "
"Squatter?" Kettleman smiled at him. "Why, you're only a squatter yourself. You don't own a foot of range. You came in here a few years ago and started running a few cattle on land that doesn't belong to you. Now of a sudden you are talking of squatters. You're a pompous little man with a bellyful of importance. Now get out of here."
Blind with fury, Nugent wheeled his horse and rode away, spurring the animal madly. By the Almighty! He would get his hands and come back, and ...
Something went over him like a dash of ice-cold rain.
How did this stranger know all that ? Who was he?
Kettleman rolled his bed swiftly, slung his haversack and blanket roll and, picking up his shotgun and rifle, he started along the ridge. It was still some time until daybreak, but if Nugent did come back he had no desire to be caught sleeping, and the rancher was mad enough to gather his crew and return.
Thomas S. Nugent. He knew the name from the files. Before building the railroad they had made a study of ranchers in the area to gauge the amount of shipping there would be to handle their cattle and what supplies they might require. There was not a ranch in the area about which he was uninformed. Because of the proximity to Flint's old hideout, he had paid particular attention to the vicinity.
It was faintly gray in the east when he climbed out of the hollow and started across country.
He was heavily loaded for the long walk that lay before him, but his illness seemed to have taken little toll of his strength as yet. He had always been strong, and even in New York he had been active, with regular workouts in the gym, a good bit of walking, and hunting trips to Virginia or over in New Jersey.
He had been walking only a short distance when he found the hunted man.
Chapter 2
Nancy Kerrigan opened her eyes as the train slowed for a stop, and watched the stockyards flip past the windows like the spots on a riffled deck of cards. It was good to be home, despite the trouble she brought with her.
The straw-haired man was on his feet, and when he glanced back along the car she noticed the pockmarks on his cheeks and a tiny white scar above one eyebrow. He was very tall, and the way in which he flipped the gun belt around his hips spoke of long practice.
She had never seen this man before but she had lived too long in the West not to know his kind. Since the Lincoln County war and the Land-Grant fights there had been many of his kind in New Mexico, and now there were rumors of trouble building in the Tonto Basin of Arizona.
Yet this man was not going to the Basin. He was leaving the train at Alamitos.
She became aware that he was looking past her with sudden sharp attention. His eyes flickered over the car again, returning to the seats behind her, and involuntarily she turned to look. The man who had been seated back there was gone.
The train had made no stops, and this was the only passenger car. Yet the man was gone.
Obviously disturbed by something he did not understand, the big gunman's eyes rested briefly on her, and for an instant he
"I never knew a man who did not want something."
"You are looking at one."
Nugent got to his feet and Kettleman arose too. "I don't like a man who takes a crowd when he goes hunting."
Really angry, Nugent replied shortly, "Even the law does it."
"You are not the law. I think a man who can't do his own hunting is a coward."
Nugent's face went white, and with an effort he fought down the urge to reach for a gun. But he was no gunfighter, and knew it.
"My advice to you is to clear out. We don't take to hard-talking strangers."
Deliberately, Kettleman yawned. "Get the hell out of here. I want to sleep."
Unable to think of a reply that might not get him killed, Nugent walked to his horse and mounted.
'I'll see you later," Nugent said when he was in the saddle. "If I didn't have a squatter to chase, I'd -- "
"Squatter?" Kettleman smiled at him. "Why, you're only a squatter yourself. You don't own a foot of range. You came in here a few years ago and started running a few cattle on land that doesn't belong to you. Now of a sudden you are talking of squatters. You're a pompous little man with a bellyful of importance. Now get out of here."
Blind with fury, Nugent wheeled his horse and rode away, spurring the animal madly. By the Almighty! He would get his hands and come back, and ...
Something went over him like a dash of ice-cold rain.
How did this stranger know all that ? Who was he?
Kettleman rolled his bed swiftly, slung his haversack and blanket roll and, picking up his shotgun and rifle, he started along the ridge. It was still some time until daybreak, but if Nugent did come back he had no desire to be caught sleeping, and the rancher was mad enough to gather his crew and return.
Thomas S. Nugent. He knew the name from the files. Before building the railroad they had made a study of ranchers in the area to gauge the amount of shipping there would be to handle their cattle and what supplies they might require. There was not a ranch in the area about which he was uninformed. Because of the proximity to Flint's old hideout, he had paid particular attention to the vicinity.
It was faintly gray in the east when he climbed out of the hollow and started across country.
He was heavily loaded for the long walk that lay before him, but his illness seemed to have taken little toll of his strength as yet. He had always been strong, and even in New York he had been active, with regular workouts in the gym, a good bit of walking, and hunting trips to Virginia or over in New Jersey.
He had been walking only a short distance when he found the hunted man.
Chapter 2
Nancy Kerrigan opened her eyes as the train slowed for a stop, and watched the stockyards flip past the windows like the spots on a riffled deck of cards. It was good to be home, despite the trouble she brought with her.
The straw-haired man was on his feet, and when he glanced back along the car she noticed the pockmarks on his cheeks and a tiny white scar above one eyebrow. He was very tall, and the way in which he flipped the gun belt around his hips spoke of long practice.
She had never seen this man before but she had lived too long in the West not to know his kind. Since the Lincoln County war and the Land-Grant fights there had been many of his kind in New Mexico, and now there were rumors of trouble building in the Tonto Basin of Arizona.
Yet this man was not going to the Basin. He was leaving the train at Alamitos.
She became aware that he was looking past her with sudden sharp attention. His eyes flickered over the car again, returning to the seats behind her, and involuntarily she turned to look. The man who had been seated back there was gone.
The train had made no stops, and this was the only passenger car. Yet the man was gone.
Obviously disturbed by something he did not understand, the big gunman's eyes rested briefly on her, and for an instant he
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