Read Online Catlow (1963) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L'amour
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started for the bar. His step faltered when he saw Ben Cowan, but he put his head down and came on, stopping a little distance away.
Miller leaned on the bar and pushed his hat back. Despite the cool night, he was suddenly perspiring. His eyes avoided Ben's. It was obvious that Miller had not suspected he was in the saloon.
Ben glanced down at his whiskey. Well, he wanted Miller, and there he was.
Why not take him now?
Chapter Nine.
Miller knew him, and the instant Ben started for him, Miller would be likely to draw a gun. Ben Cowan turned the idea over in his mind and decided to wait.
They stood not fifteen feet apart, with three other men between. Rio Bray had moved around to the other side of the table where he had been watching the card game, and stood now where he could keep an eye on Cowan.
Moreover, one of the men, sitting alone at a table, was Milton Duffield, an ex-U.S. marshal, now a postal inspector, and a dangerous man with a gun. Duffield was a good man, with many local friends, but temperamental, and there was no certainty as to what he would do if a situation developed into gunplay. And he had been drinking heavily.
Ben Cowan suddenly remembered that his bedroll was back at the Shoo-Fly, and he had best retrieve it before the restaurant closed for the night.
Tucson at that time had no hotel. Those who had no friends in town bedded down wherever they could find a likely spot. There were a couple of abandoned houses used as camping spots by drifters--it was in one of these that Catlow had holed up. Word was passed on by word of mouth, and the houses were continually occupied by somebody. But most travelers bedded down in an empty corral or under a parked wagon.
Rio Bray strolled up and leaned on the bar beside Ben. "Howdy, Marshal! This here's a long way from the Cross Timbers."
Bray glanced down the bar at Miller. "Sure does beat all what a guilty conscience will do for a man, Marshal. Really starts a man sweating."
Miller's quick glance was filled with hatred, but Bray grinned back at him. "Better watch where you sleep, Marshal. Lots of folks around here are mighty careless where they leave their knives."
Miller put down his glass and went to the door. Ben Cowan watched him go, knowing that once outside Miller would dodge for shelter and probably wait for him to emerge.
"He ain't goin' no place tonight, Marshal," Bray said confidentially. "There's Apaches raiding around the country and Tucson's the safest place to be. Anyway, the Fifth Cavalry are going to give another band concert tomorrow night, and that's worth waitin' for."
Obviously Rio Bray had had more than a few drinks and was in a jovial, somewhat taunting mood. Ben was quite sure that Bray did not like him, and he felt no regret over that. Bray was a tough man and a good one, but a man who would have hit the outlaw trail sooner or later, regardless of circumstances.
"Yes, sir ... a band concert! This town ain't no just ordinary town, Marshal. Why, just t'other day an hombre named Mansfield started himself a circulating library ... got himself a whole stack of books to lend out!"
Rio Bray gulped his beer. "Why, this here's a regular metropolis! Now, I tell you--"
"Excuse me," Ben said abruptly, and turned swiftly to the door at the back.
He went through the short hall, then opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. Instantly, he moved to the right, and held still an instant to let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, all the while listening for the front door to close. Grimly, he reflected there was small chance of anybody going out that front door for a few minutes. Not if they suspected, as he did, that Miller was waiting out there.
Ben went around the corner of the building. The night was still. Somewhere, off beyond the town, a coyote yapped. The space next to the saloon was wide enough for a wagon to be standing there, a big freight wagon. He moved past it, his hand close to his gun. When he was half the length of
Miller leaned on the bar and pushed his hat back. Despite the cool night, he was suddenly perspiring. His eyes avoided Ben's. It was obvious that Miller had not suspected he was in the saloon.
Ben glanced down at his whiskey. Well, he wanted Miller, and there he was.
Why not take him now?
Chapter Nine.
Miller knew him, and the instant Ben started for him, Miller would be likely to draw a gun. Ben Cowan turned the idea over in his mind and decided to wait.
They stood not fifteen feet apart, with three other men between. Rio Bray had moved around to the other side of the table where he had been watching the card game, and stood now where he could keep an eye on Cowan.
Moreover, one of the men, sitting alone at a table, was Milton Duffield, an ex-U.S. marshal, now a postal inspector, and a dangerous man with a gun. Duffield was a good man, with many local friends, but temperamental, and there was no certainty as to what he would do if a situation developed into gunplay. And he had been drinking heavily.
Ben Cowan suddenly remembered that his bedroll was back at the Shoo-Fly, and he had best retrieve it before the restaurant closed for the night.
Tucson at that time had no hotel. Those who had no friends in town bedded down wherever they could find a likely spot. There were a couple of abandoned houses used as camping spots by drifters--it was in one of these that Catlow had holed up. Word was passed on by word of mouth, and the houses were continually occupied by somebody. But most travelers bedded down in an empty corral or under a parked wagon.
Rio Bray strolled up and leaned on the bar beside Ben. "Howdy, Marshal! This here's a long way from the Cross Timbers."
Bray glanced down the bar at Miller. "Sure does beat all what a guilty conscience will do for a man, Marshal. Really starts a man sweating."
Miller's quick glance was filled with hatred, but Bray grinned back at him. "Better watch where you sleep, Marshal. Lots of folks around here are mighty careless where they leave their knives."
Miller put down his glass and went to the door. Ben Cowan watched him go, knowing that once outside Miller would dodge for shelter and probably wait for him to emerge.
"He ain't goin' no place tonight, Marshal," Bray said confidentially. "There's Apaches raiding around the country and Tucson's the safest place to be. Anyway, the Fifth Cavalry are going to give another band concert tomorrow night, and that's worth waitin' for."
Obviously Rio Bray had had more than a few drinks and was in a jovial, somewhat taunting mood. Ben was quite sure that Bray did not like him, and he felt no regret over that. Bray was a tough man and a good one, but a man who would have hit the outlaw trail sooner or later, regardless of circumstances.
"Yes, sir ... a band concert! This town ain't no just ordinary town, Marshal. Why, just t'other day an hombre named Mansfield started himself a circulating library ... got himself a whole stack of books to lend out!"
Rio Bray gulped his beer. "Why, this here's a regular metropolis! Now, I tell you--"
"Excuse me," Ben said abruptly, and turned swiftly to the door at the back.
He went through the short hall, then opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. Instantly, he moved to the right, and held still an instant to let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, all the while listening for the front door to close. Grimly, he reflected there was small chance of anybody going out that front door for a few minutes. Not if they suspected, as he did, that Miller was waiting out there.
Ben went around the corner of the building. The night was still. Somewhere, off beyond the town, a coyote yapped. The space next to the saloon was wide enough for a wagon to be standing there, a big freight wagon. He moved past it, his hand close to his gun. When he was half the length of
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