the High Graders (1965) Read Free Page B

brusquely. "I'll not work for a ma n who judges a horse by the meat on him."
    Surprised, Jack Moorman glanced aroun d at Eli as if to say, "Hey, what is this?"
    Then he said, "Sorry, son, no offens e intended. You just come on out and bring your horse. I s urmise all he needs is a bait or two o f oats and some grama."
    Following that meeting with Jack Moorman , Mike Shevlin had worked two years fo r Turkeytrack, filling out and growing taller. An d no man in the outfit had shouldered extra work becaus e he was a boy, nor had Mike backed away fro m trouble. Not even on the day when he rode up to a rustler with a tied-down Turkeytrack calf and a brand half altered.
    Old Jack came out to the horse camp to hea r Mike's account of the shooting, for the rustler had bee n brought to headquarters draped over a saddle.
    Moorman saw the burn on the boy's arm from a bullet that just missed.
    "He told me to take out runnin' and to kee p my trap shut about things that didn't concern me.
    Said I'd live a lot longer. I told hi m I rode for the brand, and rustlin' Turkeytrac k stock concerned me a-plenty.
    "He grabbed for his gun, only I t aken my time and he didn't. He got off th e first shot, and he missed."
    "Boy"--Moorman shifted his big body i n the saddle--"y wore that gun when I first saw you , and I figured you were young for it, but you've worked tw o years for me and this is the first time you've ever dragge d iron. You're old enough to wear a gun, all right."
    At fifteen Mike Shevlin was as tall a s he ever would be, and was stronger than most men. H e had never known a day of anything but hard work, and wa s proud that he could work beside men and hold thei r respect.
    From ten to thirteen he had worked beside his uncl e on a mining claim, taking his regular turn wit h single-jack or double-jack. Swinging the heav y sledges had put power in his shoulders and ha d taught him to hit with his weight behind it.
    As a result, when Turkeytrack rod e over to the dances at Rock Springs schoolhouse , or over to Horse Hollow, Mike Shevli n won six fist fights before losing one. And h e whipped that man the following Saturday night.
    When he rode away from the Moorman outfi t and started running with Gib Gentry and Ben Stowe , Eli Patterson warned him against it. "They'r e a bad crowd, Mike. They're not your kind."
    Now, listening to the rain outside the old mill , he knew again, as he had realized long before, tha t Eli Patterson had been right. Gentry an d Stowe had always run with the wrong crowd; a man i s judged by the company he keeps, and so had Mik e Shevlin been judged.
    "That old man should never have been buried o n Boot Hill," he said. "To him, that would see m the final disgrace. I intend to find out wha t happened."
    "Ask your friend Gentry," Eve said.
    "You take my advice," Winkler said, "an d you'll light out as soon as the rain lets up. Yo u take out while you're able."
    Shevlin turned his eyes to the girl. "I d idn't get your name."
    "Eve Bancroft. I own the Thre e Sevens."
    But Winkler was not to be sidetracked. "Yo u get out," he said. "I remember you, Shevlin , and that crowd you trailed with, and I've heard of yo u since, and none of it any good. You leave out of her e or we'll bury you here."
    Ignoring the old man, Shevlin rinse d a cup and filled it with coffee. His own cup wa s among the gear of his saddle.
    These were cattle people. But the buildings in town wer e all mining--assay offices, miners' supplies , even the saloons now had names reflecting the minin g business. So why were these people from the cattle ranche s meeting here in secret?
    Mike Shevlin's life had been lived in a n atmosphere of range feuds and cattle wars , and this meeting had all the earmarks of a preliminar y to such trouble. Why else would a pretty youn g woman like Eve Bancroft, a ranch owner, b e meeting here with an old hard-case like Winkler, an d whoever it was that was hiding upstairs?
    He gulped the hot, strong coffee. "I'l l bunk