some tobacco and talk a bit. It was a routin e patrol. Somebody had seen some Cheyennes, but the y turned out to be Shawnees, peaceful, hunting buffalo fro m the fringe of a small herd.
"We goin' to Denver?" Mustang wanted to know.
"Uh-huh."
"I want, to get me a sheep coat. This here wind cut s a man."
All I could think of was Burdette, shooting Hetrick.
Time a man like that was sent packing.
I wasn't going to kill him. I was going to do worse. I w as going to break him. I was going to bust him right i n front of people. I was going to ruin him as a gunman.
The one thing a gunman can't stand is to lose face.
Too many men hunting them. Too many men wantin g to make a cheap kill. Once they get shown up, it's onl y a matter of time until they are killed . . . unless the y leave the country.
We reached Denver in late September with snow sifting out of a lead-gray sky. We reached Denver and headed for a hotel. I had money, so we went to the best.
That night I lay in bed thinking, staring wide awake a t the ceiling. What did a man come to? Where could a ma n get, drifting like this? I had a little stake now, and th e thing to do was to go someplace and light. Get som e roots down. Maybe I should marry.
That thought stopped me a bit. I didn't like to thin k of being tied down. Not when I might have to ride on a t any time. But Logan Pollard had stopped. Good ol d Logan! I'd sure like to see him. I told myself that and i t was true. By now they probably had a family. No time a t all since I'd seen them, but it seemed a long while. I wa s going to be twenty soon, and I'd been through the mill.
Getting up, I went to the washbowl and poured som e water and bathed my face. I picked up a towel and drie d it and looked at myself in the mirror.
Ryan Tyler, I told myself, there you are. What looke d at me was a smooth brown face without any mustache , curly hair brushed back from the forehead, but alway s inclined to fall over it. A brown face that had stron g cheekbones,, and a strong jaw, but the eyes were sort o f green and there wasn't any smile around the mouth.
That wasn't good. A man should smile. And there wa s something a little cold around the eyes. Was I cold? I d idn't feel cold inside. Not a bit.
Never had many friends, but then, I'd drifted to o much, and the few friends I'd had were good ones. Loga n Pollard, Hetrick, and now Mustang Roberts. Yes, an d Billy Dixon, Ogg, and Bennett. Good men they were, al l of them.
But where did that leave me? The one thing I coul d do better than most men was the one thing I did not wan t to do. Maybe, as Bennett had said, the West needed its gu n fighters. Maybe in a land where there was no law, som e restraint was needed for the lawless. But I didn't want t o be one of them.
What did it get a man, twenty years old and no smile?
Twenty years, and four dead men behind him, and eye s that were always a little cool, a little remote, a littl e watchful. I wanted no more of it. I wanted to get away , to make an end of it.
But a man does what he has to do. That's why a ma n is a man.
I walked back and got into bed and tried to sleep. Whe n it was daybreak I did sleep for an hour or so.
Outside the ground was two feet deep in snow. In th e streets men were shoveling walks, their breath smoky i n the cold air. It was no time to travel, but it was no tim e to stop, either.
"Hetrick's been dead a few months," Roberts argued.
"Take your time. Burdette ain't going nowhere. If h e does, maybe so much the better."
That made sense, and crossing those mountains in th e winter would be no picnic. Even if a man made it, an d the old-timers were smart enough not to try.
Denver was booming those days and gambling wa s booming right along with it. Maybe I'd played poker a mite, but I was no gambling man. Just the same, thos e places were wide open and mighty exciting. Maybe, too , it was because I was still just a boy, although I'd bee n caring for myself for a long time now.
So Mustang
"We goin' to Denver?" Mustang wanted to know.
"Uh-huh."
"I want, to get me a sheep coat. This here wind cut s a man."
All I could think of was Burdette, shooting Hetrick.
Time a man like that was sent packing.
I wasn't going to kill him. I was going to do worse. I w as going to break him. I was going to bust him right i n front of people. I was going to ruin him as a gunman.
The one thing a gunman can't stand is to lose face.
Too many men hunting them. Too many men wantin g to make a cheap kill. Once they get shown up, it's onl y a matter of time until they are killed . . . unless the y leave the country.
We reached Denver in late September with snow sifting out of a lead-gray sky. We reached Denver and headed for a hotel. I had money, so we went to the best.
That night I lay in bed thinking, staring wide awake a t the ceiling. What did a man come to? Where could a ma n get, drifting like this? I had a little stake now, and th e thing to do was to go someplace and light. Get som e roots down. Maybe I should marry.
That thought stopped me a bit. I didn't like to thin k of being tied down. Not when I might have to ride on a t any time. But Logan Pollard had stopped. Good ol d Logan! I'd sure like to see him. I told myself that and i t was true. By now they probably had a family. No time a t all since I'd seen them, but it seemed a long while. I wa s going to be twenty soon, and I'd been through the mill.
Getting up, I went to the washbowl and poured som e water and bathed my face. I picked up a towel and drie d it and looked at myself in the mirror.
Ryan Tyler, I told myself, there you are. What looke d at me was a smooth brown face without any mustache , curly hair brushed back from the forehead, but alway s inclined to fall over it. A brown face that had stron g cheekbones,, and a strong jaw, but the eyes were sort o f green and there wasn't any smile around the mouth.
That wasn't good. A man should smile. And there wa s something a little cold around the eyes. Was I cold? I d idn't feel cold inside. Not a bit.
Never had many friends, but then, I'd drifted to o much, and the few friends I'd had were good ones. Loga n Pollard, Hetrick, and now Mustang Roberts. Yes, an d Billy Dixon, Ogg, and Bennett. Good men they were, al l of them.
But where did that leave me? The one thing I coul d do better than most men was the one thing I did not wan t to do. Maybe, as Bennett had said, the West needed its gu n fighters. Maybe in a land where there was no law, som e restraint was needed for the lawless. But I didn't want t o be one of them.
What did it get a man, twenty years old and no smile?
Twenty years, and four dead men behind him, and eye s that were always a little cool, a little remote, a littl e watchful. I wanted no more of it. I wanted to get away , to make an end of it.
But a man does what he has to do. That's why a ma n is a man.
I walked back and got into bed and tried to sleep. Whe n it was daybreak I did sleep for an hour or so.
Outside the ground was two feet deep in snow. In th e streets men were shoveling walks, their breath smoky i n the cold air. It was no time to travel, but it was no tim e to stop, either.
"Hetrick's been dead a few months," Roberts argued.
"Take your time. Burdette ain't going nowhere. If h e does, maybe so much the better."
That made sense, and crossing those mountains in th e winter would be no picnic. Even if a man made it, an d the old-timers were smart enough not to try.
Denver was booming those days and gambling wa s booming right along with it. Maybe I'd played poker a mite, but I was no gambling man. Just the same, thos e places were wide open and mighty exciting. Maybe, too , it was because I was still just a boy, although I'd bee n caring for myself for a long time now.
So Mustang
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