Northfield Read Online Free PDF

then some, off the big roads, all the way to Council Bluffs. Frank, he wanted to go see his honey, as pretty a thing as they come, over in Omaha, so he left. Dingus and Chadwell rode out, too, said they’d rendezvous with Frank that night. Rest of us would catch a train, us decked out in our finest business suits we bought from our Rocky Cut takings, and we’d meet up at Albert Lea.
    “Who’s Albert Lea?” I asked before we split up at Council Bluffs.
    “Not a who,” Chadwell barked back, not a-knowing that I was just a-making a joke. “It’s a town. They got a good livery there.”
    I taken out my pipe and whistled. “Now, that’s something a body should aspire to. I’d like to have a town named after me…a big town with a fine livery. McClelland Miller, Missouri. Kinda catchy, don’t you think?”
    Only Jim Younger thought I was funny, but that was all right. We shaken hands, Dingus rode off with Chadwell, a-leaving us near the depot. So as not to draw much attention to ourselves, the rest of us separated. Bob Younger and Charlie Pitts found a hotel, Cole wandered over to the wagon yard by hisself, and Jim and I headed to the man and bought ourselves tickets to Albert Lea. Train would be along in an hour, the fellow told us, so we just waited on the bench, sharing an airtight of peaches. Rest of us train riders would probably follow the next day or thereabouts.
    “You know what?” I asked Jim while a-rolling up my ticket stub and a-pushing it through one of the bullet holes in my hat.
    “What’s that, Clell?”
    “I’m a-thinking this’ll be the first train I ever rode that we wasn’t gonna rob.”
    Jim chuckled a mite over that one, then flicked a finger out at my plug hat.
    “You might want to consider buying yourself a new hat, Clell.”
    “I like this one.”
    “Those three holes might draw unwarranted attention.”
    “Damn’ right,” I said. “It’ll show them Yanks what a good pistol fighter can do.” I held out that hat for Jim’s inspection because you could cover them holes with a dollar coin.
    “That speaks highly of the man doing the shooting.”
    “Damn’ right,” I said again. “I done it. Didn’t I tell you about it? Naw, I reckon that was Dingus I told.”
    So I up and retold the story. I’d been at Uncle Bill’s after Rocky Cut, went upstairs, hung my hat on the bedpost, and turned in. Long about three o’clock, I waken up, but still half asleep, and I see this figure, mostly shadow, and, hell, got spooked that it’s some law dog. Now I admit that earlier Uncle Bill and me had shared some “nockum stiff” he had brewed. Anyhow, I rolled over, a-pretending I’m still asleep, ripped my Remington from underneath the pillow, and put three bullets into that law’s head. Quick as you please, I’m a-hitching up my trousers and a-trying to find my boots when Uncle Bill come a-barging in, just a-blasting me for being a damned fool a-waking up the family and all. That’s when I realized I had just kilt my hat.
    Done with my tale, Jim drained the peach juice and tossed the empty tin in a trash box. “I left California to put my life in the hands of Dingus, who blew off the tip of his finger, and you, who shot your own hat.” He taken off his hat and run his fingers through his hair. “It’s a wonder I ain’t been killed yet.”
    I laughed at that one, stretched out my boots, and waited for the train.
    Minnesota was a mite cooler than I had expected, but I warrant hell’s cooler than Missouri in August. Albert Lea seemed to be a pretty fancy city, too, and we lugged our saddles and tack over to this big old brick building called City Livery, Feed & Sale Stable over on Broadway and Clark.
    Chadwell, he hadn’t told no stretchers when he spoke highly of Minnesota horseflesh. We hadn’t been there five minutes before Jim taken a fancy to a blood bay thoroughbred.
    “You gentlemen want reliable horses, you’ve come to the right place. Name’s Hall.” We turned from