Read Online Wild Is the Night by Colleen Quinn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colleen Quinn
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approached the trailman, and at once the laughter died.
“Fifteen dollars a head is good money,” the ranchman agreed. “Except that you’re killing our cattle. I’ve lost two more just this week.”
A murmur went through the crowd as the Texans protested, and the local ranchers nodded in approval.
The trailman tossed back his whiskey and placed the shot glass aside. “There’s no proof that the Longhorns are responsible for your cattle dying.” He stared at the rancher, his eyes an open challenge.
“The fever started within a month of the first drive,” the ranchman continued. “Spanish fever, they call it. Been raising cattle all my life. Never had trouble before. Same thing’s been happening to other ranches. Herb Wessel lost three so far this season. Bob Rutherford, five.”
“That’s a pretty grim charge.” A cowboy stood up, his hand brushing past his gun, the holster jutting forth. “You can’t just blame the Longhorns. Anything could’ve started the trouble. Cattle die every day.”
“Actually, there is proof,” Amanda interjected, fascinated by the discussion and excited that she knew something on the subject. “A veterinarian in England has discovered that splenic fever, also called Spanish fever, is carried by a tick on the Texas Longhorn. His research is well documented.”
The cowboys were silent, stunned by Amanda’s little speech. Luke cursed softly, then got up from the bar, not at all surprised to see the ranchmen getting to their feet and the Texans fumbling for their guns.
“That so?” The trailman, feeling the tension, tried to avoid the coming battle. “Then why aren’t the Longhorns killed?” He grinned, sensing a victory.
Amanda piped up confidently. “It’s obvious, of course. The Texas cattle, having been exposed to the virus for decades, are now immune. What is an annoyance to a Longhorn is deadly to the domestic breed. Just read Professor Gamgee’s treatise on the subject. It’s fascinating—”
“Southern scum.” A ranchman spat. “Go the hell back to Texas and take them filthy things with you.”
Any pretense of civility shattered as the ranchman threw the first punch. Amanda’s mouth dropped in shock as a cowboy fell across her table, scattering her notes. The gaslights shattered as guns blasted, and glass tinkled to the floor. The bargirls screamed, holding onto their plumed fans as if for protection, while the Texans fought back with obvious relish.
“Come on, dammit!” Luke grabbed Amanda, even as she bent down to scoop up her papers. She barely had time to snatch up her bag when Luke hauled her toward the door. Glancing back, Amanda gasped as another fusillade of fire shattered the whiskey bottles behind the bar, and the floor was doused with an amber rush of liquor.
“Jesus.” Luke shoved her through the door as the cattlemen scooped up the whiskey with their hands, gulping down the liquor between punches. Fascinated, Amanda tried to sneak another glance, but Luke pushed her resolutely through the door and out to the dusty boardwalk.
“Where are we going?” Amanda struggled to break free, but Luke held tightly onto her wrist.
“Out of town. Thanks to you, we no longer have a place to stay. When word gets around as to what started that fight, we won’t exactly be welcome. And I have no intention of paying for the damage.”
Amanda grimaced. She hadn’t thought of that. She hadn’t thought of anything except her own interest in the conversation. Clutching her carpetbag, she suddenly realized that she was missing something.
“Wait!” Stopping in the middle of the street, she saw Luke glance back in disgust as she indicated the hotel. “Aesop! I can’t leave without him!”
“Amanda! Forget that stupid owl!” Luke shouted, but she had turned and was heading toward the hotel. Gritting his teeth, he was momentarily tempted to let her go, to take the advantage and head out of town. But as she stood outside the hotel, gunfire
“Fifteen dollars a head is good money,” the ranchman agreed. “Except that you’re killing our cattle. I’ve lost two more just this week.”
A murmur went through the crowd as the Texans protested, and the local ranchers nodded in approval.
The trailman tossed back his whiskey and placed the shot glass aside. “There’s no proof that the Longhorns are responsible for your cattle dying.” He stared at the rancher, his eyes an open challenge.
“The fever started within a month of the first drive,” the ranchman continued. “Spanish fever, they call it. Been raising cattle all my life. Never had trouble before. Same thing’s been happening to other ranches. Herb Wessel lost three so far this season. Bob Rutherford, five.”
“That’s a pretty grim charge.” A cowboy stood up, his hand brushing past his gun, the holster jutting forth. “You can’t just blame the Longhorns. Anything could’ve started the trouble. Cattle die every day.”
“Actually, there is proof,” Amanda interjected, fascinated by the discussion and excited that she knew something on the subject. “A veterinarian in England has discovered that splenic fever, also called Spanish fever, is carried by a tick on the Texas Longhorn. His research is well documented.”
The cowboys were silent, stunned by Amanda’s little speech. Luke cursed softly, then got up from the bar, not at all surprised to see the ranchmen getting to their feet and the Texans fumbling for their guns.
“That so?” The trailman, feeling the tension, tried to avoid the coming battle. “Then why aren’t the Longhorns killed?” He grinned, sensing a victory.
Amanda piped up confidently. “It’s obvious, of course. The Texas cattle, having been exposed to the virus for decades, are now immune. What is an annoyance to a Longhorn is deadly to the domestic breed. Just read Professor Gamgee’s treatise on the subject. It’s fascinating—”
“Southern scum.” A ranchman spat. “Go the hell back to Texas and take them filthy things with you.”
Any pretense of civility shattered as the ranchman threw the first punch. Amanda’s mouth dropped in shock as a cowboy fell across her table, scattering her notes. The gaslights shattered as guns blasted, and glass tinkled to the floor. The bargirls screamed, holding onto their plumed fans as if for protection, while the Texans fought back with obvious relish.
“Come on, dammit!” Luke grabbed Amanda, even as she bent down to scoop up her papers. She barely had time to snatch up her bag when Luke hauled her toward the door. Glancing back, Amanda gasped as another fusillade of fire shattered the whiskey bottles behind the bar, and the floor was doused with an amber rush of liquor.
“Jesus.” Luke shoved her through the door as the cattlemen scooped up the whiskey with their hands, gulping down the liquor between punches. Fascinated, Amanda tried to sneak another glance, but Luke pushed her resolutely through the door and out to the dusty boardwalk.
“Where are we going?” Amanda struggled to break free, but Luke held tightly onto her wrist.
“Out of town. Thanks to you, we no longer have a place to stay. When word gets around as to what started that fight, we won’t exactly be welcome. And I have no intention of paying for the damage.”
Amanda grimaced. She hadn’t thought of that. She hadn’t thought of anything except her own interest in the conversation. Clutching her carpetbag, she suddenly realized that she was missing something.
“Wait!” Stopping in the middle of the street, she saw Luke glance back in disgust as she indicated the hotel. “Aesop! I can’t leave without him!”
“Amanda! Forget that stupid owl!” Luke shouted, but she had turned and was heading toward the hotel. Gritting his teeth, he was momentarily tempted to let her go, to take the advantage and head out of town. But as she stood outside the hotel, gunfire
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