Robber's Roost (1989) by Zane Grey Read Free Book Online

drink Hays had brought along was not conducive to quiet nerves. Jim found himself confronted by a choice of drifting on in the ways of these men or returning to the lone-wolf character which had long been his. For the time being he chose the former.
    Despite the abundance of water and feed thereabouts, some of the horses had strayed. Lincoln came in with the last few and he was disgruntled. Hays cursed him roundly. They got a late start.
    Nevertheless, Hays assured Jim mat they would reach Star Ranch toward evening.
    The trail led up a wide, shallow, gravelly canyon full of green growths. Like a black cloud the mountains loomed ahead and above.
    Jim was glad to ride up at last out of that interminable canyon into another zone--the slope of the foothills. At last the cedars!
    Was there ever a rider who did not love the cedars--sight of their rich, green foliage and purple berries, their sheathed bark hanging in strips, their dead snags, their protection from wind and cold, their dry, sweet fragrance?
    But upon looking back Jim forgot the foreground. Had he ridden out of that awful gulf of colors and streaks? Hays caught up with him.
    "Come on, Jim. This here ain't nothin'. Wait till we get around an' up a bit. Then I'll show you somethin'."
    They rode on side by side. The trail led into a wider one, coming around from the northeast. Jim did not miss fresh hoof tracks, and Hays was not far behind in discovering them.
    "Woods full of riders," he muttered, curiously.
    "How long have you been gone, Hays?" inquired Jim.
    "From Star Ranch? Let's see. Must be a couple of weeks. Too long, by gosh! Herrick sent me to Grand Junction. An' on the way back I circled. Thet's how I happened to make Green River."
    "Did you expect to meet Happy Jack and Lincoln there?"
    "Shore. An' some more of my outfit. But I guess you'll more'n make up for the other fellers."
    "Hope I don't disappoint you," said Jim, dryly.
    "Wal, you haven't so far. Only I'd feel better, Jim, if you'd come clean with who you air an' what you air."
    "Hays, I didn't ask you to take me on."
    "Shore, you're right. Reckon I figgered everybody knew Hank Hays.
    Why there's a town down here named after me--Hankville."
    "A town? No one would think it."
    "Wal, it ain't much to brag on. A few cabins, the first of which I threw up with my father years ago. In his later years he was a prospector--before thet a Mormon. I never had no Mormon in me. We lived there for years. I trapped fur up here in the mountains. In fact I got to know the whole country except thet Black Dragon Canyon, an' thet hell hole of the Dirty Devil. . . . My old man was shot by rustlers."
    "I gathered you'd no use for rustlers. . . . Well then, Hays, how'd you fall into your present line of business?"
    "Haw! Haw! Present line. Thet's a good one. Now, Jim, what do you reckon thet line is?"
    "You seem to be versatile, Hays. But if I was to judge from our meeting with the fat Mormon at the ferry, I'd say you relieved people of surplus cash."
    "Very nice put, Jim. I'd hate to be a low-down thief. . . . Jim, I was an honest man once, not so long ago. It was a woman who made me what I am today. Thet's why I'm cold on women."
    "Were you ever married?" went on Jim, stirred a little by the other's crude pathos.
    "Thet was the hell of it," replied Hays, and he seemed to lose desire to confide further.
    Jim revolved in mind a story to tell this robber, if only to please him and establish some kind of background.
    "Well, Hank, my story isn't anything to excite pity, like yours.
    And sure not friendship."
    "Ahuh. I had you figgered, Jim," replied Hays, wagging his head.
    "Shore Jim Wall ain't your right handle. Wal, any handle will do out here. . . . Don't be afraid to tell me about yourself, now or some other time."
    "Thanks, Hank. A man gets to be cautious. A rolling stone gathers no moss."
    "Wal, I'd rather train with enemies than alone. I can't stand bein' alone much."
    "That accounts for Lincoln. He rubs you the wrong way,