E-text prepared by Al Haines

THE TEXAN

A Story of the Cattle Country

by

JAMES B. HENDRYX

Author of

"The Gun Brand," "The Promise," etc.

A. L. Burt Company
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with G. P. Putnam's Sons
Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1918
By
James B. Hendryx

Fourth Printing

This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers
G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York And London

CONTENTS.

Chapter

A PROLOGUE I. THE TRAIN STOPS II. WOLF RIVER III. PURDY IV. CINNABAR JOE V. ON THE FLAT VI. THE RIM OF THE BENCH VII. THE ARREST VIII. ONE WAY OUT IX. THE PILGRIM X. THE FLIGHT XI. A RESCUE XII. TEX DOES SOME SCOUTING XIII. A BOTTLE OF "HOOCH" XIV. ON ANTELOPE BUTTE XV. THE TEXAN HEARS SOME NEWS XVI. BACK IN CAMP XVII. IN THE BAD LANDS XVIII. "WIN" XIX. THE END OF THE TRAIL

THE TEXAN

A PROLOGUE

Exactly twenty minutes after young Benton dismounted from his big rangyblack before the door of a low adobe saloon that fronted upon one of thenarrow crooked streets of old Las Vegas, he glanced into the eyes of thethin-lipped croupier and laughed. "You've got 'em. Seventy-four goodold Texas dollars." He held up a coin between his thumb and forefinger."I've got another one left, an' your boss is goin' to get that, too—buthe's goin' to get it in legitimate barter an' trade."

As the cowpuncher stepped to the bar that occupied one side of the room,a group of Mexicans who had lounged back at his entrance crowded oncemore about the wheel and began noisily to place their bets. He watchedthem for a moment before turning his attention to the heavy-lidded,flabby-jowled person who leaned ponderously against the sober side of thebar.

"Who owns this joint?" he asked truculently, as he eyed with disfavourthe filthy shirt-sleeves rolled back from thick forearms, the saggingvest, and the collarless shirt-band that buried itself in a fold of thefat neck.

"I do," was the surly rejoinder. "Got any kick comin'?"

"Nary kick." The cowpuncher tossed his dollar onto the bar. "Give me alittle red licker," he ordered, and grinned at the sullen proprietor ashe filled his glass to the brim.

"An outfit," he confided, with slow insolence, "that'll run an eagle-birdwheel ain't got no more conscience than a hombre's got brains that'llbuck one. In Texas we'd shoot a man full of little holes that 'ud tryit."

"Why'n you stay in Texas, then?" growled the other.

The cowman drank his liquor and refilled the glass. "Most fat men," heimparted irrelevantly, "are plumb mindful that they're easy hit, an'consequent they're cheerful-hearted an' friendly. Likewise, they mindtheir own business, which is also why they've be'n let grow to onhumanproportions. But, not to seem oncivil to a stranger, an' by way ofgettin' acquainted, I'll leak it out that it ain't no fault of Texas thatI come away from there—but owin' only to a honin' of mine to see more ofthe world than what Texas affords.

"The way to see a world," I debates, "is like anythin' else—begin at thebottom

...

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