Cows first, horses next, men last!
TAKE ’EM TO ABILENE
“Star Bar — that’s McLaren’s place, ain’t it?”
“Used to be, leastways.”
“Still is, far as I know — but he’s a mite outta his territory way over here, ain’t he?”
“So’re we, on this drive.”
“Yeah, well, Shiloh’s tryin’ to find a new and easier route, is all. But there was that trouble with McLaren over his fences last drive. Hell, I better go after ’em. Which way’d they go when they left the canyon?”
“That way,” Greasy pointed, “but the stranger went straight over that knoll over there. You can just see part of it from here.”
But Greasy was talking to himself.
Rawlins was spurring his weary mount toward the mouth of the canyon. He sat straighter in the saddle, and Greasy saw sunlight reflected from gunmetal in his hands.
“Checkin’ his hardware,” the cook murmured quietly to himself.