The Man From Skibbereen by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour [L'Amour, Louis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Usenet, C429, Kat, Exratorrents
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1973-06-05T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

FORT SANDERS WAS a frontier settlement, formerly known as Fort John Buford, established to protect the tie-cutters and grading crews working west of Cheyenne. A few squatters had appeared before the railroad, but by the time the rails reached the site there were several hundred buildings, shacks and cabins of logs, sod, canvas, railroad ties and old wagon boxes, near the fort, and within hours Laramie, as it now called itself, was a booming town.

Crispin Mayo and Reppato Pratt stood on the narrow platform at what passed for the station. “Seen towns like this before,” Rep said; “if’n you got money you can git yourself trouble. Without it you cain’t git the time o’ day.”

Cris fingered his few coins, not enough to take him anywhere. “We must make some money, then. This isn’t a town to be hard-up in.”

“How you gonna do that? Rob somebody?”

“That conductor now . . . Sam Calkins? He fancies himself. I wonder if he’s known here?”

“He’s won three fights, London Prize Ring rules, at end-of-track towns. I seen one o’ them, an’ he’s good. He’s a bruiser.”

“That’s it, then.” Cris was looking at a sign over a walled tent. It said, BRENNAN’S BELLE OF THE WEST—SALOON & GAMBLING.

Cris strolled down the street and went in. A dozen games were going, the bar was crowded, girls were circulating among the tables. There was a board floor under their feet and board siding to the tent. He pushed his way through the crowd, Pratt following, protesting.

A man leaned on the back bar. His hair was slicked down upon his large head, his mustache was walrus in style, but neatly trimmed. His face was florid, and looked hard as polished oak. He was a big man and a gold chain with an elk’s tooth hung across his chest.

“Brennan?”

Cold eyes turned upon Crispin.

“I am.”

“And I am Crispin Mayo, from County Cork.”

Brennan took the cigar from his mouth. “I am from Donegal, and we’re full up. I need no help. Seven of any ten men on the track are Irish, so don’t play on that. I’ve no free drinks, no free lunch, and no money to give or lend.”

“I said I am Crispin Mayo from County Cork, and I don’t give a damn for your money, your beer, your food, or your manners. I’ve known folk from Donegal before this, and they were gentlemen, which you obviously are not.”

Brennan dusted the ash from his cigar. “If I had the time I’d throw you out,” he said, “but I’m going to be kind enough to let you walk out. If you don’t do it soon, under your own steam, I’ll have it done for you.”

“It’s a poor man who’ll hire his fightin’ done for him,” Cris said coolly, “but I’d be pleased to whip the lot of what you have here except that I’ve come on business. Do you know Sam Calkins?”

“I know him.”

“He does not like me. Nor does he like the Irish.”

“So?”

“He has spoken of fighting me when

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