Read Online Louis L'Amour by Hanging Woman Creek - Free Book Online Page A

out on the cot I had both of them to hand.
    The night noises slowly died away. Boots sounded on the boardwalk, a door down the street slammed, then somebody tripped over a board and swore. At last all was quiet, and I dropped off to sleep.
    Suddenly the night exploded with gunfire and I jerked up to a sitting position, six-shooter in hand. Even as I sat up I heard the ugly smash of another bullet that came through the wall, and promptly I fired through the wall in return.
    Then there was a moment of stillness, followed by a sudden uproar of voices. In the hall angry questions were called out, followed by a pounding on my door. I swung my feet to the floor and went over and opened up. The proprietor was there, and the night policeman; behind them crowded half a dozen people.
    “What happened?” the night policeman asked.
    “Somebody shot at me,” I said, “an’ I jerked up out of a sleep and fired back.”
    They walked across the room, holding a lamp high. Two bullet holes had come through the thin wall, and if I hadn’t moved the bed both of them would have hit me.
    “You moved the bed,” the proprietor said. “Did you figure on this?”
    “Man on the other side of that partition snores,” I said, “so I moved over here.”
    Funny thing was, they believed me. Most of those men knew me and they couldn’t figure any good reason for somebody wanting to kill a harmless gent like myself. For that matter, neither could I … unless I was getting in somebody’s way.
    After they left I moved the bed back across the room and went to sleep, but before I dozed off I lay there thinking that maybe this was my time to see California. Somehow I’d always wanted to go there, and they say it can be right pleasant in the winter.
    Only thing was, I’d left Eddie Holt out there at the line camp, and he would need help to get through the winter.
    The more I thought of it the madder I got, and I’d never been one to back up from trouble. Maybe I would have been better off if I had.
    Come daybreak, I went up the street to the Macqueen House and treated myself to a first-rate breakfast, with all the trimmings. It was true I hadn’t much cash, but there was enough for that.
    I was still sitting there when Bill Justin came in and sat down with me.
    “How’re things?” he asked.
    “You saw Johnny Ward,” I answered.
    “I mean how’re the cattle?”
    “Good shape, mostly. I’d say they needed culling. Mr. Justin, you’re carrying a lot of dead weight out there. You could round up and ship a good herd of culls.”
    We talked cow business for a few minutes, and then Granville Stuart came in and walked over to the table. He said good morning to us and sat down.
    “Pike,” he said, “there are some of us believe it is about time to make a clean-up of eastern Montana—maybe even western Dakota.”
    Me, I just looked at him, although I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.
    “You’ve got the reputation of being a fighter.”
    “With my fists, maybe.”
    “A fighter is a fighter. I want a few good men, Pike, and we’ve got a few.” He named a couple, and when he did I looked at him and shook my head. Granville Stuart was a fine man and a good cattleman, and he was making his mark in Montana; but I’d never put much stock in vigilantes.
    “I’m no hand with a gun,” I said, “and when it comes to the law, I leave it to the law. If they can’t handle it, you’d best get somebody new.”
    “They aren’t equipped to handle it,” Stuart said. “It’s the same situation as they had at Virginia City.”
    Well, maybe it was. “No, sir,” I said. “I’ll stick to punching cows.”
    “You’re right in the middle of the rustlers,” Stuart said, showing his irritation. “You’ve got them all around you out there.” He paused. “You’ve even been shot at.”
    “Looked like it,” I agreed, “and maybe that’s what it was. Well, I’ll fight for any stock I’m riding herd on, and I’ll do as good a job