Trouble Shooter (1974) by Louis - Hopalong 04 L'amour Read Free Book Online
Authors: Louis - Hopalong 04 L'amour
the bit. Hopalong's eyes studied the wide range and saw in the distance the roofs of the Box T buildings. By now Pike Towne should be nearing the Picket Fork and well past the Tredway ranch.
More and more his eyes studied the range. It had been badly overgrazed, overgrazed to the point where a little more might ruin it for good. Now the cattle had evidently been moved north toward where the PM Ranch may have once stood, for he saw none at all on this dead or dying grass. Still, the land showed every sign of being overloaded, a condition not too uncommon in the early days of fencing, when cattlemen were still used to the old ways of free range.
Just what was Tredway's financial situation? It might be important to know that. Was he actually getting these cattle out
of the brush because he had nothing else worth shipping? It would also be important to know what cattle the man had shipped in the past.
Facing the end of the trail as he rode into the yard at the Box T was the ranch house, a long, low building with a wide veranda fronting it. To the right was the bunkhouse and to the left the stables, toolshed, and blacksmith shop. Behind the barn but in sight were the horse corrals.
The only man in sight sat smoking on the steps of the bunk-house. As the sound of the horse's hooves came to him, he turned sharply, then got to his feet as he recognized Hopalong. He spoke sharply over his shoulder and moved slightly out of the way as Vin Carter showed in the doorway.
Carter stared for a minute and then walked down the steps. "You huntin' trouble?" he demanded. "I told you to stay off this place!"
'Tour boss thinks different," Hopalong replied calmly. "I'm working on this spread."
Carter's eyes glinted. "Well then, that puts you under my orders!"
Hopalong smiled cheerfully, shoving his hat back from the faded white scar on his brow. Mildly amused, he looked at Carter. There was innate viciousness in the man, and if he avoided trouble with him, he would be fortunate. "Sorry, Carter, I'm under nobody's orders. I'm contracting. I'm getting cattle out of the pear forest for Tredway."
Carter stared, then he laughed. "Why, you fool! Nobody can get them cows out of there! You ever tried to use a rope in brush so thick you can barely push a way through the thinnest parts?
You ever tackled a sixteen-hundred-pound longhorn at close quarters? How many men you usin?"
"One," Hopalong said, "besides myself. We'll handle it."
Carter snorted and spat. "Why, I was aimin' to take your scalp, but I'd be a fool to waste lead on a tinhorn that would tackle a job like that! You won't last a week!" He laughed. "Go to it. If you get a hundred head out of there, I'll eat my shirt an' yours, too!"
Hopalong chuckled. "I've got to get out more than that. I've got to get five hundred head out or no deal."
Vin Carter's eyes glinted. 'Teah? This I gotta see!"
"You will!" Hopalong was cheerful. He turned Topper to the north and followed out, riding along the tracks of the broad-tired wagon. Dust arose at each step the horse took. The Box T range was in bad shape. Very bad.
From Carter's attitude it was obvious that the Box T hands wanted no part of the forest of prickly pear and mesquite, and knowing such country, he could not find it in his heart to blame them. It was hell to work, and nobody knew that better than he.
The sun was high, and he mopped his brow and rode on, the salt of the sweat smarting his eyes. The sun reflected from the barren range as from a desert or salt bed. The mountains were close now, and the towering finger of Chimney Butte was plain to see. Soon he should be sighting Brushy Knoll. His eyes swung eastward then, toward the strange, high mesa that was Babylon Pastures. The mystery of the place intrigued him. The bridge was down, they had said, on the trail that led that way, and that trail was miles away to the east, but suppose there was
another way? A route that led to the vicinity of Brushy Knoll, where strange lights had
More and more his eyes studied the range. It had been badly overgrazed, overgrazed to the point where a little more might ruin it for good. Now the cattle had evidently been moved north toward where the PM Ranch may have once stood, for he saw none at all on this dead or dying grass. Still, the land showed every sign of being overloaded, a condition not too uncommon in the early days of fencing, when cattlemen were still used to the old ways of free range.
Just what was Tredway's financial situation? It might be important to know that. Was he actually getting these cattle out
of the brush because he had nothing else worth shipping? It would also be important to know what cattle the man had shipped in the past.
Facing the end of the trail as he rode into the yard at the Box T was the ranch house, a long, low building with a wide veranda fronting it. To the right was the bunkhouse and to the left the stables, toolshed, and blacksmith shop. Behind the barn but in sight were the horse corrals.
The only man in sight sat smoking on the steps of the bunk-house. As the sound of the horse's hooves came to him, he turned sharply, then got to his feet as he recognized Hopalong. He spoke sharply over his shoulder and moved slightly out of the way as Vin Carter showed in the doorway.
Carter stared for a minute and then walked down the steps. "You huntin' trouble?" he demanded. "I told you to stay off this place!"
'Tour boss thinks different," Hopalong replied calmly. "I'm working on this spread."
Carter's eyes glinted. "Well then, that puts you under my orders!"
Hopalong smiled cheerfully, shoving his hat back from the faded white scar on his brow. Mildly amused, he looked at Carter. There was innate viciousness in the man, and if he avoided trouble with him, he would be fortunate. "Sorry, Carter, I'm under nobody's orders. I'm contracting. I'm getting cattle out of the pear forest for Tredway."
Carter stared, then he laughed. "Why, you fool! Nobody can get them cows out of there! You ever tried to use a rope in brush so thick you can barely push a way through the thinnest parts?
You ever tackled a sixteen-hundred-pound longhorn at close quarters? How many men you usin?"
"One," Hopalong said, "besides myself. We'll handle it."
Carter snorted and spat. "Why, I was aimin' to take your scalp, but I'd be a fool to waste lead on a tinhorn that would tackle a job like that! You won't last a week!" He laughed. "Go to it. If you get a hundred head out of there, I'll eat my shirt an' yours, too!"
Hopalong chuckled. "I've got to get out more than that. I've got to get five hundred head out or no deal."
Vin Carter's eyes glinted. 'Teah? This I gotta see!"
"You will!" Hopalong was cheerful. He turned Topper to the north and followed out, riding along the tracks of the broad-tired wagon. Dust arose at each step the horse took. The Box T range was in bad shape. Very bad.
From Carter's attitude it was obvious that the Box T hands wanted no part of the forest of prickly pear and mesquite, and knowing such country, he could not find it in his heart to blame them. It was hell to work, and nobody knew that better than he.
The sun was high, and he mopped his brow and rode on, the salt of the sweat smarting his eyes. The sun reflected from the barren range as from a desert or salt bed. The mountains were close now, and the towering finger of Chimney Butte was plain to see. Soon he should be sighting Brushy Knoll. His eyes swung eastward then, toward the strange, high mesa that was Babylon Pastures. The mystery of the place intrigued him. The bridge was down, they had said, on the trail that led that way, and that trail was miles away to the east, but suppose there was
another way? A route that led to the vicinity of Brushy Knoll, where strange lights had
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