The H&R Cattle Company by Doug Bowman

be cured with salt and pepper. When the time came that I had to look out for myself, I discovered a whole lot of truth in what she said.”
    Rollins nodded and emptied his bowl.
    Afterward, the two sat on the porch for a while, then walked down to the river, each man taking a seat on a fallen log. Rollins pointed to the river. “How deep do you think the water is right here?”
    â€œDon’t know,” Zack said, shrugging. “I poked around in it with a fifteen-foot pole a couple of days ago, but I never did feel the bottom.” He pointed upstream. “It’s no more than a foot deep up there at that bend. I guess I’ll have to put up a fence on the opposite bank after I get some cattle. Otherwise, they’ll stroll right on across the river to John Peabody’s grass.” When Rollins said nothing, Zack added, “The cows are not likely to cross the river where the water’s deep. They hate swimming.”
    Bret nodded, then changed the subject. “I believe you said you’d met John Peabody. What’s he like?”
    â€œFriendly enough, looks to be about fifty years old. He came to this area more than twenty years ago and settled across the river, there.” Zack pointed west. “His Circle P Ranch encompasses more than fifteen thousand acres, and I’ve been told that he’s well-off financially. He gave me some free advice, and I suppose I’ll take part of it. I won’t be letting him pick my foreman, though, which is what he offered to do. I’ll choose my own crew, ’cause I don’t know Peabody any better than I’ll know the men I hire. I’ll do some asking around, then follow my own hunches. Live and learn, I suppose.”
    â€œYou mean you don’t trust Peabody?”
    â€œNo, that’s not exactly what I meant. It’s just that I didn’t particularly like some of the things he said. He said that he had his men hunt the Indians down like coyotes, and implied that the cowboys shot them on sight. I don’t want men like that on my little spread, Bret.”
    â€œNo Indians around here to shoot now,” Bret said.
    â€œRight,” Zack said, getting to his feet. “But I can’t help remembering that Peabody was smiling when he talked about shooting them down.”
    An hour later, Rollins buckled his gunbelt around his waist and began to walk north. He soon disappeared into the trees, carrying five small blocks of wood that he would use as targets. A short time later, Zack heard the report of the Colt. First a single shot followed by a pause, then four more shots in quick succession.
    Hunter stoked the fire in the stove and warmed up the coffee, then sat at the table sipping as he listened to the occasional eruptions of gunfire. There was no doubt in his mind that Rollins would become one of the fastest gunmen alive, for he could not even imagine a man with quicker reflexes, and Bret’s hand-eye coordination was second to none. The “eye” was what had made Rollins a champion pool player, and it would also make him an expert gunman. Bret did not have to learn the speed, he had been born with it. And Zack knew that he would practice until he was the best, just as he had done with other things. Everything Bret did, he did exceedingly well, and the six-shooter would provide no exception. Zack listened to another burst of gunfire, then picked up his fishing pole and headed for the river. He fished for two hours without getting a bite.
    He was sitting on the porch when Rollins walked out of the woods at sunset, complaining about the blisters on his hand. He held his right hand up for Zack to see. “I had some calluses built up, but I’ve been trying out a different way of doing things today. I’ve got blisters in some new places.”
    Zack could see several spots where the blisters had burst, then bled. “I’ve got some horse liniment,” he said. “Want to try