Read Online Passin' Through (1985) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
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Mrs. Hollyrood, owning that place.
The buckskin was a good horse and he took to rough country like he was born to it, which he probably was. I'd known of Parrott City before ever I left Pioche. John Moss had laid out the town about 1875 when he was prospecting for Tiburcio Parrott, a banker in San Francisco. Wherever miners or prospectors gather there is talk of new strikes, new mining towns, or trails leading to good prospects. The La Platas were much talked about, as, of course, were the San Juans, only a bit further along. Silverton was a booming camp, but that was sixty or seventy miles away over rough mountain trails.
When I rode up the street in Parrott City it took me no time at all to see what was available. There were a couple of saloons, a blacksmith shop where most of the work was sharpening drill steel, and there was a general supply store and a couple of tents which rented out beds. I guess there were ten to twelve buildings in town and some makeshift squatters' shacks. But nobody had promised me another Denver.
At the store I bought a packet of pins and some needles for Matty and a couple of shirts for myself as well as a new pair of pants. Nobody seemed to pay me much mind until I paid my bill, and then the storekeeper asked me if I was a miner.
"I've mined," I said, "mostly for myself." Before he could ask any more questions I took my goods and walked outside, looking up at the mountain. This was mighty pretty country and La Plata Canyon invited a man to try his luck.
Standing on the street, I sort of looked the town over, and there wasn't enough of it to take a man more than a few minutes. That Pinkerton man was somewhere about and I wanted to learn more about him.
There was a two-by-four sort of place across the street where they served meals and I crossed over and went in. An unshaved man in shirt sleeves was washing dishes back of the counter, which was just a couple of planks nailed together with a bench in front of it. There were also two tables. "Am I late for grub?"
"Hell, no! I've always got something on. You partial to venison stew?" He winked at me. "Least that's what I call it. Some of these folks are touchy when their cows turn up missin'."
"Well," I said, "I never heard of anybody readin' a brand from stew meat."
He chuckled. "Now you're right about that. You look like a miner."
"I've mined," I said, and keeping a straight face, I added, "Right now I'm a cattleman."
His face went blank, then he said, "That really is venison. Some of it."
"I'm not huntin' rustlers," I said, "and I don't own any stock hereabouts. I only hang rustlers when I catch them at it, and this is mighty fine stew. You must have cooked in a cow camp sometime or other."
"I done it," he said with satisfaction. "I went over the trail twict. Went with the big herds, first to Dodge, then to Ogallala." He looked at me again. "You been over the trail?"
"Twice," I said, "the first time when I was a youngster. I was wranglin' horses that time. Next time I was trail boss."
"Trail boss? You must've made a name for yourself."
"They knew me," I said. "It was a time of trouble."
He leaned over the counter. "Friend," he said, "you could do worse than to locate right here. Buy yourself a couple of town lots. This place will boom. Take it from me. There's rich mines all about here, an' La Plata County was set up in 1874. This here's the county seat. Get in on the ground floor if you've got any capital.
"I own four city lots," he added, "an' I've staked some ground up the canyon."
"I was just passin' through," I commented. "Stopped down on Cherry Creek to help a woman get her place in shape."
"Oh?" He looked at me again. "You're him? Heard about you. You the one who killed Houston Burrows?"
News had a way of travelin', and among some western people gunfighters were talked of like they were prizefighters or theater people. Nobody but some tinhorn wanted to be known as a gunfighter.
"Houston Burrows threw a wide loop," I
The buckskin was a good horse and he took to rough country like he was born to it, which he probably was. I'd known of Parrott City before ever I left Pioche. John Moss had laid out the town about 1875 when he was prospecting for Tiburcio Parrott, a banker in San Francisco. Wherever miners or prospectors gather there is talk of new strikes, new mining towns, or trails leading to good prospects. The La Platas were much talked about, as, of course, were the San Juans, only a bit further along. Silverton was a booming camp, but that was sixty or seventy miles away over rough mountain trails.
When I rode up the street in Parrott City it took me no time at all to see what was available. There were a couple of saloons, a blacksmith shop where most of the work was sharpening drill steel, and there was a general supply store and a couple of tents which rented out beds. I guess there were ten to twelve buildings in town and some makeshift squatters' shacks. But nobody had promised me another Denver.
At the store I bought a packet of pins and some needles for Matty and a couple of shirts for myself as well as a new pair of pants. Nobody seemed to pay me much mind until I paid my bill, and then the storekeeper asked me if I was a miner.
"I've mined," I said, "mostly for myself." Before he could ask any more questions I took my goods and walked outside, looking up at the mountain. This was mighty pretty country and La Plata Canyon invited a man to try his luck.
Standing on the street, I sort of looked the town over, and there wasn't enough of it to take a man more than a few minutes. That Pinkerton man was somewhere about and I wanted to learn more about him.
There was a two-by-four sort of place across the street where they served meals and I crossed over and went in. An unshaved man in shirt sleeves was washing dishes back of the counter, which was just a couple of planks nailed together with a bench in front of it. There were also two tables. "Am I late for grub?"
"Hell, no! I've always got something on. You partial to venison stew?" He winked at me. "Least that's what I call it. Some of these folks are touchy when their cows turn up missin'."
"Well," I said, "I never heard of anybody readin' a brand from stew meat."
He chuckled. "Now you're right about that. You look like a miner."
"I've mined," I said, and keeping a straight face, I added, "Right now I'm a cattleman."
His face went blank, then he said, "That really is venison. Some of it."
"I'm not huntin' rustlers," I said, "and I don't own any stock hereabouts. I only hang rustlers when I catch them at it, and this is mighty fine stew. You must have cooked in a cow camp sometime or other."
"I done it," he said with satisfaction. "I went over the trail twict. Went with the big herds, first to Dodge, then to Ogallala." He looked at me again. "You been over the trail?"
"Twice," I said, "the first time when I was a youngster. I was wranglin' horses that time. Next time I was trail boss."
"Trail boss? You must've made a name for yourself."
"They knew me," I said. "It was a time of trouble."
He leaned over the counter. "Friend," he said, "you could do worse than to locate right here. Buy yourself a couple of town lots. This place will boom. Take it from me. There's rich mines all about here, an' La Plata County was set up in 1874. This here's the county seat. Get in on the ground floor if you've got any capital.
"I own four city lots," he added, "an' I've staked some ground up the canyon."
"I was just passin' through," I commented. "Stopped down on Cherry Creek to help a woman get her place in shape."
"Oh?" He looked at me again. "You're him? Heard about you. You the one who killed Houston Burrows?"
News had a way of travelin', and among some western people gunfighters were talked of like they were prizefighters or theater people. Nobody but some tinhorn wanted to be known as a gunfighter.
"Houston Burrows threw a wide loop," I
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