him to where h e came from. Then it usually comes down to one of the m 'searches la fammy' deals like that tenderfoot was explainin' d own at El Paso. If you're huntin' a man, he said, look fo r the woman. It makes sense, it surely does."
Three horsemen fast-walked their horses to the hitchrai l near his own, and swung down. The slim, dark one woul d probably he Carrero, the one with the short leg would b e Wing Mathy, and the one with the hard face and sand colored hair would be Shorty Hazel.
Handy built himself a cigarette, innocently unaware o f the three. The two guns he wore took their attention, bu t he did not look around when one of them muttered some t hing to the others.
Wing Mathy stepped up on the boardwalk. "Hey? Ain' t you from the Live Oak country?"
"I might be," Handy said, "but I could be from Powde r River or Ruby Hills. So might you, but I ain't askin .
Mathy smiled. I ain't askin, friend. It s just that yo u looked familiar."
The three went inside and as the door swung to, Hand y heard Wing say, "I've seen that gent somewhere. I know I h ave!"
Handy looked down at the cigarette. He rarely smoked , and didn't really want this one. It had been something t o keep his fingers busy. He dropped it to the boardwalk , careful it did not go through to the debris below, an d rubbed it out with his boot-toe.
He was on the trail of something, but just what he, was not sure. Right about now Buck Rodd was probably seein g Maria. At least, he might be.
Most people, when they went to chasing outlaws, spen t too much time wearing horses out. He found it muc h more simple to follow the trails from a chair, even thoug h he'd spent the largest part of his life in a saddle.
What had become of Jake Salter? That was the nex t proble m, and just where was the money?
Jake Salter was out of his skull over Maria, and Mari a was Buck Rodd's girl. Jake Salter, trying to impress he r with how big a man he was, might have mentioned carry i ng all that money. She would surely have told Buc k Rodd. There is very little, after all, that is strange abou t human behavior. All the trails were blazed long, long ago.
Handy led his horse to the livery stable. Livery stables , he had discovered, were like barber shops. There wa s always a lot of talk around, and if a man listened he coul d pick up a good deal. He led the buckskin inside, bought i t a night's keep for two bits, and began giving the surprise d horse a rubdown.
The buckskin was a litt l e uncertain as to the prope r reaction to such a procedure. Upon those past occasion s when he had been rubbed down it was after a particularl y grueling time on the trail, but on this day he had don e practically nothing. He was gratified by the rubdown, bu t felt it would only be in character to bite, kick, or act u p somehow. However, even when preoccupied, as he wa s now, Handy rarely gave him opportunities. The buckski n relaxed, but the idea stayed with him.
For two days Handy had idled about the livery stable i n Pagosa before coming here, so he knew that Salter owne d a little spread over on the Seco. The brand was the Laz y S. A few minutes now sufficed to show there was no Laz y S horse in the stable, but he waited, and he listened.
As night settled down he saddled the buckskin agai n and strolled outside. The night was softly dark, the star s hanging so low it seemed a tall man might knock the m down with a stick. Handy sat down on a bench against th e stable wall. A lazy-fingered player plucked a haphazar d tune from a piano in the saloon up the street. Occasionall y the player sang a few bars, a plaintive cow country son g born some centuries ago on the plains of Andalusia, i n far-off Spain. Nothing stirred. Once there was a burst o f laughter from the saloon, and occasionally he could hea r the click of poker chips.'
Down the street a door opened, letting a shaft of lamp l ight into the darkness. A big ryan swaggered out. Th e door closed, and Handy could hear the jingle
Three horsemen fast-walked their horses to the hitchrai l near his own, and swung down. The slim, dark one woul d probably he Carrero, the one with the short leg would b e Wing Mathy, and the one with the hard face and sand colored hair would be Shorty Hazel.
Handy built himself a cigarette, innocently unaware o f the three. The two guns he wore took their attention, bu t he did not look around when one of them muttered some t hing to the others.
Wing Mathy stepped up on the boardwalk. "Hey? Ain' t you from the Live Oak country?"
"I might be," Handy said, "but I could be from Powde r River or Ruby Hills. So might you, but I ain't askin .
Mathy smiled. I ain't askin, friend. It s just that yo u looked familiar."
The three went inside and as the door swung to, Hand y heard Wing say, "I've seen that gent somewhere. I know I h ave!"
Handy looked down at the cigarette. He rarely smoked , and didn't really want this one. It had been something t o keep his fingers busy. He dropped it to the boardwalk , careful it did not go through to the debris below, an d rubbed it out with his boot-toe.
He was on the trail of something, but just what he, was not sure. Right about now Buck Rodd was probably seein g Maria. At least, he might be.
Most people, when they went to chasing outlaws, spen t too much time wearing horses out. He found it muc h more simple to follow the trails from a chair, even thoug h he'd spent the largest part of his life in a saddle.
What had become of Jake Salter? That was the nex t proble m, and just where was the money?
Jake Salter was out of his skull over Maria, and Mari a was Buck Rodd's girl. Jake Salter, trying to impress he r with how big a man he was, might have mentioned carry i ng all that money. She would surely have told Buc k Rodd. There is very little, after all, that is strange abou t human behavior. All the trails were blazed long, long ago.
Handy led his horse to the livery stable. Livery stables , he had discovered, were like barber shops. There wa s always a lot of talk around, and if a man listened he coul d pick up a good deal. He led the buckskin inside, bought i t a night's keep for two bits, and began giving the surprise d horse a rubdown.
The buckskin was a litt l e uncertain as to the prope r reaction to such a procedure. Upon those past occasion s when he had been rubbed down it was after a particularl y grueling time on the trail, but on this day he had don e practically nothing. He was gratified by the rubdown, bu t felt it would only be in character to bite, kick, or act u p somehow. However, even when preoccupied, as he wa s now, Handy rarely gave him opportunities. The buckski n relaxed, but the idea stayed with him.
For two days Handy had idled about the livery stable i n Pagosa before coming here, so he knew that Salter owne d a little spread over on the Seco. The brand was the Laz y S. A few minutes now sufficed to show there was no Laz y S horse in the stable, but he waited, and he listened.
As night settled down he saddled the buckskin agai n and strolled outside. The night was softly dark, the star s hanging so low it seemed a tall man might knock the m down with a stick. Handy sat down on a bench against th e stable wall. A lazy-fingered player plucked a haphazar d tune from a piano in the saloon up the street. Occasionall y the player sang a few bars, a plaintive cow country son g born some centuries ago on the plains of Andalusia, i n far-off Spain. Nothing stirred. Once there was a burst o f laughter from the saloon, and occasionally he could hea r the click of poker chips.'
Down the street a door opened, letting a shaft of lamp l ight into the darkness. A big ryan swaggered out. Th e door closed, and Handy could hear the jingle
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