Cattle stealing -- Fiction; Cowboys -- Fiction; Gunfighters -- Fiction; Love stories; Western stories
Sheathing one of his weapons, but carrying the other at a threatening
angle, Bertram turned back to the barroom. “Laroque,” he said, “see
that these two disabled outlaws are properly guarded until the sheriff
arrives.” Then, picking up Hoog’s whisky glass, Bertram held it out to
Laroque. “Here, Ed, take this whisky glass in the palm of your hand.
Careful, now, and don’t touch that powder on the outside of the glass.
That’s state evidence against this assassin, Hoog, and his employer,
Swingley. Put it away in your safe, and the district attorney will be
in here in a few minutes to get it. If you’ve brushed so much as a
speck of the dust off that glass, you’ll be run out of town.
Swingley’s reign is ended in this county. We’re going to hand these
assassins over to the court, and we’ll see that they get what is
coming to them. From now on law and order are going to rule here.”
Paying no attention to the questions and congratulations that the men
showered upon him, the Texan made his way to the door. As he untied
his horse, he could hear the babel of voices, as the cow-punchers,
with their tongues loosened, began to crowd about Swingley and Hoog.
CHAPTER X
THE TEXAN HEARS FROM HOME.
Uncle Billy Coyle, after having, as he thought, catalogued every
living thing that ranged the hills and plains of Wyoming, had run
across an entirely new specimen. It was the human being in love that
bothered Uncle Billy.
“I’ve studied the effects of loco weed on cows and horses,” observed
Uncle Billy to Alma Caldwell, “but the vagaries of human beings, who
have been attacked by the love germ, are past all scientific
consideration. Now you admit that you’re in love with Milton Bertram,
and that ingenuous young Texan has confided in me that he thinks more
of your lightest word than the council of all the encyclopedias I have
in my library. Yet apparently something seems to be holding you as far
apart as it is possible for persons to get.”
“If you’re going to start on that subject again, Uncle Billy, I’m
going to leave you,” said Alma, flicking disconsolately at a fallen
leaf with her quirt. “I came over to tell you how well little Jimmy is
getting along, and how he took his first horseback ride to-day. I
didn’t care to hear about Bertram.”
“Well, you’ll have to hear considerable talk about him, wherever you
go,” observed the naturalist. “When a young fellow nails two such
gunmen as Tom Hoog and Asa Swingley, and practically ends the reign of
assassination and terror in this part of the State, he is bound to
figure in the general conversation.”
The girl did not reply, and Uncle Billy continued gently:
“If you’re thinking about your stepfather, girl, it’s time I told you
something. Nick Caldwell was a good man in many ways, but in some
other ways he let his greed run away with him. He took good care of
you, which I always held so strongly in his favor that I never took
him to task for some of the things he did which I knew was wrong.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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