the Riders Of High Rock (1993) by Louis - Hopalong 0 L'amour
Authors: Louis - Hopalong 0 L'amour
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gone, and he had consistently failed.
Thoughtfully he considered the situation. The big raid
would go ahead. A much bigger raid than the one currently under way. Moreover, if Hopalong, Red, and Joe had followed Aragon's men with the cattle, they must never be allowed to return.
"Bones," he said suddenly, "mount up and get into town. See Sim Aragon and tell him that Red and Gamble have started west after Hopalong. Tell him that none of them must come back. Get them--anyhow he wants to, but get them! I only ask that it be done west of the desert, so nobody will ever know. Understand?"
Bones nodded. "Yeah, I understand." Three men murdered, he thought, even as he answered Bolt. Good men, too. Bones had little imagination and less ethics, but he did possess a certain code of his own, and that code went against shooting a man in the back. It also demanded that a man fight his own battles. Bolt was showing no inclination to do any fighting at all. "All right," he agreed, "I'll ride in."
"I'll go along," Garson replied quickly. Ever since the shooting began he had been frightened, and the idea of riding back to Tascotal alone had frightened him even more. Besides, he would be more comfortable riding with Bones than with the others. The fat man was easygoing and not much inclined to run into trouble.
Bones started off towards the corral, and Bolt stared after Garson. He disliked the man even while he used him as a spy. There was nothing stable about Garson, nothing worth any kind of a gamble. It would never do to trust him, and Jack Bolt did not. As a matter of fact, he trusted no one but himself.
He watched the two ride off towards town in the twilight, and then he walked back to the house. A wind had started to blow and dust sifted in the broken window. Like a ghost house. Startled at the thought, he looked hastily around. He was not
actually superstitious, he told himself, but such thoughts disturbed him. Gloomily he stared at the windows. He would have to get new ones in town, and that would mean questions. It would also excite comment from those he did business with, and in no time the story would be all over the country. Some suspicion that Red and Joe Gamble had just reason would be sure to remain.
Joe Gamble disturbed him.
Red Connors and Hopalong Cassidy were strangers in the country, and both had the reputation of being fighters. If such men were killed, there would be little surprise, nor would too many questions be asked; but Joe Gamble was a steady, serious cowhand with a good reputation--a hard-working man known to be honest and not a drinker.
Nevertheless, there was nothing else to be done. All three men must be killed, and the sooner the better. He walked the floor of his cabin restlessly, then gave it up. The very sight of the broken windows acted as a warning. He was now in danger himself. Courageous enough, he had allowed himself to let all that slip into the past, and for several years now he had been telling himself that he was the brains. Let others get shot at, not him.
"Boss?" It was Grat. "That outfit sure did us up brown. They clipped the rope on the well bucket and she's stuck down there."
"Well, get it out!" Bolt was impatient. "The fool who left the well hole so small should have been shot! Can't you hook the bail?"
"We're tryin'. Meanwhile there's no water. Even the trough is run dry."
Jack Bolt walked out into the ranch yard. It was growing late. He stared at the trail towards town, chewing at his under--
lip. Maybe he should ride over to see the Gibsons. How much, if anything, did they know? Pod had run off, but that had been caused by Hopalong, and the gunfighter might not have said anything about Bolt's connection with the rustling--if he knew anything.
Sue Gibson-- He scowled. She was a pretty girl, and they had danced together more than once. Maybe that was an easier way to get the cattle and the ranch--especially with her father laid up in bed. Anyway, he would ride over, be frank
Thoughtfully he considered the situation. The big raid
would go ahead. A much bigger raid than the one currently under way. Moreover, if Hopalong, Red, and Joe had followed Aragon's men with the cattle, they must never be allowed to return.
"Bones," he said suddenly, "mount up and get into town. See Sim Aragon and tell him that Red and Gamble have started west after Hopalong. Tell him that none of them must come back. Get them--anyhow he wants to, but get them! I only ask that it be done west of the desert, so nobody will ever know. Understand?"
Bones nodded. "Yeah, I understand." Three men murdered, he thought, even as he answered Bolt. Good men, too. Bones had little imagination and less ethics, but he did possess a certain code of his own, and that code went against shooting a man in the back. It also demanded that a man fight his own battles. Bolt was showing no inclination to do any fighting at all. "All right," he agreed, "I'll ride in."
"I'll go along," Garson replied quickly. Ever since the shooting began he had been frightened, and the idea of riding back to Tascotal alone had frightened him even more. Besides, he would be more comfortable riding with Bones than with the others. The fat man was easygoing and not much inclined to run into trouble.
Bones started off towards the corral, and Bolt stared after Garson. He disliked the man even while he used him as a spy. There was nothing stable about Garson, nothing worth any kind of a gamble. It would never do to trust him, and Jack Bolt did not. As a matter of fact, he trusted no one but himself.
He watched the two ride off towards town in the twilight, and then he walked back to the house. A wind had started to blow and dust sifted in the broken window. Like a ghost house. Startled at the thought, he looked hastily around. He was not
actually superstitious, he told himself, but such thoughts disturbed him. Gloomily he stared at the windows. He would have to get new ones in town, and that would mean questions. It would also excite comment from those he did business with, and in no time the story would be all over the country. Some suspicion that Red and Joe Gamble had just reason would be sure to remain.
Joe Gamble disturbed him.
Red Connors and Hopalong Cassidy were strangers in the country, and both had the reputation of being fighters. If such men were killed, there would be little surprise, nor would too many questions be asked; but Joe Gamble was a steady, serious cowhand with a good reputation--a hard-working man known to be honest and not a drinker.
Nevertheless, there was nothing else to be done. All three men must be killed, and the sooner the better. He walked the floor of his cabin restlessly, then gave it up. The very sight of the broken windows acted as a warning. He was now in danger himself. Courageous enough, he had allowed himself to let all that slip into the past, and for several years now he had been telling himself that he was the brains. Let others get shot at, not him.
"Boss?" It was Grat. "That outfit sure did us up brown. They clipped the rope on the well bucket and she's stuck down there."
"Well, get it out!" Bolt was impatient. "The fool who left the well hole so small should have been shot! Can't you hook the bail?"
"We're tryin'. Meanwhile there's no water. Even the trough is run dry."
Jack Bolt walked out into the ranch yard. It was growing late. He stared at the trail towards town, chewing at his under--
lip. Maybe he should ride over to see the Gibsons. How much, if anything, did they know? Pod had run off, but that had been caused by Hopalong, and the gunfighter might not have said anything about Bolt's connection with the rustling--if he knew anything.
Sue Gibson-- He scowled. She was a pretty girl, and they had danced together more than once. Maybe that was an easier way to get the cattle and the ranch--especially with her father laid up in bed. Anyway, he would ride over, be frank
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