The Cowboy MEGAPACK ®. Owen Wister

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СКАЧАТЬ Tying his pony to the rail, he noticed a horse tethered to a hitch-post at the side of the store building. Some stranger must be in town, for regular visitors never used that post unless the hitchrails in front of the store and saloon were all taken.

      Kicking the dust from his boots, Polk opened the squeaky screen door of Luke Harson’s Store. Harson, a short, fat man with thin graying hair, was sitting comfortably in front of his counter, nodding over a newspaper. He opened a sleepy eye as Polk entered.

      “Did a package of medicine come for

      Mr. Patchey?” Polk inquired.

      “Sure did, by mail. Got a coupla letters and some catalogs for you, too, Bob.”

      “I’ll hit back to the ranch soon as my pony gets tended to. Beth’s all alone there with her father. Our two boys are huntin’ strays up in the hills. Everybody asleep in town?”

      “That’s right, you ain’t heard,” Harson told him, as he pulled his spectacles down over his eyes and went through the partition separating store from postoffice. “A rider came tearin’ into town this mornin’ from the Box D ranch, Al Darch’s outfit. Trouble there.”

      “Yeah?” Polk rolled a quirly and leaned against the counter. He looked at Harson questioningly.

      “Jake Lortz and a couple of his men showed up there late last night,” Harson told him. “Yuh know that Lortz bunch. Pretend to be cattle buyers. They get a small ranchman cornered and make him sell them cattle at about half price. Force him to give a bill of sale and make everything look legal. Pay in cash and drive off the cattle.”

      “I’ve heard how they work,” Polk said. “So they forced Al Darch to sell some stuff?”

      “Darch wouldn’t,” Harson reported. “Put up a fight. Lortz shot him through the hip and the bunch rode off. Darch sent one of his riders to town with the news. Deputy Sheriff Tom Ashe grabbed almost every man in town for a posse and started for the Box D.”

      “It’s ’bout twenty miles from here, ain’t it?” Polk observed.

      “Yeah. Tom Ashe and the men won’t get back until tomorrow or the next day. They’ll chase Lortz and his pals up into the hills. But, all they’ll get will be the chase. Lortz’ll have too much of a head start.”

      “Who brought the news?” Polk asked. “New man named Sam Walton. Says he’s been with the Box D only a couple of months. Darch sent him, he says, ’cause he’s got a fast pony and is a good rider. He’s in the saloon, restin’ up.”

      “Lortz is going to play his game once too often,” Polk made prophecy. “This is the first time I heard tell of him shootin’ a man. That puts him outside the law. A bill of sale won’t cover that.”

      Harson got the package of medicine and the mail and turned it over to Polk.

      “Sack of smokin’ for me and some candy for Beth,” he told Harson. “Don’t need any kitchen stuff this trip.”

      Harson tossed out the smoking tobacco and started to sack up a pound of mixed hard candy, as Polk idly watched the dusty, sun-drenched street through the dirty window. He heard a clatter of hoofbeats, and as he noted the two riders who stopped at the hitch-rail in front of the saloon, Polk snapped erect.

      “Harson!” he called, guardedly.

      Harson looked up at him sharply. “What’s up?”

      “Jake Lortz just rode in, and Hank Simms, his right-hand man, is with him. I know ’em by sight. Saw ’em last year.”

      “And Deputy Tom Ashe at least fifteen miles away and still ridin’,” Harson mourned.

      “Who’s in town?”

      “You. And me and the saloon man and a couple of old-timers. None of us any good ina brawl, especially with guns. You’re the only fightin’ man hereabouts, Bob.”

      “How about the Valley Ranch rider? Saw his pony out front.”

      “Just a kid named Martin. Comes in for the mail. Always takes two drinks and then sleeps a coupla hours before startin’ home. He’d be no good in a scrap.”

      “That Box D man who calls himself Sam Walton, who rode in with the news—”

      “Middle-aged gent I never saw before. Don’t know what he’s likely to do. Lortz and Hank Simms are a bad combination to fight.”

      “Surely this man Walton would help fight the men who shot his boss!”

      “I don’t know, Bob. Don’t know anything about him. If you get in touch with him, maybe you can judge.”

      “Lortz and Simms must be headin’ east to get away. They by-passed the posse. Only other trail out of here runs up to the mesa and the Rafter P.”

      “Maybe they’re headed for the Rafter P, Bob.”

      “And Beth there alone with the Old Man, and the other boys away! If they tried to force the Old Man to sell his yearlin’s at a joke of a price—”

      If anything like that happened it would mean disaster and ruination for the Rafter P, Polk knew. He realized quickly that it was necessary to move with caution until he learned what was afoot. Lortz and Simms were wanted for the shooting of Darch. But Darch had not been killed, and Polk had nothing to go by except the report of Walton from the Box D.

      There might be a mistake. The man might have exaggerated the extent of the ruckus.

      If Polk walked into the saloon without understanding the situation fully, Lortz and Simms, if they discovered that news of their exploit had been carried here, might disarm him at once or shoot him in trying to do so.

      “Harson,” he whispered. “Get a rifle and ammunition. Have the stuff ready for me if I’m relieved of my side gun. I’ve got to find out about this, even if I have to do some sneakin’.”

      Harson nodded understanding. Polk hurried through the store and let himself out the rear door. Walking slowly and keeping close to the building, he managed to get behind the saloon and near an open window.

      He could hear loud voices and laughter. Peering through the window, he saw Jake Lortz and Hank Simms standing at the bar with drinks before them. Martin, the youthful Valley Ranch rider, was sprawled in drunken slumber over a card table, his head resting on his arms. A man Polk assumed to be Sam Walton was standing near the end of the bar, making wet rings on it with the bottom of his glass and apparently paying no attention to the others.

      Hearing nothing of importance Polk decided to enter the saloon. He shifted his holster to where he wanted it, pulled his hat down well over his face, and pushed past the batwings yawning and rubbing his eyes.

      The bartender gave him a swift glance and acted as if trying to convey a message, but Polk ignored him. He had caught sight of Jake Lortz watching him closely in the mirror on the back bar.

      Lounging past them, Polk went to the bar to stand within a few feet of Sam Walton. He motioned for the bartender to put out bottle and glass. Polk poured a drink, tossed down a coin, and let the drink stand while he got out tobacco sack and paper and calmly began building a quirly.

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