"THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

LOUIS L'AMOUR
"Handles the job himself. He knows cows and he knows range. He don't like trouble,
though, and doesn't have the backbone for this. You can see why." Harrington gestured
toward the room. "At least sixty men in here right now. I'd bet at least twenty of
them have killed their man, some of them several. Probably more than that are cow
thieves. Another ten would be crooked gamblers. It's no job for a tenderfoot.
"Over there"-he indicated Joe Turner-"is the man who would like to run the town.
He isn't big enough."
"Who is?"
Harrington glanced at Cassidy and smiled. "That, my friend, is a good question. Some
of them think I am, but I don't want the job, believe me. I'd sooner ride shotgun
on my own shipments."
He shook his head. "No, there's no man big enough now. Doc Marsh has the brains and
courage, but he doesn't have either the leadership or the desire. His practice suits
him. Hadley just can't do it."
"What about Pony Harper?" Cassidy asked casually.
Harrington hesitated. "There," he said at last, "you may have something, but Harper's
not an easy man to understand."
Cassidy changed the subject. "What about that gold of yours? How will the thieves
get rid of it? Gold isn't the easiest thing to handle. Not in quantity."
"You're right, and I've good reason to believe that not a single ounce of stolen
gold has appeared on the market anywhere. My idea is, their plans were made before
the gold was ever stolen, but it will take some managing."
Harrington shrugged, then waved a hand at the room. "And whom to suspect? Any of
them! This room is filled with thieves! Believe me, Ben Lock will have his work cut
out for him!"
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THE TRAIL TO SEVEN PINES
He glanced around as somebody shouted a welcome. "Here's Young Bob Ronson now, if
you want that job. Hit him up for it."
Ronson was a tall, well-made young man with a pleasant, friendly face. He walked
to the bar, strolling over near Harrington. "How are you, Bill?" He shot a quick,
measuring glance at Cassidy. "You're the man who found Lock."
"That's right," Cassidy said, "and I was fixin' to ask if you needed a hand."
Ronson laughed. "I need lots of them, friend. Lots of them! But I'd better warn you
that being a hand for the Rocking R isn't a popular occupation right now. Somebody
seems to have decided to eliminate them."
"I've been shot at before," Hopalong said.
"All right. Come out in the morning." He started to turn away and then hesitated.
"By the way, what's your handle?"
"Cassidy. My friends call me Hopalong."
Harrington straightened up and stared. Ronson had stopped in mid-stride, and somebody,
somewhere nearby, swore. Hopalong had not spoken loudly, yet there had been a sudden
lull, and at least a dozen men had heard him. That the name meant nothing to some
of them was obvious, but that it meant a great deal to Harrington, Ronson, and Dud
Leeman was also obvious.
"Hopalong Cassidy . . ." Ronson stared. "Man, I'll say you've got a job! Come out
in the morning, by all means!"
Dud Leeman had turned swiftly. He strode from the room. Hopalong glanced after him