Passin' Through (1985) Read Online Free PDF

silence. One of the men who showed signs of drinking now looked cold sober. He backed his horse a few steps. "It's gettin' late," he suggested.
    Lew didn't like the situation. He looked like he wanted to do something or say something to save face, but everything that came to mind was provocative.
    He wanted to get off the hook and I just didn't give a damn. He'd come to drive two women off a ranch that rightfully belonged to one of them, and I just didn't care what he did, but if he did the wrong thing he'd be bedded down in Boot Hill tomorrow.
    There were four of them and one of me but I knew what I could do and what I had to do. Two of them were ready to run at the first move and the third hadn't made up his mind.
    The one I was going to kill first wasn't the one who put the noose around my neck. It was a square-built gent with a bullet head who sat a bay horse just to the right of Lew. I didn't know his name but he was the tough one.
    I gave them a minute to worry themselves and then said, "Why don't you boys just ride out of here? The gate's open, but be damned sure you close it when you leave."
    Two of them already had their horses moving before I stopped talking.
    Lew, he sat there a minute. He was stubborn and thought well of himself. When he told about this in town, he wanted the story to make him look good.
    "I'm goin', but we'll be seein' you again."
    "Why wait?" I went down the stone steps to the road. "I'm here right now, and maybe Houston Burrows is wantin' comp'ny."
    Lew didn't like it. He backed off and turned his horse. "A man talkin' like that can get hisself killed."
    "Maybe, but I won't go alone. I'll have a couple of dogs to lay at my feet."
    They walked their horses away and did not look back. I stood in the center of the road watching them go, but I wasn't even thinking of them. I was thinking of my two horses in that faraway town and my outfit. If I figured on prospecting I was going to need what I had, if somebody hadn't already gone south with it.
    When I went back in the house they had filled my cup again so I sat down. Mrs. Hollyrood looked across her cup at me. "Mr. Passin', you're a brave man."
    "No, ma'am. Just a man. A man who's spent his life ridin' rough country, an' I just don't know no better."
    "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done."
    "Yes, you do." I looked across the table at her. "You'd have done what I did, only maybe different." I looked over at Matty standing beside the kitchen range. "And she knew what she would do."
    Matty didn't say anything nor turn her head to look at me. That woman . . . well, there was something about her.
    Anyplace like that where there hasn't been a man around keepin' things up will slip into decline. This one had just gotten started, so I went around repairin' a fence rail here, cleanin' stalls there, just generally keepin' myself busy. Also, I kept an eye on the road and on the low hill back of the house.
    There was some fine meadows that would grow a good stand of grass, and I could see where cattle had been feeding under the scrub-oak trees, and bedding down there, too. Later that day I took a ride along the edge of one of the meadows. There were deer tracks, and near a small pool I saw a bear track.
    The country I was riding was higher than the house, and both the house and the road leading past it were clearly visible. The dim game trail I followed led through the scrub oak and along the slope below the ridge. I rode east, constantly looking off toward the La Platas, bulking against the sky to the north. There was a good deal of down timber, as there nearly always is in wild country. A man could made a few trips with a wagon and bring back wood enough for the coming winter. Dipping down, the trail led into the aspen below the highest peak.
    It was very still, there was no sound but the hoof falls of the blue roan. The horse walked, ears pricked, into the stillness of the forest. Finally, we reached the edge where I could see along the trail