The Texan - A Story of the Cattle Country

James B. (James Beardsley) Hendryx

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• Publié par: sheam
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 42
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Texan, by James B. Hendryx This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Texan A Story of the Cattle Country Author: James B. Hendryx Release Date: October 31, 2005 [eBook #16976] Language: English ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TEXAN*** E-text prepared by Al Haines THE TEXAN A Story of the Cattle Country by JAMES B. HENDRYX Author of "The Gun Brand," "The Promise," etc. A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam's Sons Made in the United States of America Copyright, 1918 By James B. Hendryx Fourth Printing This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York And LondonCONTENTS. Chapter A PROLOGUE I. THE TRAIN STOPS II. WOLF RIVER III. PURDY IV. CINNABAR JOE V. ON THE FLAT VI. THE RIM OF THE BENCH VII. THE ARREST VIII. ONE WAY OUT IX. THE PILGRIM X. THE FLIGHT XI. A RESCUE XII. TEX DOES SOME SCOUTING XIII. A BOTTLE OF "HOOCH" XIV. ON ANTELOPE BUTTE XV. THE TEXAN HEARS SOME NEWS XVI. BACK IN CAMP XVII. IN THE BAD LANDS XVIII. "WIN" XIX. THE END OF THE TRAILTHE TEXAN A PROLOGUE Exactly twenty minutes after young Benton dismounted from his big rangy black before the door of a low adobe saloon that fronted upon one of the narrow crooked streets of old Las Vegas, he glanced into the eyes of the thin-lipped croupier and laughed. "You've got 'em. Seventy-four good old Texas dollars." He held up a coin between his thumb and forefinger. "I've got another one left, an' your boss is goin' to get that, too—but he's goin' to get it in legitimate barter an' trade." As the cowpuncher stepped to the bar that occupied one side of the room, a group of Mexicans who had lounged back at his entrance crowded once more about the wheel and began noisily to place their bets. He watched them for a moment before turning his attention to the heavy-lidded, flabby-jowled person who leaned ponderously against the sober side of the bar. "Who owns this joint?" he asked truculently, as he eyed with disfavour the filthy shirt-sleeves rolled back from thick forearms, the sagging vest, and the collarless shirt-band that buried itself in a fold of the fat neck. "I do," was the surly rejoinder. "Got any kick comin'?" "Nary kick." The cowpuncher tossed his dollar onto the bar. "Give me a little red licker," he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor as he filled his glass to the brim. "An outfit," he confided, with slow insolence, "that'll run an eagle-bird wheel ain't got no more conscience than a hombre's got brains that'll buck one. In Texas we'd shoot a man full of little holes that 'ud try it." "Why'n you stay in Texas, then?" growled the other. The cowman drank his liquor and refilled the glass. "Most fat men," he imparted irrelevantly, "are plumb mindful that they're easy hit, an' consequent they're cheerful-hearted an' friendly. Likewise, they mind their own business, which is also why they've be'n let grow to onhuman proportions. But, not to seem oncivil to a stranger, an' by way of gettin' acquainted, I'll leak it out that it ain't no fault of Texas that I come away from there—but owin' only to a honin' of mine to see more of the world than what Texas affords. "The way to see a world," I debates, "is like anythin' else—begin at the bottom an' work up. So I selects seventy-five dollars an' hits fer Las Vegas." The fat man pocketed the dollar and replaced it with a greasy fifty-cent piece, an operation which the Texan watched with interest as he swallowed his liquor. "They ain't nothin' like eagle-bird wheels an' snake-liniment at two bits a throw to help a man start at the bottom," he opined, and reaching for the half-dollar, tossed it to a forlorn-looking individual who lounged near the door. "Here, Greaser, lend a hand in helpin' me downward! Here's four bits. Go lay it on the wheel—an' say: I got a hunch! I played every number on that wheel except the thirteen—judgin' it to be onlucky." The forlorn one grinned his understanding, and clutching the piece of silver, elbowed into the group that crowded the roulette wheel. The cowpuncher turned once more to the surly proprietor: "So now you see me, broke an' among evil companions, in this here God-forsaken, lizard-ridden, Greaser-loving sheep- herdin' land of sorrow. But, give me another jolt of that there pizen-fermentus an' I'll raise to heights unknown. A few more shots of that an' they ain't no tellin' what form of amusement a man's soul might incline to." "Y'got the price?" "I ain't got even the makin's—only an ingrowin' cravin' fer spiritual licker an' a hankerin' to see America first——" "That hoss," the proprietor jerked a thumb toward the open door beyond which the big rangy black pawed fretfully at the street. "Mebbe we might make a trade. I got one good as him 'er better. It's that sor'l standin' t'other side of yourn." The Texan rested an arm upon the bar and leaned forward confidentially. "Fatty," he drawled, "you're a liar." The other noted the hand that rested lightly upon the cowman's hip near the ivory butt of the six-gun that protruded from its holster, and took no offence. His customer continued: "They ain't no such horse—an' if they was, you couldn't own him. They ain't no man ever throw'd a kak on Ace of Spades but me, an' as fer sellin' him, or tradin' him—I'll shoot him first!" A sudden commotion at the back of the room caused both men to turn toward the wheel where a fierce altercation had arisen between the croupier and the vagabond to whom the Texan had tossed his last coin. "You'll take that er nothin'! It's more money'n y'ever see before an'——" "Non! Non! De treize! De, w'at you call t'irten—she repe't! A'm git mor' as seex hondre dollaire—" The proprietor lumbered heavily from behind the bar and Benton noted that the thick fingers closed tightly about the handle of a bung-starter. The crowd of Mexicans thinned against the wall as the man with ponderous stealth approached to a point directly behind the excited vagabond who continued his protestations with increasing vigour. The next instant the Texan's six-gun flashed from its holster and as he crossed the room his eye caught the swift nod of the croupier. When the proprietor drew back his arm to strike, the thick wrist was seized from behind and he was spun violently about to glare into the smiling eyes of the cowpuncher—eyes in which a steely glint flickered behind the smile, a glint more ominous even than the feel of the muzzle of the blue-black six-gun that pressed deeply into his flabby