Free Novel 1959 - The First Fast Draw (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour

him right now there were about a dozen unkempt, dirty and mangy rascals who looked fit bait for the hangman.
    About fifty feet from where I stood, Sam Barlow saw me and at first he stared like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he lifted a hand to halt the little column, but by that time he was closer.
    Taking a stub of cigar from his yellow teeth, he said, “Howdy! You live around here?”
    Imperceptibly the muzzle of the carbine shifted until it covered Sam Barlow’s chest. That carbine was down on the rail and partly hidden by brush…I don’t figure he saw it.
    “I live all around here.”
    “I’m Sam Barlow.”
    Now if he figured I was going to start shaking he was a mistaken man. Names never did scare me much, and I’d come up against some men who had bigger, tougher names than this here Barlow.
    “I know who you are. Mighty far north, aren’t you?”
    Barlow returned that stub of cigar to his teeth. “I’m comin’ further north. I like it here.”
    About that time he saw the carbine, and his lips tightened down and when his eyes lifted to mine they were wary, careful eyes. “Who are you?” he demanded.
    “This is my country, Barlow. Stay the hell out of it.”
    Barlow was mad, I could see that. Moreover he wasn’t so smart as I’d heard because he was going to buck that .56 caliber. He was going to bet me his life I’d miss. It was in his eyes, when a man behind him spoke. “Sam, this here is Cullen Baker.”
    That stopped him. Maybe they had heard about that killing a long time back at Fort Belknap, or maybe something else but, when he heard the name, Sam Barlow changed his mind and saved his life—because if that horse had moved a foot I was going to kill him.
    He knew it, too. It is one thing to jump a horse at some scared farmer. It is another thing to buck a man who can and will use a gun.
    Same time, he’d no wish to lose face in front of his outfit, for the only way you lead a crowd like that was by being tougher, smarter, and maybe more brutal.
    “I could use a man like you, Baker. I’ve heard tell of you.”
    “Stay out of this country, Barlow. You stay south or west of the Big Thicket. You come north of it and I’ll take it unkind of you. Fact is, you come north of the Big Thicket and I’ll kill you.”
    Well, sir, the planes in his face seemed to all flatten out and he made to spur his horse and when he did I cocked that .56 caliber. In that still air you could hear that carbine click as it cocked and Sam Barlow pulled his horse to a stand.
    “Get out, Barlow, and take your outfit with you. There’s country south of the Big Thicket for you, and if you open your mouth even once I’ll spread you all over your saddle.”
    Sam Barlow was mad—he was mad clean through—and I didn’t figure to even let him open his mouth because if he did he’d say something to try to make himself big with his crowd. It had probably been a long time since anybody told him to shut up and get out, but it had been done now, and no mistake.
    They would be back, I could bet on that. Sam Barlow could not afford to take water from any man, but he would think awhile before he came back, and he would do some planning, but if he stayed south of Lake Caddo then Katy Thorne would be safe.
    “And that was what you were thinking about,” I told myself. “You’ve heard of Barlow’s ways with women.”
    Turning around then I saw four riders coming up the field toward me, and they were well spread out, but they were Matt Kirby, Bickerstaff and Bill Longley. On the far wing of the four was Bob Lee.
    “Sam Barlow backed down,” Kirby was saying. “He backed down cold.”
    “Means nothing,” I said, “I had him dead to rights. And that .56 makes quite a hole.”
    “They’ll come back.” Bob Lee was a serious thinking man. He was looking past the moment, and he could see what it was we’d have to expect.
    “Why, then,” Bill Longley was grinning, “we shouldn’t keep them waiting. We