Borden Chantry by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2014-05-05T17:21:59.371698+00:00

Chapter 11

It was early for the bank to be open, so after a walk along the street to see if all was well, stopping to speak to Blazer and Elsie, Chantry strolled back to the Bon-Ton, took his usual seat and waited for Ed to bring him coffee.

Two drummers sat in the corner, and a cowboy from west of town was sitting, hat tilted back, dusty spurred boots tucked back under his chair, cooling his coffee in his saucer. He looked to be all of seventeen, but that was a common age for cowhands. In fact, one of the greatest herds ever taken out of Texas to the north had been in charge of a man… and he was definitely a man… of just seventeen.

Responsibility, like hard work, came very young on the western ranges.

He had scarcely seated himself when Prissy came in. He could see at once that something was worrying her. She looked around quickly and crossed immediately to his table and sat down opposite him. Her eyes were large with excitement.

"Marshal, soon as I saw you on the street I came running. Marshal, you've got to be careful!"

"Well, I try to be, Prissy. What's wrong?"

"Did you ever hear of Boone Silva?"

He felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach. "I have," he said. "Why?"

"Marshal," she leaned closer, "somebody here in town wrote to him!"

"They've got the right," he said, "if they know where he lives."

"They knew all right! Marshal, that letter was mailed in one of them cheap kind of envelopes they sell over to the store… Ever'body uses 'em… And it was printed. The address was printed, like whoever sent it didn't want the handwriting recognized."

"Private business, Prissy. It is none of my affair."

She sat back in her chair. "Isn't it now? Why would anybody from here be sending word to a hired gunman? There's no cattle war on. No trouble of any kind except what you bought for yourself when you began hunting that murderer.

"Somebody shot at you, Marshal. Somebody hit you on the head. Somebody killed poor Johnny McCoy. I think when you got George Riggin's saddle—"

"How did you know about that?" he demanded sharply.

"Marshal, you've lived here long enough. Nobody has any secrets in this town. Mrs. Riggin told Elsie that George wanted you to have his saddle… Now why would you want another saddle? If he was going to give it to somebody why not little Billy McCoy, who got his bridle? Ever'body just naturally figures there had to be some reason. You know, that maybe George was tryin' to tell you something.

"Well, when I saw that letter to Boone Silva, I just knew it was account of you. Somebody wants you dead, Marshal, somebody wants you dead almighty bad. Now you just watch. In a few days he'll come ridin' into town, and—"

"You sent the letter?"

"Had to. It's my bounden duty. All the same, you being the Law, I figured you should ought to know."

"Thanks, Prissy." He filled his cup. Then he thought of the obvious question.

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