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

Stepping back, Hopalong saw that Milligan's rifle was over his saddle, covering the
others. "There it is, Gore," Cassidy said, breathing easily. 'Tour man asked for
it and he got it."
"You'll not get away with this!" Windy was furious, but wary. The odds had changed
still more now, for the man on the ground was not stirring. Even if he were on his
feet he would be in no shape to hold up his end in a gun battle.
"Tell your brothers there's plenty of range here for all of us.
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Just keep your cattle across the Blues and keep your hands off Rocking R cows. We
don't want trouble, but we're ready for it."
The beaten man was sitting up, shaking his head to clear it of fog. He looked up,
his eyes ugly with hatred. "Next time," he snarled, "it will be guns!"
"Why wait?" Hopalong faced him abruptly. "You've got a gun. If you want to die, reach
for it."
For a long moment the man stared, his fingers twitching with eagerness. Hopalong
saw the desire to kill in his eyes, then saw it die slowly. "Not now," the man said.
"Later."
"All right, then," Cassidy said coolly. He raised his eyes to Windy's. "Any time
I find any rider from the 3 G on this range, either armed or with a running iron
'or rope, he loses his horse and walks home!"
"What?" Windy bellowed. "Why, you-"
He gulped his words, seeing the ice in Cassidy's eyes. "Go ahead!" Hopalong invited.
"Start somethin'. You can ride back over a saddle as easy as astride one!"
When the four had ridden away, Tex Milligan chuckled. "Man! Did you see Windy's face?
He was fit to be tied! That's the first time anybody faced up to a Gore, and believe
me, it didn't set well!"
Ruyters grinned, but his eyes were worried. "Served 'em right," he agreed, "but they'll
come a-gunnin' now. They've got more hands than we have."
They started their horses on and Hopalong let his eyes search the range. This was
dry country. Even now, in the spring of the year when it was at its best, it offered
little. Sagebrush mingled with bunch wheat grass and here and there solid patches
of winter fat. Its whitish, almost light-gray color could be discerned at considerable
distance, and it was one of the most
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valuable grazing plants of this sort of range. Yet some hillsides were already badly
washed, and the country, despite the winter fat, would support but few cattle in
relation to the vast area.
The wheat grass and sagebrush offered good spring range, and cattle here might be
fattened well before the heat of the summer and the scarcity of water hit them.
Frenchy had been noticing Hopalong's study of the range. "She don't look much," he
agreed, as if reading Cassidy's thoughts, "but that winter fat is good range, and
there's lots of it. North of the home ranch there's a couple of valleys chock-full
of it, and it stands grazing mighty well."
Frenchy added, "Ronson has an idea that's a good one, I reckon. He figures that in
late spring, when it begins to get hot and dry, he'll drive his cattle north across
the desert and into the High Rock Canyon country. Lots of good grass and water up