governor," Ben Stowe replied , "married Jack Moorman's daughter, that' s all. And if that isn't enough, the governor's fathe r rode in here on a cattle drive as a partner o f Jack's, and after his father died, Jac k practically raised him. He was in Washingto n when old Jack was killed, and if he had bee n governor then, he'd have raised hell."
Gentry shifted uneasily in his chair. Al l the pleased excitement of Shevlin's return wa s gone. He took his feet down from the desk an d wished he had never come to see Ben. Things jus t weren't the same any more. Ben was impatient al l the time; he never took time for a drink with him, neve r talked it up like in the old days. And now this about th e governor. Of course, he remembered it, now tha t he thought of it. He had forgotten, that was all.
Anyway, Jack Moorman had been dead fo r years--that was all over.
"Hollister couldn't prove anything," he said.
"He wasn't even there."
"There are some who were," Stowe replie d sourly, "and when a horse starts swishin' hi s tail there's no telling what burrs he'l l pick up."
Gentry was suddenly hot and uncomfortable. H e had never forgotten the contempt in old Jack' s eyes as they battered him to his knees. Tha t look had penetrated to the very core of Gentry' s being, and for months he had waked up shaking with frigh t and bathed in sweat, remembering those eyes.
The old man never had a chance. Struck dow n from behind, his gun belt had been cut through, removin g any chance of resistance. They had not wanted to us e a gun or a knife. There was bad feeling between th e miners and the cattlemen, and it was pay day night.
They planned for it to look like something don e by drunken miners.
"If you think so much of Shevlin," Stowe wa s saying, "you get him out of here. He could mak e trouble."
When the door closed after Gentry, Stowe pu t his feet on his desk. No need to tell Gentr y the word on Shevlin was already out. There was no longe r any need to tell Gentry anything. After the y moved the gold, something would have to be done about Gi b Gentry. He had outlived his usefulness.
Gentry stood outside under the awning staring dow n the street. He bit the end from a fresh cigar.
The hell with Ben Stowe. The hell with the m all.
He had had more to drink than he had ever ha d before, but what did it mean, after all? He neve r had any fun any more, and Stowe had changed.
Hardly talked to him any more, and whenever Gentr y came around Ben made it seem as if he wa s talking nonsense, or was acting like a fool.
Gib Gentry stood there on the street an d looked bleakly into a future that held n o promise. He wasn't a kid any more. And h e was hitting the bottle too hard. He had known tha t for some time, but he had never actually allowed i t to shape into words before. Uneasily, his thoughts kep t returning to Ben Stowe. Ben was a hard man.
He had best step very lightly.
Suddenly he was swept by anger. Ste p lightly? Who the hell did Ben think he was , anyway? Why the hell should he step lightly fo r Ben Stowe or any other man?
Now Ben had told him to get Mike Shevli n out of town. Just how was he to go about that? It ha d been a long time since Gib had seen Mike o r heard more than vague rumors of him, but an y man with half an eye could see Mike Shevli n had been riding where the owl hooted and the long wind s blew ... no mistake about that.
It was a hell of a situation when a man lik e Shevlin might be killed--and he would take a lot of killing. Ben Stowe could be almight y dumb sometimes. He should be able to see that the bes t thing he could do would be to leave Mike Shevli n alone.
Gib Gentry had always considered himself a har d dangerous man, and he had been all of that, but h e was also a man with a love for reliving the old days , sharing a bottle, and talking of the old times. Th e truth was that Gib, like many another, had never quit e grown up. In reliving the old days and replayin g the old games, he avoided a hard
Gentry shifted uneasily in his chair. Al l the pleased excitement of Shevlin's return wa s gone. He took his feet down from the desk an d wished he had never come to see Ben. Things jus t weren't the same any more. Ben was impatient al l the time; he never took time for a drink with him, neve r talked it up like in the old days. And now this about th e governor. Of course, he remembered it, now tha t he thought of it. He had forgotten, that was all.
Anyway, Jack Moorman had been dead fo r years--that was all over.
"Hollister couldn't prove anything," he said.
"He wasn't even there."
"There are some who were," Stowe replie d sourly, "and when a horse starts swishin' hi s tail there's no telling what burrs he'l l pick up."
Gentry was suddenly hot and uncomfortable. H e had never forgotten the contempt in old Jack' s eyes as they battered him to his knees. Tha t look had penetrated to the very core of Gentry' s being, and for months he had waked up shaking with frigh t and bathed in sweat, remembering those eyes.
The old man never had a chance. Struck dow n from behind, his gun belt had been cut through, removin g any chance of resistance. They had not wanted to us e a gun or a knife. There was bad feeling between th e miners and the cattlemen, and it was pay day night.
They planned for it to look like something don e by drunken miners.
"If you think so much of Shevlin," Stowe wa s saying, "you get him out of here. He could mak e trouble."
When the door closed after Gentry, Stowe pu t his feet on his desk. No need to tell Gentr y the word on Shevlin was already out. There was no longe r any need to tell Gentry anything. After the y moved the gold, something would have to be done about Gi b Gentry. He had outlived his usefulness.
Gentry stood outside under the awning staring dow n the street. He bit the end from a fresh cigar.
The hell with Ben Stowe. The hell with the m all.
He had had more to drink than he had ever ha d before, but what did it mean, after all? He neve r had any fun any more, and Stowe had changed.
Hardly talked to him any more, and whenever Gentr y came around Ben made it seem as if he wa s talking nonsense, or was acting like a fool.
Gib Gentry stood there on the street an d looked bleakly into a future that held n o promise. He wasn't a kid any more. And h e was hitting the bottle too hard. He had known tha t for some time, but he had never actually allowed i t to shape into words before. Uneasily, his thoughts kep t returning to Ben Stowe. Ben was a hard man.
He had best step very lightly.
Suddenly he was swept by anger. Ste p lightly? Who the hell did Ben think he was , anyway? Why the hell should he step lightly fo r Ben Stowe or any other man?
Now Ben had told him to get Mike Shevli n out of town. Just how was he to go about that? It ha d been a long time since Gib had seen Mike o r heard more than vague rumors of him, but an y man with half an eye could see Mike Shevli n had been riding where the owl hooted and the long wind s blew ... no mistake about that.
It was a hell of a situation when a man lik e Shevlin might be killed--and he would take a lot of killing. Ben Stowe could be almight y dumb sometimes. He should be able to see that the bes t thing he could do would be to leave Mike Shevli n alone.
Gib Gentry had always considered himself a har d dangerous man, and he had been all of that, but h e was also a man with a love for reliving the old days , sharing a bottle, and talking of the old times. Th e truth was that Gib, like many another, had never quit e grown up. In reliving the old days and replayin g the old games, he avoided a hard
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