Read Online the Iron Marshall (1979) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
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"Maybe I should get one. Might save some time."
"Been smithing here long?"
"Long? Hell, I started this town! Man down the road a piece saw my gear when I was passin' along the trail, and he asked me if I could bend a tire. Well, I did four wagons for him, and meanwhile several people brought horses to be shod. "Out here folks do most of their own shoeing, but it leaves a lot to be said for it. Most of them do a pretty slam-bang job of it. "Well, I worked there for about two weeks and then I moved back under that big cottonwood, and between times I put up a shed. Then old Greenwood came along with a wagon loaded with whiskey, and he pulled in and began peddling drinks off the tailgate of his wagon.
"I'd taken the trouble to claim a quarter section, so he was on my land. I told him so and he made me no argument but started paying rent. Then Holstrum came in, and he found where my quarter ended and filed on the quarter section right alongside. He put in his store and we had a town. "Today we've got the stockyards and the railroad, so there's eighty-odd people livin' here now."
"Much trouble?"
"Some ... Them Drakos are trouble. They settled down over west of here. There's the old man and three, four boys. Unruly. That's what they are, unruly. Greenwood, Holstrum an' me, why we want this here to be a town. We got it in mind to build a church and a school ... maybe both in one building until we can manage more.
"We made a mistake there at the beginning. We chose Bert Drako for marshal and he straightened out a few bad ones who drifted in ... killed one man. "Then it kind of went to his head. That killing done it, I guess. He's got to thinking he's the whole cheese hereabouts. Him and those boys of his. They've begun to act like they owned the town, and we don't need that. Don't need it a-tall! This here's a good little town.
"Four or five of us got together and formed ourselves a committee. We've transplanted several small trees to start a park, and we're diggin' a well in our spare time ... a town well, and then one for the park, too." He got up. "Well, back to work. If you're still of a mind to do some smithing, you come around. I'll be in here shortly after sunup." Tom Shanaghy walked back uptown and stopped in front of the hotel. For a moment he stood there, looking up and down the dim street, lighted only here and there by windows along the way.
He shook his head in disbelief. This was a town? It was nothing, just a huddle of ramshackle frame buildings built along a railroad track, with nothing anywhere around but bald prairie. Yet the smith had sounded proud, and he seemed to genuinely love the place. How, Shanaghy wondered, could anybody? As for himself, he couldn't get out of it fast enough. He would help the smith tomorrow, as it would serve to pass the time. Besides, he liked the feel of a good hammer in his hand, the red-glow from the forge and the pleasure of shaping something, making something. Maybe that was why these people liked their town, because they had built it themselves, with their own hands and minds. He went upstaiife, turned in and slept well, with a light spatter of rain to aid his slumber and cool things off. Awakening in the morning he thought of the letters and papers in the blanket-roll. He should look at them, as there might be some clue in them as to Rig Barrett and what had happened to him. The sun was not yet up, although it was vaguely gray outside. He lay still for a while, gathering his wits and somewhat uncomfortable. The bed was good enough, and the fresh prairie air through the window was cool and pleasant. The discomfort, he realized, was only within himself, yet he could find no reason for it.
Oddly, New York, to which he would be returning, seemed far away and he had a hard time placing it all in his mind. Every time he tried to bring the city within focus, it faded out, and the feeling irritated him. He bathed, dressed, prepared his things for a quick departure, and then went
"Been smithing here long?"
"Long? Hell, I started this town! Man down the road a piece saw my gear when I was passin' along the trail, and he asked me if I could bend a tire. Well, I did four wagons for him, and meanwhile several people brought horses to be shod. "Out here folks do most of their own shoeing, but it leaves a lot to be said for it. Most of them do a pretty slam-bang job of it. "Well, I worked there for about two weeks and then I moved back under that big cottonwood, and between times I put up a shed. Then old Greenwood came along with a wagon loaded with whiskey, and he pulled in and began peddling drinks off the tailgate of his wagon.
"I'd taken the trouble to claim a quarter section, so he was on my land. I told him so and he made me no argument but started paying rent. Then Holstrum came in, and he found where my quarter ended and filed on the quarter section right alongside. He put in his store and we had a town. "Today we've got the stockyards and the railroad, so there's eighty-odd people livin' here now."
"Much trouble?"
"Some ... Them Drakos are trouble. They settled down over west of here. There's the old man and three, four boys. Unruly. That's what they are, unruly. Greenwood, Holstrum an' me, why we want this here to be a town. We got it in mind to build a church and a school ... maybe both in one building until we can manage more.
"We made a mistake there at the beginning. We chose Bert Drako for marshal and he straightened out a few bad ones who drifted in ... killed one man. "Then it kind of went to his head. That killing done it, I guess. He's got to thinking he's the whole cheese hereabouts. Him and those boys of his. They've begun to act like they owned the town, and we don't need that. Don't need it a-tall! This here's a good little town.
"Four or five of us got together and formed ourselves a committee. We've transplanted several small trees to start a park, and we're diggin' a well in our spare time ... a town well, and then one for the park, too." He got up. "Well, back to work. If you're still of a mind to do some smithing, you come around. I'll be in here shortly after sunup." Tom Shanaghy walked back uptown and stopped in front of the hotel. For a moment he stood there, looking up and down the dim street, lighted only here and there by windows along the way.
He shook his head in disbelief. This was a town? It was nothing, just a huddle of ramshackle frame buildings built along a railroad track, with nothing anywhere around but bald prairie. Yet the smith had sounded proud, and he seemed to genuinely love the place. How, Shanaghy wondered, could anybody? As for himself, he couldn't get out of it fast enough. He would help the smith tomorrow, as it would serve to pass the time. Besides, he liked the feel of a good hammer in his hand, the red-glow from the forge and the pleasure of shaping something, making something. Maybe that was why these people liked their town, because they had built it themselves, with their own hands and minds. He went upstaiife, turned in and slept well, with a light spatter of rain to aid his slumber and cool things off. Awakening in the morning he thought of the letters and papers in the blanket-roll. He should look at them, as there might be some clue in them as to Rig Barrett and what had happened to him. The sun was not yet up, although it was vaguely gray outside. He lay still for a while, gathering his wits and somewhat uncomfortable. The bed was good enough, and the fresh prairie air through the window was cool and pleasant. The discomfort, he realized, was only within himself, yet he could find no reason for it.
Oddly, New York, to which he would be returning, seemed far away and he had a hard time placing it all in his mind. Every time he tried to bring the city within focus, it faded out, and the feeling irritated him. He bathed, dressed, prepared his things for a quick departure, and then went
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