Forty-Four Caliber Justice by Donald L. Robertson Read Free Book Online

“this is our wrangler, Arlo Paxton. Arlo, Clay Barlow, out of the hill country.”
    “Howdy, boy. You goin’ to be ridin’ along with us?”
    “Yes, sir, I’m headed for San Felipe del Rio.”
    “Good, we can always use another gun. Why don’t you toss your extra gear in a wagon and run your horses with the remuda. Two more won’t make a heap of difference.”
    “Ya, dat’s a goot idea, Clay,” Helmut Tropf said. “Put your things in the third wagon. There be extra space in that one.”
    “Why, thank you both. That’ll make it some easier.”
    Clay picked up his extra saddle and panniers and headed for the third wagon. He was just pulling the Roper out of its scabbard when a bearded, burly man walked around from the opposite side and placed his hands on his hips.
    “Whatcha doin’ at my wagon, boy?”
    Clay nodded. “Howdy. Mr. Tropf said it was okay for me to put my gear in this wagon.” He picked up the saddle and dropped it into the back of the wagon.
    “Well, I sure as blazes didn’t. Now git that saddle out of there, and git it out right now.”
    “Mister, I’m not looking for trouble here. Mr. Tropf owns this wagon, and I reckon what he says goes.” Clay picked up one of the panniers and dropped it into the wagon.
    The big man’s face clouded over, and his little, beady eyes almost disappeared under thick eyebrows. He stepped forward, his hands clenched.
    “Nestler! Leave the boy alone,” Tropf yelled from the fire. “I told him to put his tack in your vagon. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”
    Nestler glared at Clay. “We ain’t done, boy.”
    Clay said nothing as he picked up the remaining pannier with his left hand and dropped it into the wagon, his shotgun loosely gripped in his right hand.
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Tropf,” Nestler said. “I just didn’t know he had permission, what with the weight and all. Just wanted to save your stock.”
    Tropf nodded and turned back to the fire.
    Nestler strode toward the second fire, his fists still clenched.
    Clay walked over to where Jake and Arlo were standing, away from the fire. Darkness had settled on the countryside. A couple of coyotes on the north ridge, above the camp, were serenading the moon. Night animals were shuffling in the brush outside the wagons.
    “You got a problem there, boy,” Jake said. “His name is Cain Nestler. Don’t know much about him, except I don’t like him.”
    “Yep,” Arlo said. “I reckon he’s mean clear through. Always pickin’ on the other men. ’Specially those he thinks he can buffalo. He’s hard on the stock too. Never liked a man what didn’t treat his stock right.”
    “Mr. Coleman, I’m not looking for a fight. But I won’t run from one either.”
    “You’ll have it to do, Clay, I promise you,” Jake said. “Now, what kind of shotgun you got there?”
    “This is a Roper. It shoots four shells just as fast as you can pull the hammer back.”
    “You don’t say,” Arlo chimed in. “Never in my life seen a shotgun like that. What with that one, short barrel, I took it for a single shot, muzzle loader at that.”
    “Let me show you how it works. You open up this gate on the top, and you can put the shells right in here. It’ll take four. Then, when you’re ready to shoot, just pull back the hammer.”
    Both Jake and Arlo had leaned over, examining the Roper. “What’ll they think of next?” Arlo said. “Just imagine, four shots without reloading, coming out of a single-barrel shotgun. That’ll sure be a surprise for whoever’s on the receiving end.”
    The three moved over to the fire and got some beans and venison, then moved back. Jake and Arlo leaned against a wagon wheel, and Clay sat cross-legged on the ground. Clay ate quickly, then got up and spooned out another plate of beans. “Mighty good,” he said.
    The others looked up and laughed. “Don’t let Cookie hear that, it’ll go to his head.” Guffaws followed the man’s