Read Online Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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into existence. Following them, cattlemen discovered the rich grasses of northern Wyoming. A few herds came over what later was to be known as the Texas Trail.
Indian attacks and general hostility caused many of these pioneers to retreat to more stable localities, but a few of the more courageous had stayed on. Prospectors had entered the Black Hills following the Custer expedition in 1874, and the Sioux, always resentful of any incursion upon their hunting grounds or any flaunting of their rights, were preparing to do something more than talk.
The names of such chiefs as Red Cloud, Dull Knife, Crazy Horse, and the medicine man Sitting Bull came more and more into frontier gossip. A steamboat was reported to be en route up the turbulent Yellowstone, and river traffic on the upper Mississippi was an accepted fact. There were increasing reports of gatherings of Indians in the hills, and white men rode warily, never without arms.
Cut off from contact with the few scattered ranchers, Rafe Caradec and his riders heard little of the gossip except what they gleaned from an occasional prospector or wandering hunter. Yet no gossip was needed to tell them how the land lay.
Twice they heard sounds of rifle fire, and once the Sioux ran off a number of cattle from Shute’s ranch, taking them from a herd kept not far from Long Valley. Two of Shute’s riders were killed. None of Caradec’s cattle were molested. He was left strictly alone. Indians avoided his place, no matter what their mission.
Twice, riders from the ranch went to Painted Rock. Each time they returned they brought stories of an impending Indian outbreak. A few of the less courageous ranchers sold out and left the country. In all this time, Rafe Caradec lived in the saddle, riding often from dawn until dusk, avoiding the tangled brakes, but studying the lay of the land with care.
There was, he knew, some particular reason for Bruce Barkow’s interest in the ranch that belonged to Ann Rodney. What that reason was, he must know. Without it, he knew he could offer no real reason why Barkow would go to the lengths he had gone to get a ranch that was on the face of things of no more value than any piece of land in the country, most of which could be had for the taking….
____________
A NN SPENT MUCH of her time alone. Business at the store was thriving, and Gene Baker and his wife, and often Ann as well, were busy. In her spare time the thought kept returning to her that Rafe Caradec might be honest.
Yet she dismissed the thought as unworthy. If she admitted even for an instant that he was honest, she must also admit that Bruce Barkow was dishonest—a thief and possibly a killer. Yet somehow the picture of her father kept returning to her mind. It was present there on one of the occasions when Bruce Barkow came to call.
A handsome man, Barkow understood how to appeal to a woman. He carried himself well, and his clothes were always the best in Painted Rock. He called this evening looking even better than he had on the last occasion, his black suit neatly pressed, his mustache carefully trimmed.
They had been talking for some time when Ann mentioned Rafe Caradec.
“His story sounded so sincere!” she said, after a minute. “He said he had been shanghaied in San Francisco with Father and that they had become acquainted on the ship.”
“He’s a careful man,” Barkow commented, “and a dangerous one. He showed that when he killed Trigger Boyne and Bonaro. He met Boyne out on the range, and they had some trouble over an Indian girl.”
“An Indian girl?” Ann looked at him questioningly.
“Yes.” Barkow frowned as if the subject was distasteful to him. “You know how some of the cowhands are—always running after some squaw. They have stolen squaws, kept them for a while, and then turned them loose or killed them. Caradec had a young squaw, and Boyne tried to argue with him to let her go. They had words, and there’d have been a shooting then if one
Indian attacks and general hostility caused many of these pioneers to retreat to more stable localities, but a few of the more courageous had stayed on. Prospectors had entered the Black Hills following the Custer expedition in 1874, and the Sioux, always resentful of any incursion upon their hunting grounds or any flaunting of their rights, were preparing to do something more than talk.
The names of such chiefs as Red Cloud, Dull Knife, Crazy Horse, and the medicine man Sitting Bull came more and more into frontier gossip. A steamboat was reported to be en route up the turbulent Yellowstone, and river traffic on the upper Mississippi was an accepted fact. There were increasing reports of gatherings of Indians in the hills, and white men rode warily, never without arms.
Cut off from contact with the few scattered ranchers, Rafe Caradec and his riders heard little of the gossip except what they gleaned from an occasional prospector or wandering hunter. Yet no gossip was needed to tell them how the land lay.
Twice they heard sounds of rifle fire, and once the Sioux ran off a number of cattle from Shute’s ranch, taking them from a herd kept not far from Long Valley. Two of Shute’s riders were killed. None of Caradec’s cattle were molested. He was left strictly alone. Indians avoided his place, no matter what their mission.
Twice, riders from the ranch went to Painted Rock. Each time they returned they brought stories of an impending Indian outbreak. A few of the less courageous ranchers sold out and left the country. In all this time, Rafe Caradec lived in the saddle, riding often from dawn until dusk, avoiding the tangled brakes, but studying the lay of the land with care.
There was, he knew, some particular reason for Bruce Barkow’s interest in the ranch that belonged to Ann Rodney. What that reason was, he must know. Without it, he knew he could offer no real reason why Barkow would go to the lengths he had gone to get a ranch that was on the face of things of no more value than any piece of land in the country, most of which could be had for the taking….
____________
A NN SPENT MUCH of her time alone. Business at the store was thriving, and Gene Baker and his wife, and often Ann as well, were busy. In her spare time the thought kept returning to her that Rafe Caradec might be honest.
Yet she dismissed the thought as unworthy. If she admitted even for an instant that he was honest, she must also admit that Bruce Barkow was dishonest—a thief and possibly a killer. Yet somehow the picture of her father kept returning to her mind. It was present there on one of the occasions when Bruce Barkow came to call.
A handsome man, Barkow understood how to appeal to a woman. He carried himself well, and his clothes were always the best in Painted Rock. He called this evening looking even better than he had on the last occasion, his black suit neatly pressed, his mustache carefully trimmed.
They had been talking for some time when Ann mentioned Rafe Caradec.
“His story sounded so sincere!” she said, after a minute. “He said he had been shanghaied in San Francisco with Father and that they had become acquainted on the ship.”
“He’s a careful man,” Barkow commented, “and a dangerous one. He showed that when he killed Trigger Boyne and Bonaro. He met Boyne out on the range, and they had some trouble over an Indian girl.”
“An Indian girl?” Ann looked at him questioningly.
“Yes.” Barkow frowned as if the subject was distasteful to him. “You know how some of the cowhands are—always running after some squaw. They have stolen squaws, kept them for a while, and then turned them loose or killed them. Caradec had a young squaw, and Boyne tried to argue with him to let her go. They had words, and there’d have been a shooting then if one
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