Novel 1956 - Silver Canyon (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF Page B

my tired buckskin, I put the horse up the trail at a dead run, Nick and Zeb right behind me.
    Then I saw the flicker of flames and, racing up, drew rein sharply.
    The house was a charred ruin, with only a few flames still flickering. The barn was gone, the corrals had been pulled down.
    â€œBall!” I yelled it, panic rising in me. “Ball!”
    And above the feeble sound of flames I heard a faint cry.
    He was hidden in a niche of rock near the spring, and the miracle was that he had lived long enough to tell his story. Fairly riddled with bullets, his clothes were charred and his legs had been badly burned. It took only a glance to know the old man was dying…there was no chance, none at all.
    Behind me I heard Nick’s sharp-drawn breath, and Zeb swore with bitter feeling.
    Ball’s fierce old eyes pleaded with me. “Don’t…don’t let ’em git the place! Don’t…never!”
    His eyes went beyond me to Nick and Zeb. “You witness. His now. I leave all I have to Matt…to Brennan. Never to sell! Never to give up!”
    â€œWho was it?”
    Down on my knees beside the old man, I came to realize the affection I’d had for him. Only a few days had we been together, but they had been good days, and there had been rare understanding between us. And he was going, shot down and left for dead in a burning house. For the first time I wanted to kill.
    I wanted it so that my hands shook and my voice trembled. I wanted it so that the tears in my eyes were there as much from anger as from sorrow.
    â€œPinder!” His voice was only a hoarse whisper. “Rollie Pinder, he…was dressed like…you. I let him in, then…Strange thing…thought I saw Park.”
    â€œMorgan Park?” I was incredulous.
    His lips stirred, trying to shape words, but the words would not take form. He looked up at me, and he tried to smile.…He died that way, lying there on the ground with the fire-light flickering on his face, and a cold wind coming along from the hills.
    â€œDid you hear him say that Park was among them?”
    â€œAin’t reasonable. He’s thick with the Maclarens.”
    The light had been bad, Ball undoubtedly had been mistaken. Yet I made a mental reservation to check on Morgan Park’s whereabouts.
    The fire burned low and the night moved in with more clouds, shutting out the stars and gathering rich and black in the canyons. Occasional sparks flew up, and there was the smell of smoke and charred wood.
    A ranch had been given me, but I had lost a friend. The road before me now stretched long and lonely, a road I must walk with my gun in my hand.
    Standing there in the darkness, I made a vow that if there was no law here to punish the Pinders, and I knew no move would be made against them, I’d take the law in my own hand. Rollie would die and Jim would die, and every man who rode with them would live to rue that day.
    And to the Benaras boys I said as much. They nodded, knowing how I felt. They were young men from a land of feud, men of strong friendship and bitter hatred, and of fights to the end.
    â€œHe was a good man,” Zeb said. “Pa liked him.”

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    F OR TWO DAYS we combed the draws, gathering cattle. At the end of the second day we had only three hundred head. Rustling by the big brands had sadly depleted the herds of the Two-Bar.
    We made our gather in the bottom of Cottonwood Wash, where there was water and grass. Once in that bottom, it was easy to hold the cows.
    â€œCome morning, we’ll start our drive.”
    Nick looked around at me. “Figure to leave the ranch unguarded?”
    â€œIf they move in,” I told him, “they can move out again or be buried there.”
    The canyon channeled the drive and the cattle were in good shape and easy to handle. It took us all day to make the drive, skirting the mesa I had crossed in my first ride to Organ Rock. My side pained me very little