Read Kilkenny 02 - A Man Called Trent (v5.0) for Free Online Page B

what all the fuss is about. Who gets the valley?”
    “But notice,” Lance said, “this V-shaped valley that is half Steele’s and half Lord’s runs from the point of the V up to the wide cattle ranges of Texas. And up there are other cow outfits, bigger than even Lord’s and Steele’s. Fine stock, too. I come down through there a while back and rode over some fine range. Lots of whiteface bulls brought in up there. The stock is bein’ improved. In a few years this is goin’ to be one of the greatest stock-raisin’ countries in the world. The fences won’t make much difference at first except to limit the size of the roundups. There won’t be no more four county roundups, but the stock will all improve, more beef per steer, and a bigger demand for it. The small ranchers can’t afford to get good bulls. They’ll cut fences here and there, as much to let bulls in with their old stock as anything. But that’s only part of it. Look at all these broad miles of range. They’ll be covered with fat stock, thousands upon thousands of head. It’ll be fat stock, good grass, and plenty of water. They’ll shift the herds and feed the range off little by little. You’ve punched cows long enough to have rustled a few head. Huh, we all have now and again. Justthink now, all this is stock country up here above the V. Now foller my finger.” He drew a trail in the dust down through the point of the V into the country below. “See?” he asked.
    Rusty furrowed his brow and spoke thoughtfully. “You mean somebody could rustle that stock into Mexico? Shore, but they’d have to drive rustled cows across the Steele and the Lord spreads, and…” His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Say, pardner, I get it. You mean, if Lord and Steele was both out of it, whoever controlled that V could do as he danged well pleased down there. Right?”
    Kilkenny nodded. “What’s this place at the point of the V?”
    “That’s Apple Cañon. It’s the key to the whole country, ain’t it? And it’s a hang-out for outlaws!”
    “Shore, Apple Cañon. The Live Oak country is like a big funnel that will pour rustled stock down into Mexico, and whoever controls the Live Oak and Apple Cañon controls rustlin’ in all this section of Texas!”
    “Well, I’ll be durned!” Rusty spat into the dust. “And that’s where Nita Riordan lives!”
    Kilkenny got up. “That’s right, Rusty. Right as rain, and we’re ridin’ to have a little talk with Nita. We’re ridin’ now.”
    Llano Trail lifted up over the low hills from the Live Oak country and headed down again through Forgotten Pass, winding leisurely across the cactus-studded desert where only the coyotes prowled and rattlesnakes huddled in the shade of boulders, and the chaparral cock ran along the dim trails. Ahead of the two horsemen, lost like motes in a beam in allthe vast emptiness of the desert, could be seen the great, ragged rocks of the mountains. Not mountains of great height, but huge, upthrust masses of rock, weirdly shaped as though wrought by some insane god.
    It was a country almost without water, yet a country where a knowing man might live, for barrel cactus, the desert reservoir, grew there. One might cut a hole in the cactus and during the night or in a matter of an hour or so considerable liquid, cool and fresh, would gather. Always sufficient for life.
    The buckskin ambled easily, accustomed to long trails, and accustomed to having his head in pacing over the great distances. His was a long-stepping, untiring walk that ate up the miles.
    The sun lifted from behind a morning cloud, and started climbing toward noon. Buzzards wheeled lazily, their far-seeing eyes searching the desert in an endless quest for food.
    Slouching in his saddle, his hard face burned almost as red as his hair, Rusty Gates watched the rider ahead of him. It was easy to admire a fighting man, he thought. Always a fighter himself, Rusty fought because it was easy for him, because it was natural. He