Free Passin' Through (1985) by Louis L'amour Page B

and I never had much. This bit I got put by is nothing. I couldn't begin to buy this ranch or the cattle."
    "I want to leave. I might sell for less than you expect."
    "You've called me Mr. Passin', Passin' Through, that's me. I was driftin' when I came here and when I leave I'll just keep on down the trail. I came from nowhere and I'm goin' right back."
    "You have no relatives? No one who would miss you?"
    "Not a soul, ma'am. I'm a lone-ridin' man an' there's nobody waitin' for me, anywhere."
    Matty was staring at me, almost angry, it seemed like. Anyway, she was irritated. About what I didn't know. Maybe she thought I was feelin' sorry for myself, but no such thing. It was just my way of talkin'. This was the kind of life I liked.
    Well, I finished eating and went to the granary. I saw Mrs. Hollyrood get up and go to her room, and Matty was revving up in the kitchen.
    For some reason I was unhappy with myself, and I leaned on the corral bars and the roan came over and pushed its nose against me. Why I should be out of sorts I didn't know, unless it was the thought of them selling this place.
    Good land was getting scarce with all the folks moving in, and this was one of the last places in the country to be settled. Somehow I'd thought they'd come home. I mean, that this was where they'd stay. If I'd figured they were just going to sell out and move on, I'd not have been so all-fired busy fixing things up.
    Matty came to the door and threw out some water, then she walked over to me. She stood there a minute, enjoying the night.
    "It is beautiful," she said.
    "Yes, ma'am. Rarely so, rarely. Somehow I wasn't expectin' you folks to move on. I thought you'd found a home."
    "Mr. Passin'," she spoke quietly, "no matter what you think of yourself you're a nice man, a kindly man. If I were you I'd saddle up that roan and ride out of here, and I would do it now. I would ride out and never look back."
    She walked back to the house, into the door, and a moment later the light was blown out.
    Well, now. That was a surprise. Ride out, when they still had trouble facin' them? Ride out when Lew Paine was still around? I couldn't do that.
    I went inside and undressed for bed. When I had a boot off I sat on the edge of the bed thinkin' of what she'd said, and wonderin' why. It sounded almost like a warnin', and no doubt she didn't see much sense in me bein' involved with their troubles with Lew Paine, and all.
    Daybreak showed up right on time and found me out there giving the horses a bait of corn as well as hay. This was a day I planned on checking cattle, but first I needed to see Phillips' tally book, if he left one.
    Most cowmen keep a tally of the cattle on the range and the brands they own or see on their place. Some cattlemen had several brands registered in their name, as often enough they'd buy out another brand. If I had his tally book I could have an idea of what to look for and how many.
    Breakfast was soon over and Matty came in as I was finishing. She'd left everything ready for me.
    "Ma'am? A cattleman usually has a tally book that keeps account of the cattle he owns and the brands. Usually it's a little notebook, bound in leather or cloth or somethin' of the kind."
    "There's some old papers in that drawer over there, on the far side of the living room. I don't know what all it is, just old letters and such. I believe I did see a little brown book in there."
    Takin' my cup with me, I went in to where the drawer was and opened it. Sure enough, there was a sheaf of papers there, mostly old. There was the tally book that I wanted, but I gathered up all of it.
    When I got back to my bunk in the granary I sat down and opened up the tally book. What I wanted was there all right, but there was something else.
    There was a will, a last will and testament.

    Chapter Nine
    Matty had been busy at the cookin' stove when I gathered up the papers and I'd put most of them in the pocket of my coat. Holding up the tally book, I'd said, "This