Read Curly Bill and Ringo for Free Online Page A

second.”
    “What about Ringo?” the boy asked, for he had often heard Curly talk about Ringo’s magic with a Colt. “You think I’ll ever be as good as him?”
    “Nobody’s as good as Ringo,” Curly said. “They don’t make them like that anymore. Doc Holliday is supposed to be about the deadliest man with a gun in the West and when he was in Tombstone everyone was afraid of him except Ringo. Two or three times Ringo invited him to draw, but some of the Earp crowd always arrived in time to stop it and old Doc looked real pleased to see them.”
    He saw the dreamy look in the boy’s eyes and knew he was seeing himself as a famous gunfighter, the equal of Ringo and Earp and Holliday and Curly Bill. That boy knew old Curly was right up there with Ringo and them, and that modesty alone kept him from saying so.
    Curly raised his hand in a little salute and rode up the street. At the general store he swung down, tied the Appaloosa and went in.
    “You got that stuff ready?”
    “Sure thing, Curly.” Grady nodded at a half-filled flour sack on the counter. “Put it on your bill, like always.”
    Curly nodded and studied the storekeeper’s blank shriveled face, “Did Uncle Willy manage to sell you his half of the store?”
    Grady shook his head. “He looked like he had something on his mind, but he didn’t say what it was.”
    That was just like Uncle Willy, Curly thought. He had to think about a thing a good long while and change his mind several times before he made a final decision.
    “He say anything to you about it?” Grady asked.
    “Nothing much. Just that he might see if you were interested. I doubt if he really wants to sell.”
    Grady smiled. “I sort of doubt it myself.”
    At the hitchrail Curly tied the grub sack to the horn and then stepped into the saddle.
    “Hey, Curly!”
    He turned his head and saw the three Hatcher boys standing in front of the Bent Elbow. He walked the Appaloosa across the dust and reined in, watching them in stony silence, thinking what poor specimens they were compared to Ringo. He would have traded all three of them and a dozen more like them for one like Ringo.
    “That grub you got there, Curly?” Beanbelly asked, grinning. In the sunlight he looked even more sloppy and seedy. His clothes were baggy and dirty, his face darkened by a patchy stubble. He jerked his shaggy head toward the west. “The shack’s that way.”
    “I thought I’d take a bite of grub out to the ranch,” Curly said. “You boys would just let your old ma and pa starve, and think nothing of it.”
    “Hell, the old man could ride in to get some stuff,” Cash said, the other two merely shrugging their indifference.
    “You know he’s afraid to get near a saloon. The temptation might be too much for him.”
    But they weren’t listening. They had something else on their minds. Cash told him what it was. “This would be a good time to round up a bunch of cows, while Uncle Willy’s in town.”
    “Let’s give Uncle Willy’s cows a rest,” Curly said. “We’ve hazed them back and forth across the border so much there ain’t no meat left on them.”
    Beanbelly grinned and Comanche Joe laughed his short laugh, which sounded more like a grunt and was about the only sound he ever made. Cash seemed inclined to argue, but then he only shrugged and silently watched Curly ride up the street.
    At the edge of town Curly put the Appaloosa into a gallop and thundered along the winding road through the desert chaparral, leaning a little forward in the saddle, his white teeth bared in a reckless grin. Ah, it was good to be young, with the sun and wind on his face, a strong spirited horse between his legs, and the whole wild West for a bridle path.
    The desert raced by him unnoticed, for he had seen it too many times and now saw only himself tearing across it on that beautiful white horse with the streaming black mane and tail. In the distance ahead there were rough, rocky hills slashed and scarred by