Troubled range Read Free

also watching the wheel.
    At the edge of the hole, the wheel stuck for an instant, then lifted and passed over on to solid ground. Calamity was clear of the stoppage which had delayed her. Bringing the team to a halt, she walked towards the big stranger.
    "Thanks, feller," she said.
    "Think nothing of it," he replied. "That coffee smells good."
    "Tastes the same way. Set and rest up a spell while I unhitch my team. Then I'll cook us up a mess of vittles."
    "Never could stand by and watch a lady work. So I'll just tend to my horse while you're unhitching and cooking."
    While she worked, Calamity threw interested glances at her rescuer, trying to decide who he might be. One prominent Texas name fitted his appearance and stength, way other Tejanos boasted about it, only that one wore his guns butt forwards for a cross-draw, or so she heard tell. This big feller's matched Army Colts were real fine weapons, with the deep blue sheen of the Hartford factory's Best Citizens' Finish; they rode in contoured holsters which hungjust right, but those holsters had never been designed for cross-draw work.
    After tending to his horse, the Texan walked back to the fire and laid his saddle carefully on its side. No cowhand worth his salt ever chanced damaging his rig by resting it on its skirts. Without a saddle he could do no cattle work. He set down his saddle so the butt of the Winchester Model 1866 rifle in the boot remained on top and ready for a hurried withdrawal should one be necessary.
    With this done, the Texan walked across and started to help Calamity unhitch her horses. Her first inclination was to tell him she didn't need his help even though she could use it. Only she knew if she did he was likely to take her at her word and leave her to it.
    "Going to say something?" he asked.

    "Sure," she replied, then to hide her confusion. "I told you my name."
    "Yep."
    "Yep!"
    "And now you're wanting to know mine?"
    "Me! Hen!" snorted Calamity, tossing her head back in an entirely feminine manner which brought no reaction from the man. "All right then, I want to know."
    "Name's Counter, my pards call me Mark."
    Calamity cut down her whistle of surprise. Mark Counter. That figured, happen a half-smart lil range gal came to think about it.
    Although his father ran a big spread down in the Texas Big Bend country, and Mark himself had a fair-sized fortune left him by an eccentric maiden aunt in her will, he still rode as a hand for Ole Devil Hardin's O.D. Connected ranch. More than that, he belonged to the elite of the ranch crew, the floating outfit, and was the side-kick and right bower* of the spread's segundo, the Rio Hondo gun wizard Dusty Fog. When debating to herself who'Mark might be, Calamity had thought of Dusty Fog—only if Dusty Fog was bigger and stronger than Mark, it would make him a tolerable big and strong man.
    During the War Between The States, Mark rode as a second lieutenant in old Bushrod Sheldon's regiment where his ideas of uniform were much copied by the bloods of the Confederate Cavalry. Now Mark's taste in clothes dictated cowhand fashions in the range country, for he was an acknowledged master of the trade. His strength and ability in a rough-house brawl were spoken of with awe by all who saw him in action. Having just seen an example of that strength, Calamity reckoned for once the Texans were not exaggerating even a little mite as they talked of this particular son of the Lone Star State. Men said Mark could handle his guns well. The few who knew claimed him to be second only to the man they called the fastest gun in Texas, Dusty Fog himself, in both speed and accurate placing of his shots.
    ♦Right Bower, originally a Euchre term for the highest trump card.

    "Glad to know you," she said, not wishing him to guess that she felt impressed by being in the presence of a man Wild Bill Hickok studiously avoided meeting when the O.D. Connected brought a trail herd into Hays.
    Actually Wild Bill had left town on a