he had discovered that the law was not necessarily his worst enemy, but he had never run from anyone not representing the law, and even then it was not the representative but the law itself that he ran from.
He had come west because he had little patience with the conventions of the East and the rules other men had made for him to live by. But there were rules everywhere and very few of them to his liking. Yet he was gradually coming around to the realization that men could not live without some sort of rules. When they made their own rules or disregarded all rules, somebody always got hurt. Yet here he was, past thirty and still trying to live by his own rules as if the rest of the world didn’t matter. Bad habits, he had found, were a lot harder to break than good ones.
He stepped to the window and parted the curtain when he heard the riders thundering into town. His pale blue eyes turned to ice when he saw who they were and his hard jaw knotted in anger. They wheeled in before the hotel and he could hear Pike cussing someone on the veranda. He heard Pike say his own name in a loud threatening voice.
Stepping away from the window, he drew his gun, checked it and slipped it back into the holster. He glanced at his blanket roll and saddlebags on the floor, then left the room and went quietly down the carpeted stairs.
As he was on his way out through the lobby, the dark-haired young woman suddenly appeared at the dining room door and looked at him with wide frightened eyes. She looked pale and breathless. He merely glanced at her and went on out to the veranda, stopping near the sour-faced old rancher with the long yellow teeth and the whine in his voice.
Pike Lefferts had just been saying what he was going to do to Ringo, and suddenly Ringo was standing there watching him through those icy blue eyes, his hard jaw swelled out in murderous hatred.
Pike’s good eye darted at Ringo’s gun hand, while the big round eye almost rolled out of his head in stark terror as if he had seen a ghost. But even if his eyes were not the best, in his mind Pike could see very clearly what was going to happen. Ringo would kill him as surely as he was sitting there in his saddle, and then it would not do him much good if the others got Ringo. He, Pike, would still be dead. He saw it all with sudden clarity, and just as suddenly he knew he wasn’t going to sit there like a fool and let it happen.
Not when he had a good fast horse to get away on. Ringo would not shoot him in the back, at least not in front of witnesses.
Curly was almost out of the hills when he spotted Ringo. The gunfighter was riding his tired black horse east along the road at an unhurried trot, going the way Curly had gone earlier. Curly was making his way through some brush and rocks three hundred yards off the road and Ringo didn’t see him. But Curly figured Ringo had seen him leave town and had decided to follow him, so they could talk over old times away from the Hatcher boys and the nosy people of Boot Hill. Ringo had never liked to talk where he felt crowded. Unlike Curly, he didn’t care for an audience.
With a wide grin Curly put the Appaloosa down through the rocks and brush to the road and went after Ringo. Figuring Ringo wouldn’t leave the road before he could overtake him, Curly didn’t pay any attention to the tracks on the ground. So he didn’t know Ringo was following the trail of the Lefferts gang. The Lefferts gang was the farthest thing from Curly’s mind, and if Ringo was in any danger at the moment Curly figured it was from the Apaches, who might still be around and in a mood to grab any white scalp that came along, to make up for not getting Curly’s. That was one reason he was in such a hurry to overtake Ringo. He wanted to warn him.
Curly rode around a big rock in a curve of the road, and that was when he saw Ringo. The gunfighter sat his black horse in the shadow of the rock, facing the road. He was leaning a little forward in the
He had come west because he had little patience with the conventions of the East and the rules other men had made for him to live by. But there were rules everywhere and very few of them to his liking. Yet he was gradually coming around to the realization that men could not live without some sort of rules. When they made their own rules or disregarded all rules, somebody always got hurt. Yet here he was, past thirty and still trying to live by his own rules as if the rest of the world didn’t matter. Bad habits, he had found, were a lot harder to break than good ones.
He stepped to the window and parted the curtain when he heard the riders thundering into town. His pale blue eyes turned to ice when he saw who they were and his hard jaw knotted in anger. They wheeled in before the hotel and he could hear Pike cussing someone on the veranda. He heard Pike say his own name in a loud threatening voice.
Stepping away from the window, he drew his gun, checked it and slipped it back into the holster. He glanced at his blanket roll and saddlebags on the floor, then left the room and went quietly down the carpeted stairs.
As he was on his way out through the lobby, the dark-haired young woman suddenly appeared at the dining room door and looked at him with wide frightened eyes. She looked pale and breathless. He merely glanced at her and went on out to the veranda, stopping near the sour-faced old rancher with the long yellow teeth and the whine in his voice.
Pike Lefferts had just been saying what he was going to do to Ringo, and suddenly Ringo was standing there watching him through those icy blue eyes, his hard jaw swelled out in murderous hatred.
Pike’s good eye darted at Ringo’s gun hand, while the big round eye almost rolled out of his head in stark terror as if he had seen a ghost. But even if his eyes were not the best, in his mind Pike could see very clearly what was going to happen. Ringo would kill him as surely as he was sitting there in his saddle, and then it would not do him much good if the others got Ringo. He, Pike, would still be dead. He saw it all with sudden clarity, and just as suddenly he knew he wasn’t going to sit there like a fool and let it happen.
Not when he had a good fast horse to get away on. Ringo would not shoot him in the back, at least not in front of witnesses.
Curly was almost out of the hills when he spotted Ringo. The gunfighter was riding his tired black horse east along the road at an unhurried trot, going the way Curly had gone earlier. Curly was making his way through some brush and rocks three hundred yards off the road and Ringo didn’t see him. But Curly figured Ringo had seen him leave town and had decided to follow him, so they could talk over old times away from the Hatcher boys and the nosy people of Boot Hill. Ringo had never liked to talk where he felt crowded. Unlike Curly, he didn’t care for an audience.
With a wide grin Curly put the Appaloosa down through the rocks and brush to the road and went after Ringo. Figuring Ringo wouldn’t leave the road before he could overtake him, Curly didn’t pay any attention to the tracks on the ground. So he didn’t know Ringo was following the trail of the Lefferts gang. The Lefferts gang was the farthest thing from Curly’s mind, and if Ringo was in any danger at the moment Curly figured it was from the Apaches, who might still be around and in a mood to grab any white scalp that came along, to make up for not getting Curly’s. That was one reason he was in such a hurry to overtake Ringo. He wanted to warn him.
Curly rode around a big rock in a curve of the road, and that was when he saw Ringo. The gunfighter sat his black horse in the shadow of the rock, facing the road. He was leaning a little forward in the
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