to use a gun. There's no other way. Some of that crowd know Matt and would pull out if he became marshal, some would sit quiet, and there's a good many would by to kill him. Big Thompson would he'd have to. He's made his brags and he's made his stand, and he's run marshals out of town elsewhere, so he'd have to tackle Matt."
"What about Nathan Bly?"
"He's cold ... like ice. The most dangerous man around here, leaving out Matt Coburn and Calvin Bell. And he's made the switch. He's no longer just a good man with a gun. He's a killer."
They were silent for a few moments, and then Laurie said, "Joss, is there any red clay on the ranch? Have I missed something?"
The older man's eyes hooded. He got out his pipe and began to fill it slowly. "I guess you ain't missed a thing, ma'am," he replied quietly. "No, there's no red clay on this ranch."
"But there is, over west. I seem to remember a water hole over in the Schell Creek Mountains where there was red clay."
Joss Ringgold's eyes twinkled, but the expression faded. "You're canny, ma'am, right canny. You noticed the hocks of those horses, too, didn't your "Freeman and that man who was supposedly carrying the mail to Confusion. Joss, is Free getting into trouble?" "He's a hard-headed youngster. Thinks he knows it all. And he figures he's pretty handy with that gun."
"Is he?"
"Oh, he gets it out pretty fast He might kill somebody. He's just a-achin' and a-sweatin' to be a big man. If he killed somebody he'd likely turn mean and even more big-headed than he is now. But he won't not 'less the man's drunk. He wouldn't last out the year."
`That man who said he was carrying mail ... did you know him, Joss?"
"I've seen him around. Nobody I know of would trust him with the mail. Took me a while to recall him name of Scarf. Last I heard, he had joined up with Harry Meadows."
"That's what I was afraid of. Will he listen to you, Joss? Freeman, I mean?"
"I doubt it"
Ringgold got to his feet. "Ma'am, it ain't my place to get personal, but I'm old enough to be your pa. If you're gettin' a case on Matt Coburn.. . don't He's turnin' bad.'
After Joss had gone back to work, Laurie Shannon sat for a long time, thinking.
Was she getting a case on Matt Coburn? Laurie prided herself on being a cool-headed girl who stood for no nonsense from herself, and now she faced her feelings squarely.
Was she? That was just it she did not know. At first it had been his sheer masculinity that impressed her, that and his quietness, the easy way he moved, the gentleness with which he treated his horse. And then it had been his loneliness.
During the time when he was out in the hills alone she had often found herself lying awake at night wondering what he was doing, where he was, and how it must feel to be always alone. She had been much alone, herself, and thought she knew but there was a difference.
After a few minutes she dismissed the idea from her mind. She could get a case on him, as Joss put it, but she was not likely to see enough of him. And she was not going to permit it not for one minute.
Yet an hour later she was thinking of him out there on the box of that stage, fair game for any sharpshooter with a good rifle.
Matt Coburn buttoned the two top buttons of his coat. It had been hot earlier; now the day was cooling off. In just a little while they would be changing teams again. For the last hour they had been traveling across the open country, but he had not relaxed the least bit. Almost automatically his hand went to his cartridge belt and loosened a pair of shotgun shells to have them ready if needed.
They rode now with the sun before them, with the shadows rounding up in the secret draws of the mountains, and here and there a lonely stray behind some isolated butte. The team moved slowly now, Burke holding them in for the time later when he might wish to get speed from them. The sound of their hoofs, the jingle of harness, and the rocking, creaking, rolling of the coach, these were the
"What about Nathan Bly?"
"He's cold ... like ice. The most dangerous man around here, leaving out Matt Coburn and Calvin Bell. And he's made the switch. He's no longer just a good man with a gun. He's a killer."
They were silent for a few moments, and then Laurie said, "Joss, is there any red clay on the ranch? Have I missed something?"
The older man's eyes hooded. He got out his pipe and began to fill it slowly. "I guess you ain't missed a thing, ma'am," he replied quietly. "No, there's no red clay on this ranch."
"But there is, over west. I seem to remember a water hole over in the Schell Creek Mountains where there was red clay."
Joss Ringgold's eyes twinkled, but the expression faded. "You're canny, ma'am, right canny. You noticed the hocks of those horses, too, didn't your "Freeman and that man who was supposedly carrying the mail to Confusion. Joss, is Free getting into trouble?" "He's a hard-headed youngster. Thinks he knows it all. And he figures he's pretty handy with that gun."
"Is he?"
"Oh, he gets it out pretty fast He might kill somebody. He's just a-achin' and a-sweatin' to be a big man. If he killed somebody he'd likely turn mean and even more big-headed than he is now. But he won't not 'less the man's drunk. He wouldn't last out the year."
`That man who said he was carrying mail ... did you know him, Joss?"
"I've seen him around. Nobody I know of would trust him with the mail. Took me a while to recall him name of Scarf. Last I heard, he had joined up with Harry Meadows."
"That's what I was afraid of. Will he listen to you, Joss? Freeman, I mean?"
"I doubt it"
Ringgold got to his feet. "Ma'am, it ain't my place to get personal, but I'm old enough to be your pa. If you're gettin' a case on Matt Coburn.. . don't He's turnin' bad.'
After Joss had gone back to work, Laurie Shannon sat for a long time, thinking.
Was she getting a case on Matt Coburn? Laurie prided herself on being a cool-headed girl who stood for no nonsense from herself, and now she faced her feelings squarely.
Was she? That was just it she did not know. At first it had been his sheer masculinity that impressed her, that and his quietness, the easy way he moved, the gentleness with which he treated his horse. And then it had been his loneliness.
During the time when he was out in the hills alone she had often found herself lying awake at night wondering what he was doing, where he was, and how it must feel to be always alone. She had been much alone, herself, and thought she knew but there was a difference.
After a few minutes she dismissed the idea from her mind. She could get a case on him, as Joss put it, but she was not likely to see enough of him. And she was not going to permit it not for one minute.
Yet an hour later she was thinking of him out there on the box of that stage, fair game for any sharpshooter with a good rifle.
Matt Coburn buttoned the two top buttons of his coat. It had been hot earlier; now the day was cooling off. In just a little while they would be changing teams again. For the last hour they had been traveling across the open country, but he had not relaxed the least bit. Almost automatically his hand went to his cartridge belt and loosened a pair of shotgun shells to have them ready if needed.
They rode now with the sun before them, with the shadows rounding up in the secret draws of the mountains, and here and there a lonely stray behind some isolated butte. The team moved slowly now, Burke holding them in for the time later when he might wish to get speed from them. The sound of their hoofs, the jingle of harness, and the rocking, creaking, rolling of the coach, these were the
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