The Plains of Laramie Read Free

lawing business. Stay away from the ferry, boys, or I’ll toss the whole damned bunch of you in the calabozo .”
    The big man snorted violently and glared at the sheriff. Masters fixed him with a cold, menacing stare and his voice, always slow and soft, was very quiet when next he spoke. “I mean it, boys. Stay away from Tolliver’s place.” The cowmen watched him ride out of Mendocino without saying a word. Somebody suggested getting an early morning eyeopener and they adjourned sullenly to the Goldstrike.
    Link Tolliver was waiting for him. Jack could see him standing in the clearing before the adobe hut as he jogged down the path toward the river. Jack’s eyes were slitted and wary without a nod or a word as he rode up. Link was armed this time; a battered old six-gun was strapped low on his thigh with a thong around the massive leg. A Winchester carbine was leaning lazily against his arm.
    “Get your horse, Link!”
    Link’s muddy eyes were hard and staring. “What fer, lawman?”
    Jack didn’t relax; he sensed a stall. “Rope it, Link. You know damned well what for. Get your horse an’ damned fast!”
    “Not by a damned sight! Ain’t no lawman goin’ to come a-ridin’ onto my propitty an’ commence orderin’ me around.”
    Masters relaxed his arm, and his mouth was a bloodless line over wolfish teeth. “You’re comin’ to Mendocino with me on a horse or across one. Shootin’ Ned Prouty in the back is attempted murder hereabouts. You’re goin’ to answer for it. Now either get your horse or fill your hand.”
    Tolliver’s lined, bewhiskered face split in a sardonic smile. “Look behind you, Sheriff. They’s three hombres that done slipped up on you, an’ a word from me’ll send you to hell in a hand basket.” The evil smile widened as Jack held Link Tolliver with his deadly stare. Suddenly Tolliver’s face lost the smile and his eyes bugged a little. He was staring into the maw of a cocked six-shooter in the sheriff’s hand. He hadn’t seen the hand dip toward the holster at all; he licked his lips with a furtive tongue.
    “Drop that rifle, Link.” Hesitatingly the big man relaxed his hold and the .30-30 plopped into the dust. “Now, Link, tell your boys to come around in front of me or I’ll squeeze this trigger.” Link shifted his eyes from beyond the lawman’s horse, then swung his eyes back again. Masters’s fingers tightened on the trigger. His voice was little more than a whisper. “Link, whether I’m shot or not, I can’t miss you at this distance, an’ you know it…even dyin’ I can kill you. Now shuck your pistol an’ call ’em off.”
    Tolliver’s beaten expression was redolent with hatred. He called to his kinsmen, explained the situation, and tossed his six-gun to the ground. The three Tollivers came around in front of Jack with enraged and baffled faces.
    Without taking his eyes off Link, Masters said: “One of you go saddle Link’s horse an’ bring it around. The other two of you stay here.” The youngest of the three—the one called Ben—slouched offtoward the old corral with a snarled oath. Masters wanted to make the others disarm, but hesitated to push his luck too far. The four of them waited in dry-eyed tension until Ben brought back Tolliver’s horse.
    “Get aboard, Link.” The sheriff untied his lariat from the swells with his left hand and flipped the noose to Link. “Over your head, around the neck.” He smiled grimly at Link’s flushed, humiliated look. “Now come up close, so’s you’re between me an’ your kinsmen.”
    Link was getting redder every second, but he complied.
    Masters waved his cocked .45 at the men afoot. “Toss your guns as far out into the river as you can, boys. One false move an’ Link’s a goner.”
    The men complied profanely and Jack Masters rode back toward Mendocino with Link behind him, protecting his back. The lariat rope around Link’s throat was his sturdy assurance of seeing another sunset.
    Wes