Radigan (1958) Read Online Free
Author: Louis L'amour
"No."
Radigan lifted his head and scented the air. "Bear sign?" "Figured you'd smell 'em first off. When you didn't I knew you were tired. Ma used to make doughnuts when I was a youngster and when I'd come from school I'd catch that smell, even if it had been hours old."
"You get me some, John. You ain't much for work, but I'd keep you on just for making bear sign. I never saw your beat." "Time was I've been kept making bear sign for three days without letup, make 'em by the dishpan full, and none left at the end. Men ride miles to get a handful of bear sign."
They were silent, busy with their food and thoughts. Only Radigan was eating, however.
After a few minutes he asked, "You eat?"
"Sure. I'd started out to feed the stock when that feller nicked me. First off I was of a mind to go scalp huntin', but he had me nailed down so I ate ... first thing I was taught was to sleep whenever there was time and to eat when there was food."
John Child went to the deep cupboard and brought back a plate of doughnuts. "Dig in, boy. There's a plenty."
"John ... who d'you reckon he was?"
"Gunman, that's for sure. Trigger tied back on his gun. And a mighty fine rifle.
He's got to be a hired killer."
Tom Radigan took down his rifle and went to work cleaning it. As he worked he occasionally ate bear sign and drank coffee. It had been too good to last. He owned seven hundred head of' cattle, and a nice bunch of' mustangs. He had spread his cattle around through the mountain meadows where there was good water and good grass, and from time to time he shifted his small herds to new areas where the grass was still long. The winters were vicious, and the snow drifted deep in most of the canyons. It was a brutal struggle to keep the herds alive but there were areas where the wind swept the grass free of snow, and there were protected valleys where little snow gathered.
There had been natural increase, and several times he bought cattle from movers. As there were no other ranches close by and the remote valleys restricted the wandering, the task of handling the cattle was a small one.
Radigan's progress had been steady, and in another year he would make his first drive to market. His income from trapping was sufficient to pay Child his wages and to put by a little, and from the first he had taken time out occasionally to wash out a little gold from the streams. None of them carried much, but to a man whose wants were simple it was enough.
The ranch on the Vache had been no sudden thing. From the first he had made up his mind to look for just the place he wanted, and when he found it his plans were well made and he was ready for the hard work they demanded. Every step he must take had been carefully planned, and he believed he had covered all the possible risks and chances to be expected. From the beginning he had been aware that the days of free range could not last, and he had never planned on the vast operations of the bigger ranchers. He was content with a small outfit but one that paid well, and he had solved the problem of making it pay.
At daybreak he was out of bed and into his socks and shirt. Then he stirred the coals and laid on a few chunks of pitch pine to get a hot fire going, then he put on the water for coffee.
When he had bathed and dressed he took time out to shave, the wiry stubble on his jaws yielding reluctantly to the razor. He was usually clean-shaven except for his mustache-his one vanity.
John Child came in. "Saddled that blaze-face sorrel for you. It's clearing up nicely."
"Thanks." "Want I should ride along?"
"Stick around. There's enough to do and I don't want the place left alone now. You keep your guns close and don't get far from the place."
Child grinned at him. "I'm a Delaware . .. you forgettin' that?"
"It's the English in you worries me. The Delaware can take care of itself."
"I've put up a lunch . .. and some of them bear sign." Radigan shouldered into a buckskin coat and went down to the corral.
Radigan lifted his head and scented the air. "Bear sign?" "Figured you'd smell 'em first off. When you didn't I knew you were tired. Ma used to make doughnuts when I was a youngster and when I'd come from school I'd catch that smell, even if it had been hours old."
"You get me some, John. You ain't much for work, but I'd keep you on just for making bear sign. I never saw your beat." "Time was I've been kept making bear sign for three days without letup, make 'em by the dishpan full, and none left at the end. Men ride miles to get a handful of bear sign."
They were silent, busy with their food and thoughts. Only Radigan was eating, however.
After a few minutes he asked, "You eat?"
"Sure. I'd started out to feed the stock when that feller nicked me. First off I was of a mind to go scalp huntin', but he had me nailed down so I ate ... first thing I was taught was to sleep whenever there was time and to eat when there was food."
John Child went to the deep cupboard and brought back a plate of doughnuts. "Dig in, boy. There's a plenty."
"John ... who d'you reckon he was?"
"Gunman, that's for sure. Trigger tied back on his gun. And a mighty fine rifle.
He's got to be a hired killer."
Tom Radigan took down his rifle and went to work cleaning it. As he worked he occasionally ate bear sign and drank coffee. It had been too good to last. He owned seven hundred head of' cattle, and a nice bunch of' mustangs. He had spread his cattle around through the mountain meadows where there was good water and good grass, and from time to time he shifted his small herds to new areas where the grass was still long. The winters were vicious, and the snow drifted deep in most of the canyons. It was a brutal struggle to keep the herds alive but there were areas where the wind swept the grass free of snow, and there were protected valleys where little snow gathered.
There had been natural increase, and several times he bought cattle from movers. As there were no other ranches close by and the remote valleys restricted the wandering, the task of handling the cattle was a small one.
Radigan's progress had been steady, and in another year he would make his first drive to market. His income from trapping was sufficient to pay Child his wages and to put by a little, and from the first he had taken time out occasionally to wash out a little gold from the streams. None of them carried much, but to a man whose wants were simple it was enough.
The ranch on the Vache had been no sudden thing. From the first he had made up his mind to look for just the place he wanted, and when he found it his plans were well made and he was ready for the hard work they demanded. Every step he must take had been carefully planned, and he believed he had covered all the possible risks and chances to be expected. From the beginning he had been aware that the days of free range could not last, and he had never planned on the vast operations of the bigger ranchers. He was content with a small outfit but one that paid well, and he had solved the problem of making it pay.
At daybreak he was out of bed and into his socks and shirt. Then he stirred the coals and laid on a few chunks of pitch pine to get a hot fire going, then he put on the water for coffee.
When he had bathed and dressed he took time out to shave, the wiry stubble on his jaws yielding reluctantly to the razor. He was usually clean-shaven except for his mustache-his one vanity.
John Child came in. "Saddled that blaze-face sorrel for you. It's clearing up nicely."
"Thanks." "Want I should ride along?"
"Stick around. There's enough to do and I don't want the place left alone now. You keep your guns close and don't get far from the place."
Child grinned at him. "I'm a Delaware . .. you forgettin' that?"
"It's the English in you worries me. The Delaware can take care of itself."
"I've put up a lunch . .. and some of them bear sign." Radigan shouldered into a buckskin coat and went down to the corral.
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