the bunk house. When he did, i t was just as Tay and Leggett emerged fro m the ranch house.
Conagher ? It was Tay speaking.
You made a fight .
I tried .
Most of the time we weren't situated t o get in even one shot, and then we got ou r chance .
You broke their backs. You took th e heart out of them/' Conagher said. H e pushed his hat back . I'm hungry an d tired, Tay, and there's a dead man in th e bunk house. The one Scott brought in .
Who was it ?
Hi Jackson .
Too bad , Tay said . He rode for m e for a while. He was a good hand, but h e took to riding with bad company .
Leave him to me , Leggett said . Yo u done your share, Conn .
Conagher walked back to the house wit h Tay and sat at the table while the bos s filled a cup with coffee for him, and set ou t bread, some cold meat, and a quarter of a n apple pie.
You must be starved , Tay said.
Conn ate without talking, and Tay stoo d at the window watching Leggett carry th e dead man out to the hill.
A man isn't long for this world, but h e should come to something better tha n that. Ever think of the here-after, Conn ?
Not much. I figure it's like the Plain s Indians saya happy hunting ground.
Leastways, that's how I'd like it to be. A p lace with mountains, springs, runnin g streams, and some green, grassy bank s where a man can lie with his hat over hi s eyes and let the bees buzz .
Somehow that made him think of th e note in his pocket and he took it out an d fumbled it open. He was so tired he wa s ready to sleep right there, half through hi s meal. He looked at the written words.
There was just one line.
/ have never been in love.
He stared at it for a long moment, the n put it back in his pocket. That was a har d thing for a woman to tell herself, unles s she was a youngster. What kind of a woman would write something like tha t and send it rolling off before the wind?
A lonely one, he told himself, a might y lonely one.
He knew how she felt. Sometimes a body just had to have somebody to talk to.
You saw something and you wanted t o turn and say, Isn't that beautiful? An d there was nobody there.
Well, there were a lot of lonely folks ou t here in the West. Men and wome n working alone, or feeling alone, thei r homes far from each other, their mind s and hearts reaching out across th e distance, plucking at the strings of the ai r to find some answering call.
Lonely people, who looked at horizon s and wondered what, or who, was beyon d them, people hemmed in by distance , people locked in space, in the emptines s .. . prisoners, they were.
In his own way Conagher was a prisoner. He'd never had the education t o escape it, if that was an escape. He'd gon e to work as soon as he was big enough t o wrap his hands around a tool, and he' d been at it ever since. About all he'd eve r had out of life was a seat in a saddle and a lot of open country to look at.
He had stifled in the dust of the drag o f many a trail drive, stifled in the heat risin g from two thousand hot, moving bodies.
He'd had his guts churned on the seat of a stage coach bouncing over the prairie, an d by many a bronc, breaking horses for th e rough string.
He wished it was spring so the win d could blow back the other way. He woul d like to send a message back to the one wh o had written these notes, to say that she wa s not alone, that somebody had read he r words. But the wind didn't blow that way , and the chances were she'd not find it , anyway.
Tay interrupted his thoughts.
What will they do now ? he asked.
What do you think, Conagher ?
They won't leave us alone. Next tim e they'll choose a different way . . . they ma y just try to drive the cattle off, or take u s one by one .
Have you ever been shot, Conagher ?
A couple of times, and it is not a rewarding experience .
He finished the pie, drank another cu p of coffee, and pushed back from the table.
I'm going to sleep , he said . Don' t wake me unless there's trouble, rea l trouble .
He was staggering with
Conagher ? It was Tay speaking.
You made a fight .
I tried .
Most of the time we weren't situated t o get in even one shot, and then we got ou r chance .
You broke their backs. You took th e heart out of them/' Conagher said. H e pushed his hat back . I'm hungry an d tired, Tay, and there's a dead man in th e bunk house. The one Scott brought in .
Who was it ?
Hi Jackson .
Too bad , Tay said . He rode for m e for a while. He was a good hand, but h e took to riding with bad company .
Leave him to me , Leggett said . Yo u done your share, Conn .
Conagher walked back to the house wit h Tay and sat at the table while the bos s filled a cup with coffee for him, and set ou t bread, some cold meat, and a quarter of a n apple pie.
You must be starved , Tay said.
Conn ate without talking, and Tay stoo d at the window watching Leggett carry th e dead man out to the hill.
A man isn't long for this world, but h e should come to something better tha n that. Ever think of the here-after, Conn ?
Not much. I figure it's like the Plain s Indians saya happy hunting ground.
Leastways, that's how I'd like it to be. A p lace with mountains, springs, runnin g streams, and some green, grassy bank s where a man can lie with his hat over hi s eyes and let the bees buzz .
Somehow that made him think of th e note in his pocket and he took it out an d fumbled it open. He was so tired he wa s ready to sleep right there, half through hi s meal. He looked at the written words.
There was just one line.
/ have never been in love.
He stared at it for a long moment, the n put it back in his pocket. That was a har d thing for a woman to tell herself, unles s she was a youngster. What kind of a woman would write something like tha t and send it rolling off before the wind?
A lonely one, he told himself, a might y lonely one.
He knew how she felt. Sometimes a body just had to have somebody to talk to.
You saw something and you wanted t o turn and say, Isn't that beautiful? An d there was nobody there.
Well, there were a lot of lonely folks ou t here in the West. Men and wome n working alone, or feeling alone, thei r homes far from each other, their mind s and hearts reaching out across th e distance, plucking at the strings of the ai r to find some answering call.
Lonely people, who looked at horizon s and wondered what, or who, was beyon d them, people hemmed in by distance , people locked in space, in the emptines s .. . prisoners, they were.
In his own way Conagher was a prisoner. He'd never had the education t o escape it, if that was an escape. He'd gon e to work as soon as he was big enough t o wrap his hands around a tool, and he' d been at it ever since. About all he'd eve r had out of life was a seat in a saddle and a lot of open country to look at.
He had stifled in the dust of the drag o f many a trail drive, stifled in the heat risin g from two thousand hot, moving bodies.
He'd had his guts churned on the seat of a stage coach bouncing over the prairie, an d by many a bronc, breaking horses for th e rough string.
He wished it was spring so the win d could blow back the other way. He woul d like to send a message back to the one wh o had written these notes, to say that she wa s not alone, that somebody had read he r words. But the wind didn't blow that way , and the chances were she'd not find it , anyway.
Tay interrupted his thoughts.
What will they do now ? he asked.
What do you think, Conagher ?
They won't leave us alone. Next tim e they'll choose a different way . . . they ma y just try to drive the cattle off, or take u s one by one .
Have you ever been shot, Conagher ?
A couple of times, and it is not a rewarding experience .
He finished the pie, drank another cu p of coffee, and pushed back from the table.
I'm going to sleep , he said . Don' t wake me unless there's trouble, rea l trouble .
He was staggering with
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