The Cowboy MEGAPACK ®. Owen Wister

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СКАЧАТЬ man was yelling now, yelling, “Kick that sorrel or I’ll shoot you where you sit in the saddle. Kick her, I say.”

      “That devil,” Belle said. “That’s him. I’d know Dan Colton’s voice anywhere.” She reined her horse out into the trail.

      * * * *

      They could see the horses coming. The kid on his sorrel and the bearded man on his horse. And down the valley three other riders came, running their animals hard.

      “Must be the sheriff figured he’d better look into it,” Hank said.

      “He’s going to be late for this party,” Belle said through clenched teeth.

      “Whoa!” The bearded man yelled and tried to rein both horses and swing them. The sorrel wouldn’t swing. They came on toward the waiting pair by the jack pines.

      Belle Driscoll raised her rifle and her voice was shrill and commanding. “Put up your hands, Dan Colton!”

      “Belle!”

      “Put up your hands, I said!”

      Colton swerved his horse and went for his right hand gun. It came out and swung to finish the kid.

      Belle’s rifle barked and Dan Colton’s right arm dropped and the gun fell out of his hand. He put spurs to his horse and the horse ran like a wild stallion for the brush.

      Flame spat from the sheriff’s guns.

      There was a moment while Dan Colton swayed like a drunk in the saddle. Then all the life went out of him and he pitched headlong out of the saddle and crashed into the mesquite, and the sheriff and his men raced in.

      When they left, Hank got the kid on one side of Belle and he rode close, on the other side. He held Belle’s arm to steady her. She rode with bowed head and now and then she shook a little, as if she might be weeping.

      Sheriff Rance came riding up as they were getting down at the livery stable. He said, “You were right, Belle. Colton wasn’t a U.S. marshal. I was mighty careless looking over his papers first time. I just looked again and they describe a smaller man than Colton. I reckon the cavalry’ll be up directly to investigate.”

      Belle didn’t say anything and Sheriff Rance lowered his voice. “I’ve been wrong about some things with you more than I thought, Belle,” he said. “I hope we’ll be more friendly from now on.”

      He rode off and Belle watched him go. Then, turning to walk with Hank and Wes to the hotel, she said, “He’s just laying it on because election’ll be coming up, soon.”

      A moment later at the entrance to the hotel, she turned to Hank. “That was hateful of me saying that about the sheriff. I don’t ever want to ever be hateful again.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I do need somebody like you to look after me, Hank. A person gets ornery alone.” She looked at the kid, pressed his hand a moment. “Good night, Wesley.”

      She went in quickly.

      Hank looked at Wes and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Wes,” he said. “I got a hunch Belle’s going to want a ranch big enough so’s there’s work for two men around it.”

      Wes Kane grinned. “I sure hope so,” he said.

      THE DRIVE, by Clarence E. Mulford

      A Hopalong Cassidy Story

      The Norther was a thing of the past, but it left its mark on Buck Peters, whose grimness of face told what the winter had been to him. His daily rides over the range, the reports of his men since that deadly storm, had done a great deal to lift the sagging weight that rested on his shoulders; but he would not be sure until the round-up supplied facts and figures.

      That the losses had not been greater he gave full credit to the valley with its arroyos, rock walls, draws, heavily grassed range and groves of timber; for the valley, checking the great southward drift by its steep ridges of rock, sheltered the herds in timber and arroyos and fed them on the rich profusion of its grasses, which, by some trick of the rushing winds, had been whirled clean of snow.

      But over the cow-country, north, east, south and west, where vast ranges were unprotected against the whistling blasts from the north, the losses had been stupendous, appalling, stunning. Outfits had been driven on and on before the furious winds, sleepy and apathetic, drifting steadily southward in the white, stinging shroud to a drowsy death. Whole herds, blindly moving before the wind, left their weaker units in constantly growing numbers to mark the trail, and at last lay down to a sleep eternal. And astonishing and incredible were the distances traveled by some of those herds.

      Following the Norther came another menace and one which easily might surpass the worst efforts of the blizzard. Warm winds blew steadily, a hot sun glared down on the snow-covered plain and then came torrents of rain which continued for days, turning the range into a huge expanse of water and mud and swelling the water-courses with turgid floods that swirled and roared above their banks. Should this be quickly followed by cold, even the splendid valley would avail nothing. Ice, forming over the grasses, would prove as deadly as a pestilence; the cattle, already weakened by the hardships of the Norther, and not having the instinct to break through the glassy sheet and feed on the grass underneath, would search in vain for food, and starve to death. The week that followed the cessation of the rains started gray hairs on the foreman’s head; but a warm, constant sun and warm winds dried off the water before the return of freezing weather. The herds were saved.

      * * * *

      Relieved, Buck reviewed the situation. The previous summer had seen such great northern drives to the railroad shipping points in Kansas that prices fell until the cattlemen refused to sell. Rather than drive home again, the great herds were wintered on the Kansas ranges, ready to be hurled on the market when Spring came with better prices. Many ranches, mortgaged heavily to buy cattle, had been on the verge of bankruptcy, hoping feverishly for better prices the following year. Buck had taken advantage of the situation to stock his ranch at a cost far less than he had dared to dream. Then came the Norther and in the three weeks of devastating cold and high winds the Kansas ranges were swept clean of cattle, and even the ranges in the South were badly crippled. Knowing this, Buck also knew that the following Spring would show record high prices. If he had the cattle he could clean up a fortune for his ranch; and if his herd was the first big one to reach the railroad at Sandy Creek it would practically mean a bonus on every cow.

      Under the long siege of uncertainty his impatience smashed through and possessed him as a fever and he finally ordered the calf round-up three weeks earlier than it had been held on the ranch. There was no need of urging his men to the task—they, like himself, sprang to the call like springs freed from a restraining weight, and the work went on in a fever of haste. And he took his place on the firing line and worked even harder than his outfit of fanatics.

      One day shortly after the work began a stranger rode up to him and nodded cheerfully. “Li’l early, ain’t you?” Buck grunted in reply and sent Skinny off at top speed to close a threatened gap in the driving line. “Goin’ to git ’em on th’ trail early this year?” persisted the stranger. Buck, swayed by some swift intuition, changed his reply. “Oh, I dunno; I’m mainly anxious to see just what that storm did. An’ I hate th’ calf burnin’ so much I allus like to get it over quick.” He shouted angrily at the cook and waved his arms frantically to banish the chuck wagon. “He can make more trouble with that waggin than anybody I ever saw,” he snorted. “Get out of there, you fool!” he yelled, dashing off to see СКАЧАТЬ