Rustler of Wind River

W. Ogden George

Description

In this classic Western from George W. Ogden, a mysterious stranger leaves his ramshackle mountain cabin and descends the dusty trail into town. Once he arrives, the stranger meets with one of the town's most prominent leaders. A mutually amenable deal is struck -- and neither of their lives will ever be the same.

Sujets

• Westerns
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776593118
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE RUSTLER OF WIND RIVER
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GEORGE W. OGDEN
 
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The Rustler of Wind River First published in 1917 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-311-8 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-312-5 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - Strange Bargainings Chapter II - Beef Day Chapter III - The Ranchhouse by the River Chapter IV - The Man in the Plaid Chapter V - If He was a Gentleman Chapter VI - A Bold Civilian Chapter VII - Throwing the Scare Chapter VIII - Afoot and Alone Chapter IX - Business, Not Company Chapter X - "Hell's a-Goin' to Pop" Chapter XI - The Señor Boss Comes Riding Chapter XII - "The Rustlers!" Chapter XIII - The Trail at Dawn Chapter XIV - When Friends Part Chapter XV - One Road Chapter XVI - Danger and Dignity Chapter XVII - Boots and Saddles Chapter XVIII - The Trail of the Coffee Chapter XIX - "I Beat Him to It" Chapter XX - Love and Death Chapter XXI - The Man in the Door Chapter XXII - Paid Chapter XXIII - Tears in the Night Chapter XXIV - Banjo Faces into the West Chapter XXV - "Hasta Luego" Endnotes
Chapter I - Strange Bargainings
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When a man came down out of the mountains looking dusty and gaunt asthe stranger did, there was no marvel in the matter of his eating fivecans of cove oysters. The one unaccountable thing about it was thatSaul Chadron, president of the Drovers' Association, should sit thereat the table and urge the lank, lean starveling to go his limit.
Usually Saul Chadron was a man who picked his companions, and was aparticular hand at the choosing. He could afford to do that, being ofthe earth's exalted in the Northwest, where people came to him and putdown their tribute at his feet.
This stranger, whom Chadron treated like a long-wandering friend, hadcome down the mountain trail that morning, and had been hanging aboutthe hotel all day. Buck Snellin, the proprietor—duly licensed for amatter of thirty years past by the United States government to conducthis hostelry in the corner of the Indian reservation, up against thedoor of the army post—did not know him. That threw him amongstrangers in that land, indeed, for Buck knew everybody within ahundred miles on every side.
The stranger was a tall, smoky man, hollow-faced, grim; adorned with alarge brown mustache which drooped over his thin mouth; a bony manwith sharp shoulders, and a stoop which began in the region of thestomach, as if induced by drawing in upon himself in times of poignanthunger, which he must have felt frequently in his day to wear him downto that state of bones; with the under lid of his left eye caught at apoint and drawn down until it showed red, as if held by a fishhook todrain it of unimaginable tears.
There was a furtive look in his restless, wild-animal eyes, smoky likethe rest of him, and a surliness about his long, high-ridged nosewhich came down over his mustache like a beak. He wore a cloth capwith ear flaps, and they were down, although the heat of summer stillmade the September air lively enough for one with blood beneath hisskin. He regaled himself with fierce defiance, like a captive eagle,and had no word in return for the generous importunities of the manwho was host to him in what evidently was a long-deferred meal.
Chadron paid the bill when the man at last finished packing hisinternal cavities, and they went together into the hotel office whichadjoined the dining-room.
The office of this log hotel was a large, gaunt room, containing a fewchairs along the walls, a small, round table under the window with theregister upon it, a pen in a potato, and a bottle of ink with trickledand encrusted sides. The broad fireplace was bleak and black,blank-staring as a blind eye, and the sun reached through the windowin a white streak across the mottled floor.
There was the smell of old pipes, old furs, old guns, in the place,and all of them were present to account for themselves and dispel anyshadow of mystery whatever—the guns on their pegs set in auger-holesin the logs of the walls, the furs of wild beasts dangling from likesupports in profusion everywhere, and the pipes lying on the mantelwith stems hospitably extended to all unprovided guests. Some of themhad been smoked by the guests who had come and gone for a generationof men.
The stranger stood at the manteltree and tried the pipes' capacitywith his thick-ended thumb, finding one at last to his requirements.Tall as Saul Chadron stood on his own proper legs, the stranger at hisshoulder was a head above him. Seven feet he must have towered, hiscrown within a few inches of the smoked beams across the ceiling, andmarvelously thin in the running up. It seemed that the wind must breakhim some blustering day at that place in his long body where hunger,or pain, or mischance had doubled him over in the past, and left himcreased. The strong light of the room found pepperings of gray in histhick and long black hair.
Chadron himself was a gray man, with a mustache and beard like acavalier. His shrewd eyes were sharp and bright under heavy brows, hisbrown face was toughened by days in the saddle through all seasons ofweather and wind. His shoulders were broad and heavy, and even now,although not dressed for the saddle, there was an up-creeping in thelegs of his trousers, and a gathering at the knees of them, for theywere drawn down over his tall boots.
That was Chadron's way of doing the nice thing when he went abroad inhis buckboard. He had saddle manners and buckboard manners, and evenoffice manners when he met the cattle barons in Cheyenne. No matterwhat manners he chanced to be wearing, one remembered Saul Chadronafter meeting him, and carried the recollection of him to the sundownof his day.
"We can talk here," said Chadron, giving the other a cigar.
The tall man broke the cigar and ground part of it in his palm,looking with frowning thoughtfulness into the empty fireplace as thetobacco crushed in his hard hand. He filled the pipe that he hadchosen, and sat with his long legs stretched out toward thechimney-mouth.
"Well, go on and talk," said he.
His voice came smothered and hoarse, as if it lay beneath all theoysters which he had rammed into his unseen hollow. It was a voice instrange harmony with the man, such a sound as one would have expectedto come out of that surly, dark-lipped, thin mouth. There was nothingcommittal about it, nothing exactly identifying; an impersonal voice,rather, and cold; a voice with no conscience behind it, scarcely asoul.
"You're a business man, Mark—"
"Huh!" said Mark, grunting a little cloud of smoke from the bowl ofhis pipe in his sarcastic vehemence.
"And so am I," continued Chadron, unmoved. "Words between us would bea waste of time."
"You're right; money talks," said Mark.
"It's a man's job, or I wouldn't have called you out of your hole todo it," said Chadron, watching the man slyly for the effect.
"Pay me in money," suggested Mark, unwarmed by the compliment. "Is itnesters ag'in?"
"Nesters," nodded the cattleman, drawing his great brows in a frown."They're crowdin' in so thick right around me that I can't breathecomfortable any more; the smell of 'em's in the wind. They're runnin'over three of the biggest ranches up here besides the Alamito, and theDrovers' Association wants a little of your old-time holy scarethrowed into the cussed coyotes."
Mark nodded in the pause which seemed to have been made for him tonod, and Chadron went on.
"We figger that if a dozen or two of 'em's cleaned out, quick andmysterious, the rest'll tuck tail and sneak. It's happened that way inother places more than once, as you and I know. Well, you're the manthat don't have to take lessons."
"Money talks," repeated Mark, still looking into the chimney.
"There's about twenty of them that counts, the rest's the kind you candrive over a cliff with a whip. These fellers has strung their cussedbob-wire fences crisscross and checkerboard all around there up theriver, and they're gittin' to be right troublesome. Of course they'reonly a speck up there yet, but they'll multiply like fleas on a hotdog if we let 'em go ahead. You know how it is."
There was a conclusiveness in Chadron's tone as he said that. It spokeof a large understanding between men of a kind.
"Sure," grunted the man Mark, nodding his head at the chimney. "Youwant a man to work from the willers, without no muss or gun-flashin',or rough houses or loud talk."
"Twenty of them, their names are here, and some scattered in betweenthat I haven't put down, to be picked up as they fall in handy, see?"
"And you're aimin' to keep clear, and stand back in the shadder, likeyou always have done," growled Mark. "Well, I ain't goin' to ram myneck into no sheriff's loop for nobody's business but my own from nowon. I'm through with resks, just to be obligin'."
"Who'll put a hand on you in this country unless we give the word?"Chadron asked, severely.
"How do I know who's runnin' the law in this dang country now? Maybeyou fellers is, maybe you ain't."
"There's no law in this part of the country bigger than the Drovers'Association," Chadron told him, frowning in rebuke of Mark's doubt ofsecurity. "Well, maybe there's a little sheriff here and there, and afew judges that we didn't put in, but they're down in the farmin'country, and they don't cut no figger at all. If you was fool enoughto let one of them fellers git a hold on you we wouldn't leave you injail over night. You know how it was up there in the nor