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THE LEGENDS OF THE WEST
In this exciting collection of short stories, Louis L’Amour, the legendary voice of the American West, celebrates the unique breed of men who worked the great cattle ranches. Men like Dan Regan, who refused to surrender when trouble came . . . Con Fargo, who would fight for what was his—despite the odds . . . Rowdy Horn, a small-time rancher with big-time dreams . . . Tandy Thayer, too loyal to forget a friend . . . Bill Carey, who might have fallen low, but not low enough to let the likes of Tabat Ryerson ride off with a woman like Jane Conway . . . and in the classic title story, Danny Lonigan, a hard rider who faced a group of rustlers without fear—or mercy.
Quill? “Sí, señor. Each day we mark on map how we go, how much we search. Bit by bit we cross off the map. Now is left only a little bit.” * * * THE SNOW WAS falling fast, but winds had blown earlier snow from the trail, or what remained had become hard packed. They made fast time. Con Fargo was laboring under no delusion. Spilman would be after them. When he returned to the jail, he would look in on his prisoner before turning in, and when he found him gone he would not wait for
they couldn’t smuggle no more through the pass. By accident he sure choused up the layout for ’em. “If they was goin’ on with the rustlin’ and they maybe figured to bust up both ranches and buy ’em cheap—they had to get Kilgore out of there.” Quill’s eyes opened again. “Indian Valley,” he said. “They got about six hundred head of cows and two mighty fine gray horses up in that valley.” “Two gray horses?” Fargo turned to the marshal. “There it is, Spilman. Those were the horses Wakeman hired
turned. “All right,” Bernie said. “Threw splinters in my face a couple of times. Those boys weren’t smart. They should have hit the snow sooner.” Con walked over to Butch Mogelo. The big outlaw was dead. Three shots had gone through his body, one through the muscles where his neck joined his shoulder, and the last one between the eyes. Cabaniss had been hit three times. At least two of the wounds, one inflicted by Morales and one by Quill, would have been fatal. Mace Looby was still alive,
white and Casselman moved slowly away from the fire. “Can’t be!” Shain was awake. “We heard—” “Shut up!” Casselman turned on him in a fury. “I know what you heard,” Danny said quietly. “You heard I wouldn’t be with them this trip. Ever figure you might be double-crossed? That your partner might figure on warning the G of you to put himself in solid?” Nobody said anything, and after a minute Casselman picked up a couple of sticks and tossed them on the fire. Shain stared at him, then at Papago
It’s a line that should be carried on, so I’m not goin’ to be your foreman. I’m goin’ to marry you.” She blinked. “Just like that? Without any…” “Courtin’?” He grinned. “Ma’am, there’s no preacher this side of Dodge. Believe me, by the time you get there you’ll be well courted, or my name ain’t Lonigan!” “Don’t I get a chance to say yes or no?” she protested. “You can say yes,” he said, “if you say it fast, but for the next thirty minutes you’re goin’ to be busy.” He put her chin up and his