Longhorn Empire Read Online Free Page A

tried to pull the battlers apart. Chairs and tables went over splintering and crashing. The dance floor girls screamed. The
     dealers and floor men bellowed for order, and didn’t get it. Folks who really weren’t concerned in the row got hit by accident
     and immediately became enthusiastic participants. The whole room boiled and seethed like a giant pot.
    Austin Brant streamed across the room, dived into the mess and got Cole Dawson by the collar. He jerked him back out of the
     shindig. Dawson writhed around in Brant’s grasp, roared a string of cuss words and swung a blow at the foreman. Before it
     had travelled six inches it was blocked. Brant whirled Dawson about and levered his arm behind his back and up between his
     shoulder blades. He ran Dawson on tiptoe through the door.
    “I’ll bust your arm for you, Cole, if you don’t behave,” he warned. “What’s the matter with you, anyhow? You know we got work
     to do. The Old Man would hand you your time if I told him about this. Now head for camp and sober up. You can raise all the
     hell you want when we get to Dodge and turn over the herd. Now get going.”
    Rather to Brant’s surprise, Dawson obeyedorders. When Brant released his arm, he lurched off through the darkness, mumbling and muttering.
    Brant returned to the saloon. Doran and Hanson and the floor men had managed to restore order. There were some bloody noses
     and discoloring eyes, but no serious damage had been done. Brant saw Norman Kane still sitting at his table, smiling his thin,
     cynical smile. He glanced toward where the girl and the old man sat. The girl was hunched back in her chair, her red lips
     slightly parted, her face rather white. The oldster was unconcernedly stuffing black tobacco into a blacker pipe. Brant walked
     over to the table.
    “Not exactly the place for a lady, suh,” he remarked pointedly.
    The old man nodded. “Reckon you’re right, son,” he agreed without rancor. “Sort of new and rambunctious for my little niece
     here—she’s from back East—but I don’t pay it no mind. I’ve seen the elephant before.”
    “How come you to be in this section?” Brant asked curiously.
    “We’re just passin’ through,” the other replied. “We’re headin’ for the Texas Panhandle country. Our wagons are over east
     of the ford.”
    “What part of the Panhandle?” Brant asked with interest.
    “South Canadian River country,” the other said. “Town near where I got title to a spread is call Tascosa. The spread, the
     Bar O, is about twenty miles to the northwest.”
    “I remember it. Used to belong to old Clifton Taylor,” Brant remarked.
    “That’s right. Taylor came back to Oklahoma,where he was brought up. I made a deal with him. Traded my holdings in Oklahoma and some hard money for his Texas outfit.”
    “You’ll sort of be neighbors to the Running W, the outfit I work for,” Brant observed. “We range to the south and west of the
     Bar O.”
    “That’s nice,” said the oldster. “Be glad to know somebody in a new section. My name’s Loring, Nate Loring. My niece’s name
     is Verna Loring. Her Dad was my younger brother. Went East and died there last year.”
    Brant uspplied his own name and they shook hands. Verna glanced up rather timidly through the silken veil of her long lashes,
     but gave him a slim little hand. Apparently some of her fear was evaporating.
    Old Nate stood up. “Well,” he said, “reckon we’ll be moseyin’ along. Want to get an early start in the mornin’, if that dadblamed
     river behaves. Hope to see you down in Texas, son.”
    “You will,” Brant promised emphatically. “We’ll be glad to have you for neighbors and we’ll send over some of the boys to
     help you get located as soon as we get back from the drive. Yes, I’ll be seeing you.”
    Old Nate nodded, and headed for the door, Verna swaying gracefully beside him. At the door she glanced back for an instant,
     her blue eyes met Brant’s gray