Read Online Catlow (1963) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis L'amour
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holding the boot in his hand, wriggling his toes into comfort. Then he dropped the boot and removed his gun-belt, tossing it over the post at the head of the bed where it would hang near his hand as he slept.
The coal-oil lamp threw shadows into the corners and behind the old wardrobe. There was little enough in the room. The bed, a straight-backed chair, and the rocker where Ben sat, the wardrobe, a table, bowl and water pitcher. In the corner near the door was Bijah's saddle and his rifle, saddlebags and a blanket-roll.
Ben took a cigar from his pocket and lit up. His eyes dropped to the gear on the floor. There was a canteen there, too. It had been freshly filled. As Bijah had been out, it must have been filled by one of the others--Merridew probably. They were pulling out, then.
"Like to talk you out of this deal you've got," Ben suggested. "You're asking for it."
"Hell!" Catlow said. "I figured you'd be glad to get me out of town--you walkin' my girl home like you done. You tryin' to cut me out?"
Ben Cowan shook his head. "You know better than that. She was on the street alone ... besides, she caught me listening to talk between her and her father. It was about this Miller ... she was fixing to get her pa killed."
He got to his feet. "Bijah ... this is government business if you cross the line into Mexico. It's up to me to stop you."
Bijah grinned at him, peeling off his shirt. He was a well-muscled man, and the muscle was all power, as Ben Cowan had reason to know. "Stop me, then. But I'd still like to have you in with me. You'd be worth the lot of this crowd."
"You'd have to go far to beat the Old Man," Ben said. "That one's an old wolf from the high country. You turn him loose on Miller and you'd have nothing to worry about."
"I fight my own battles."
Ben put on his hat. "Sorry I can't talk you out of this, Bijah, but I didn't much figure I could." He put out his hand. "We'll meet again."
"You keep your ears pinned back when we go, or I'll notch 'era for you. This is the big one for me, Ben, an' all bets are off."
Ben Cowan stepped out into the night and walked past Merridew, who sat in the darkness near the gate. He went by, and then he came back.
"You know Miller?"
"I know him."
"He's out to get Bijah--sooner or later he'll try."
"Catlow don't need no help."
"I know that. I carry the scars to prove it, but four eyes are better than two."
Cowan walked out into the street and paused there, glancing each way. He had his own back to watch, for Miller would be thinking of him first. But Ben was used to it--in his business the hunter was always the hunted as well.
He thought back to Cordelia Burton, and for a minute he felt a wistful longing, the yearning of a homeless man for a home and all that it can mean. He thought of how it would be to be sitting at a table with her across from him, the soft glow of lamplight on her face.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. An officer of the law made little enough money ... of course, a man could always file a homestead ... and there was good range here in Arizona. He'd ridden over a pretty piece of it, time to time.
He had almost reached the Shoo-Fly, where he had left his bedroll, when he saw the shadows of two men on the ground before him. The rising moon had thrown their shadows on the street, otherwise he would have had no warning. Even as he glimpsed them, one shadow vanished and the other drew back close to the building.
Were they waiting for him? Had the other man gone around the building to take him from behind? He hesitated a moment only, then turned on his heel and walked back to the saloon called the Hanging Wall, and went inside.
Several men loafed at the bar in desultory conversation, and there were three or four more around a table where a tired card game continued. One of these men looked around as he entered. It was Rio Bray.
Ben Cowan ordered a beer and waited. A moment passed, and then the door was pushed open and Miller came in. He
The coal-oil lamp threw shadows into the corners and behind the old wardrobe. There was little enough in the room. The bed, a straight-backed chair, and the rocker where Ben sat, the wardrobe, a table, bowl and water pitcher. In the corner near the door was Bijah's saddle and his rifle, saddlebags and a blanket-roll.
Ben took a cigar from his pocket and lit up. His eyes dropped to the gear on the floor. There was a canteen there, too. It had been freshly filled. As Bijah had been out, it must have been filled by one of the others--Merridew probably. They were pulling out, then.
"Like to talk you out of this deal you've got," Ben suggested. "You're asking for it."
"Hell!" Catlow said. "I figured you'd be glad to get me out of town--you walkin' my girl home like you done. You tryin' to cut me out?"
Ben Cowan shook his head. "You know better than that. She was on the street alone ... besides, she caught me listening to talk between her and her father. It was about this Miller ... she was fixing to get her pa killed."
He got to his feet. "Bijah ... this is government business if you cross the line into Mexico. It's up to me to stop you."
Bijah grinned at him, peeling off his shirt. He was a well-muscled man, and the muscle was all power, as Ben Cowan had reason to know. "Stop me, then. But I'd still like to have you in with me. You'd be worth the lot of this crowd."
"You'd have to go far to beat the Old Man," Ben said. "That one's an old wolf from the high country. You turn him loose on Miller and you'd have nothing to worry about."
"I fight my own battles."
Ben put on his hat. "Sorry I can't talk you out of this, Bijah, but I didn't much figure I could." He put out his hand. "We'll meet again."
"You keep your ears pinned back when we go, or I'll notch 'era for you. This is the big one for me, Ben, an' all bets are off."
Ben Cowan stepped out into the night and walked past Merridew, who sat in the darkness near the gate. He went by, and then he came back.
"You know Miller?"
"I know him."
"He's out to get Bijah--sooner or later he'll try."
"Catlow don't need no help."
"I know that. I carry the scars to prove it, but four eyes are better than two."
Cowan walked out into the street and paused there, glancing each way. He had his own back to watch, for Miller would be thinking of him first. But Ben was used to it--in his business the hunter was always the hunted as well.
He thought back to Cordelia Burton, and for a minute he felt a wistful longing, the yearning of a homeless man for a home and all that it can mean. He thought of how it would be to be sitting at a table with her across from him, the soft glow of lamplight on her face.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. An officer of the law made little enough money ... of course, a man could always file a homestead ... and there was good range here in Arizona. He'd ridden over a pretty piece of it, time to time.
He had almost reached the Shoo-Fly, where he had left his bedroll, when he saw the shadows of two men on the ground before him. The rising moon had thrown their shadows on the street, otherwise he would have had no warning. Even as he glimpsed them, one shadow vanished and the other drew back close to the building.
Were they waiting for him? Had the other man gone around the building to take him from behind? He hesitated a moment only, then turned on his heel and walked back to the saloon called the Hanging Wall, and went inside.
Several men loafed at the bar in desultory conversation, and there were three or four more around a table where a tired card game continued. One of these men looked around as he entered. It was Rio Bray.
Ben Cowan ordered a beer and waited. A moment passed, and then the door was pushed open and Miller came in. He
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