Free to Tame a Land (1955) by Louis L'amour

name is Wilson."
    The gray was quick, intelligent and, active. He becam e a good cow horse, and learned fast. Mostly, though, I r ode one of Wilson's horses.
    Nobody asked questions in those days. Every man wa s judged by what he did. Lots of men had pasts they di d not want examined, and if you minded your own business and did your work, nobody bothered about anythin g else.
    Riding jobs always suited me. I liked to think, and a man could follow along with a herd of cattle and do a powerful lot of thinking. In my jeans I had over a thousand dollars. Here and there along the trail I'd gamble d some, and I'd won and lost, but I had a stake. And I w anted more.
    The beef Wilson had was mostly young stuff, and i t looked good. In Kansas City I'd heard a lot of talk abou t the rich grass of the northern prairies and how cattle coul d actually fatten while on the trail. This stuff Wilson wa s driving was young, rawboned, and would fill out.
    The third day I made up my mind. Wilson was ridin g point and I drifted alongside the herd until I pulle d abreast of him. After we'd passed the time of day an d talked about the weather and how dusty it was, I starte d in. "Got a little money," I said. "Mind if I buy a few cow s and drift them with yours? I'd be a partner in the her d then, and you'd have a free cow hand."
    "Go ahead!" Wilson waved a hand. "Glad to hav e you!"
    Leaving the herd that night, I rode on ahead and bega n to check the ranches. And right away I began to wish I h ad more money.
    Cash was a scarce thing in Texas in those days. Me n had cattle, horses, and hay, but real cash money was might y hard to come by for the average rancher. Moreover, h e had to gamble on riding anywhere from thirty to a hundred miles to market with maybe no sale when he go t there, or a niggardly price.
    I rode into a. ranch yard and drifted my horse up t o the trough. Looking around at the cattle, I saw they wer e mostly good stock, with a few culls here and there suc h as you'll find in any cow outfit. But this stock was big, lik e your longhorns are apt to be, and rangy. Given a chance , a longhorn could fill out to quite a lot of beef.
    Grass was not good and most of the range was overstocked. Most of the ranchers had not begun to realiz e that there was a limit to the amount of stock the rang e could carry. Their great argument was a buffalo. The y had themselves seen the range black with their millions.
    I had seen it, too, but what I remembered that some o f them seemed to forget was that the buffalo never stoppe d moving. They gave the grass a chance to grow back. I t was a different thing with cattle. They were confined t o one range, once men began to herd them, and they at e the grass to nothing.
    My horse walked up to the trough and started to drink , and a long-geared man in boots with run-down heel s walked over from the corral.
    "Light an' set," he invited me. "Don't get many visitor s hereabouts."
    "Riding through," I told him as I swung down. "I' m going to Uvalde."
    "What I ought to do," he said, biting off a chew, "I s hould drift me a herd up to San Antone. But that take s hands, and I ain't got 'em. I'd like to drift a herd t o Kansas."
    "Risky," I said. "Indians, herd cutters, an' such-like."
    His wife came out to look at me, and two wide-eye d children in homemade dresses.
    "Might buy a few myself," I said thoughtfully. "I' m ridin' through. Shame to make the trip for nothin'."
    He glanced at me. My rig was new and looked goo d and prosperous. "You could do worse," he said. "Fact is , if a man had him a little cash money he could buy cow s mighty cheap."
    "Don't know," I said doubtfully. "A man could lose a sight of money thataway. Stampedes . . . Men have mad e money goin' over the trail, but they've lost it, too. Los t their shirts, some of 'em."
    "Young fellow like you," the rancher said, "he shoul d take a chance if anybody should. Got your life ahead o f you. I reckon you could double your money."
    "Well," I