you’d have to find yourself a gun boss guys like that would follow — ”
“I’ve got one. Myself. I can hold that bunch in line.”
She was serious, too — dead serious.
The Orient’s proprietor rasped grizzled jowls. “You figure,” he demanded incredulously, “that you — one girl with a gun in her fist — can bust up the power of Nate Lamtrill’s bank?”
“We’ll find out,” Gert said, and Joe Clinton snorted.
“Even granted such a stunt had any chance to succeed, what gun throwin’ bravo with any thimbleful of sense would be crazy enough — ”
“To go up against Lamtrill?”
“To risk backin’ a busted outfit run by a girl an’ a drunk old fool nobody’s got any use for against the kind of crew Devil Iron’ll be throwin’ at you. It won’t wash, Gert. You won’t more than get started — ”
“There are plenty of owlhooters back in the hills who would welcome the chance to get their hooks in — ”
“You wouldn’t get no farther with that cut-an'-run kind than Sug got with his fifty-dollar drifters. This is a wolf’s game — ”
“I intend to hire wolves.” Gert smiled at him bleakly. “Men like Kid Badger, Sam Hackberry, Flash Dringo — ”
“God almighty!” Joe Clinton stared at her, white and shaken. “You can’t do that! You would better turn wild Indians loose than bring that kind into Sunset Valley….”
His words trailed off. In the stretched-thin silence he seemed to be hearing the muffled hoofbeats of night riders. Whatever he saw it was a frightening picture. But it was too fantastic. He took a deep breath and shook his head, relaxing. “You couldn’t do it, Gert. You couldn’t get men like that — ”
“I can and will,". Gert said grimly. “We’ll cut his herds, we’ll fire his buildings, we’ll bust his bank wide open. And when his credit fails, when what’s left of his crews start digging for the tules and he’s just one man left alone with a pistol — ”
“You’ve gone out of your mind …” Clinton whispered.
“But I’ll do it,” Gert nodded. “If Dawson doesn’t get Devil Iron off my water I’ll do it if this whole damned range goes up in smoke.”
10. GERT KAVANAUGH
R EIFEL HEARD old whiskers telling the girl he was too far gone to be worth tinkering with, that the law was probably camped on his trail and that they had more trouble than they could handle now. But the girl got to work on him anyway.
The first two weeks he never got out of bed except when he had to on acctount of nature, and if the girl’d had her way he wouldn’t have got out at all. He didn’t mind right at first having a woman fussing over him because most of the time he was a heap too groggy to care about anything. But after the fever went out of him and he got enough better that he was able to take in the groceries she spooned him it got rightdown embarrassing to be having her washing him and rolling him around in that bed like she did. She was strong and hard as a white oak post and considerable set in her ways, he discovered, but when she started to skin him out of his underwear he drew the line.
“Don’t be an idiot!” She glared at him, furious. “You think it matters to me what you look like?”
“Well, it matters to
me!”
he flung back at her.
“You expect to wear them damn things forever? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you they ought to be washed?”
“Go ahead and wash them if it’ll make you feel better, but I’ll take care of getting out of ’em. When you ain’t around,” he added, pointedly. And that was the end of that conversation.
He was plenty aware that if it hadn’t been for her he would have cashed in his chips. He supposed he owed her something for that. He had plenty of time to think about it and the more he thought the more he was inclined to wish by God he hadn’t ever come near here. For it was plain as plowed ground she meant to collect. He remembered the old man’s crack about trouble and, by all the signs
“I’ve got one. Myself. I can hold that bunch in line.”
She was serious, too — dead serious.
The Orient’s proprietor rasped grizzled jowls. “You figure,” he demanded incredulously, “that you — one girl with a gun in her fist — can bust up the power of Nate Lamtrill’s bank?”
“We’ll find out,” Gert said, and Joe Clinton snorted.
“Even granted such a stunt had any chance to succeed, what gun throwin’ bravo with any thimbleful of sense would be crazy enough — ”
“To go up against Lamtrill?”
“To risk backin’ a busted outfit run by a girl an’ a drunk old fool nobody’s got any use for against the kind of crew Devil Iron’ll be throwin’ at you. It won’t wash, Gert. You won’t more than get started — ”
“There are plenty of owlhooters back in the hills who would welcome the chance to get their hooks in — ”
“You wouldn’t get no farther with that cut-an'-run kind than Sug got with his fifty-dollar drifters. This is a wolf’s game — ”
“I intend to hire wolves.” Gert smiled at him bleakly. “Men like Kid Badger, Sam Hackberry, Flash Dringo — ”
“God almighty!” Joe Clinton stared at her, white and shaken. “You can’t do that! You would better turn wild Indians loose than bring that kind into Sunset Valley….”
His words trailed off. In the stretched-thin silence he seemed to be hearing the muffled hoofbeats of night riders. Whatever he saw it was a frightening picture. But it was too fantastic. He took a deep breath and shook his head, relaxing. “You couldn’t do it, Gert. You couldn’t get men like that — ”
“I can and will,". Gert said grimly. “We’ll cut his herds, we’ll fire his buildings, we’ll bust his bank wide open. And when his credit fails, when what’s left of his crews start digging for the tules and he’s just one man left alone with a pistol — ”
“You’ve gone out of your mind …” Clinton whispered.
“But I’ll do it,” Gert nodded. “If Dawson doesn’t get Devil Iron off my water I’ll do it if this whole damned range goes up in smoke.”
10. GERT KAVANAUGH
R EIFEL HEARD old whiskers telling the girl he was too far gone to be worth tinkering with, that the law was probably camped on his trail and that they had more trouble than they could handle now. But the girl got to work on him anyway.
The first two weeks he never got out of bed except when he had to on acctount of nature, and if the girl’d had her way he wouldn’t have got out at all. He didn’t mind right at first having a woman fussing over him because most of the time he was a heap too groggy to care about anything. But after the fever went out of him and he got enough better that he was able to take in the groceries she spooned him it got rightdown embarrassing to be having her washing him and rolling him around in that bed like she did. She was strong and hard as a white oak post and considerable set in her ways, he discovered, but when she started to skin him out of his underwear he drew the line.
“Don’t be an idiot!” She glared at him, furious. “You think it matters to me what you look like?”
“Well, it matters to
me!”
he flung back at her.
“You expect to wear them damn things forever? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you they ought to be washed?”
“Go ahead and wash them if it’ll make you feel better, but I’ll take care of getting out of ’em. When you ain’t around,” he added, pointedly. And that was the end of that conversation.
He was plenty aware that if it hadn’t been for her he would have cashed in his chips. He supposed he owed her something for that. He had plenty of time to think about it and the more he thought the more he was inclined to wish by God he hadn’t ever come near here. For it was plain as plowed ground she meant to collect. He remembered the old man’s crack about trouble and, by all the signs
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