Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
Cheyenne used to be a right-smart man, before he had trouble with that woman of his." "Yes? He told me about it," said Bartley, not caring to hear any more of the details of Cheyenne's trouble. "'Most everybody knows it," stated the smith. "And if I was Sears I'd sure leave this country." "So should I. I've seen Cheyenne handle a gun."
A big white and red steamer was creeping up stream over the shallow crossing of the Cheyenne's bar, sounding every foot of the water fallen far below the usual summer level. It was the snag-boat. Crossing her bows and drifting past her slowly, I stood up and shouted to the party in the pilot house: "I want to speak to the captain." He came out on the hurricane deck the man who invented the river.
Bartley walked over to the desk. Wishful kept on sweeping. Bartley glanced at the signatures on the register. Near the bottom of the page he found Cheyenne's name, and opposite it "Arizona." "Where does Cheyenne belong, anyway?" queried Bartley. Wishful stopped sweeping and leaned on his broom. "Wherever he happens to be." And Wishful sighed and began sweeping again.
Cheyenne made the saddle on the run, reined toward the corral, and, passing it on the run, turned in the saddle to glance back. Sneed was in the doorway. Cheyenne jerked his horse to one side and dug in the spurs. Sneed's rifle barked and a bullet whined past Cheyenne's head. He crouched in the saddle. Again a bullet whistled across the sunlit clearing. The cow-horse was going strong.
He leaned forward and touched Cheyenne's arm. "Why not give up the idea of er getting Sears; and settle down, and make a home for Little Jim?" "When Aunt Jane took him, the understandin' was that Jimmy was to be raised respectable, which is the same as tellin' me that I don't have nothin' to do with raisin' him. Me, I got to keep movin'."
Cheyenne determined to give his enemy that chance, and then kill him. But thus far Panhandle had not appeared on the street in the daytime, so far as Cheyenne knew. Incidentally, Senator Steve had warned Bartley to keep away from the Hole-in-the-Wall district after dark, intimating that there was more in the wind than Cheyenne's feud with Panhandle Sears.
They had about finished breakfast, and shortly after Bartley was seated they rose. On their way out they stopped at Cheyenne's table. "Don't forget to stop by when you ride our way," said one of the women. Bartley noticed the toil-worn hands, and the lines that hard work and worry had graven in her face. Her "best clothes" rather accentuated these details.
Presently Dobe was new shod and ready for the road. Bartley paid the smith, thanked him for a good job, and rode south. Evidently Cheyenne's open quarrel with Sears was the talk of the countryside. It was expected of Cheyenne that he would "clean the slate and start fresh" some day. And cleaning the slate meant killing Sears.
Bartley spent the forenoon with Cheyenne, prowling about the old town, interested in its quaint unusualness. The afternoon heat drove him to the shade of the hotel veranda, and, feeling unaccountably drowsy, he finally went to his room, and, stretching out on the bed, fell asleep. He was awakened by Cheyenne's knock at the door. Supper was ready.
Then he strode through to the front of the barn. He could hear loud talking in the saloon opposite and thought he could distinguish Cheyenne's voice. Bartley wondered what would happen in there, and when things would begin to pop, if there was to be any popping. He felt foolishly helpless and inefficient rather a poor excuse for a partner, just then.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking