Guardians of the Sage by Harry Sinclair Drago Read Free Book Online Page B

He had an excuse for his tardiness. Jim thought his horse looked as though it had been ridden hard.
    The meeting got under way at last . . . The day had been one to try tempers. A dozen men recounted their verbal clashes with Reb and his men. All agreed that they must stand together.
    Dan Crockett spoke at length, advising them to be patient and stay within the law. They listened, but there was no enthusiasm for what he had to say.
    Quantrell spoke, fanning their hatred of the Bar S.
    â€œThe law’s too one-sided for me!” he bellowed. “The other fellow’s got it all! We got to take care of this in our own way—without the help of any outsiders!”
    Evidently it was what they wanted to hear, for they cheered him when he finished. Montana knew this reference to outsiders was directed at him. He couldn’t escape the feeling that the fight was resolving itself into a personal one between Quantrell and himself. His face was stern and uncompromising as he arose and faced them.
    â€œI want to remind you men that when anybody labels me an outsider that you consider the facts,” he began. “I saw this trouble coming long before any of you gave it a thought. If Henry Stall had got the reservation—where would you be now?”
    â€œWe’d be on our way out!” Dan exclaimed courageously. “There ain’t a man here but has to thank you for what you did, Montana.”
    There was muttered approval of this, in which Quantrell did not join. He leaned on the corral gate with sullen defiance in his eyes.
    â€œWell, if I was with you then, I’m with you now,” Montana continued. “And I’m with you all the way. Loose talk almost cost you the reservation—the same sort of talk that refers to me now as an outsider.” His eyes were fixed on Quantrell. A sneer curled the big fellow’s mouth. “You’ve been told that the law was all on the other fellow’s side. It’s true. And it’s the best reason I know for staying clear of it. You’ve got your homes here. You’ve got to think of your wives and children. Blood won’t help them.”
    He paused to let the effect of his words sink in.
    â€œThis fight has just begun, and yet, your patience is gone already. You can’t win that way! My God, men, where is the iron in you? You haven’t lost yet! Don’t let yourselves be stampeded into taking the law into your own hands!”
    Lance Morrow stepped into the cleared space in front of Jim. He was a little bandy-legged man, nearing seventy, and the father of five strapping sons.
    â€œMontana, I was nursed on a rifle. I’ve lived with one all my life, but I was taught never to take hit down unless I couldn’t git justice no other way. I don’t want to take hit down now. My boys feel as I do about hit. But what are we agoin’ to do, Montana? Man to man, what hope have we got?”
    The old man had put it concretely. That was what they all wanted to know; what hope did they have? They waited anxiously for Montana to answer.
    Jim refused to be hurried.
    â€œWell,” he said at last, “I never knew Henry Stall to send bad dollars after good ones when time had proved that he had a losing proposition on his hands. If you stand pat and stick together, you can beat him. He can’t consolidate his water unless some one of you sells him land. The man who lets him have one acre is a traitor to you all!”
    â€œA steer needs grass as well as water. It’s going to cost the Bar S a lot of money to keep moving their stuff. It won’t put any fat on a yearling. And don’t forget, they can’t keep on driving cattle across your range. That’s been threshed out in this county before. The shoe is pinching you now, but it will be the other way around before snow flies.”
    His logic swayed the majority of them. They effected an organization of a sort under Dan Crockett’s leadership