Old Cowboys Never Die

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns; Action & Adventure

Synopsis

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

From Book 1:

You’re never too old to fight for justice in a new trailblazing series from legendary national bestselling Western authors William W. Johnstone and J.A. Johnstone.

JOHNSTONE COUNTRY.  WHERE CRIME DOESN’T PAY . . . UNTIL IT DOES.

From the bestselling masters of the classic western comes a blazing new series that proves that old cowboys only get wiser, bolder—and crazier—with age. . . .

They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. But old cowboys? That’s a different story—especially when those cowboys are trail-hardened cattlemen like Casey Tubbs and Levi Doolin. When these longtime buddies learn that their bosses are getting out of the beef business, they figure it’s probably time to retire anyway. Nothing left to do now but deliver the last two-thousand cows to Albilene and collect their pay. There’s just one problem. Their bosses’ lawyer is skipping town with all the workers’ cash—which means Tubbs and Doolin have one last job to do. . . .

Steal it back.

Sure, pulling off a robbery is a new challenge for these old boys. But they’ve learned a lot of tricks over the years—and they’re one hell of a team. There’s just one catch: once they pull off the perfect crime—and get away with it—Tubbs and Doolin start thinking they may have missed their calling in life. This could be the start of a whole new career . . . as outlaws.

So begins the wild, wild story of two old cowboys who are one step ahead of the law—and the young U.S. marshal who’s determined to catch them. . . .

 

Release date: October 25, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Well, I reckon that about ties a knot in it,” Casey Tubbs announced as he joined the little group of eight men sprawled on their bedrolls around the chuckwagon. “Any coffee left in that pot, Smiley?”

“Yeah,” Smiley said, and poured a cup for him.

Like the rest of the crew, Smiley was anxious to hear what Casey had found out when he went to look for Ronald Dorsey. They had driven the last of the two thousand cows into the holding pens at the Abilene rail yards. Dorsey, a lawyer for Whitmore Brothers Cattle Company, was responsible for collecting the money when the cattle were sold. He was also the man who would pay the crew their wages.

“Did you find Dorsey?” Smiley asked.

“Yep, I found him,” Casey said.

“Well, what did he say?” Eli Doolin asked impatiently. “When are we gonna get paid?”

“He said he figured it all up and we owe the company money for our horses and such,” Casey said.

“Damn it, Casey,” Eli said, “when’s he gonna pay us?”

Eli, along with Casey, was one of the older cowhands for Whitmore Brothers. The two of them had been working cattle together for so long that each one knew when the other was joking. The rest of the crew, all but two were young men in their teens, anxiously waited to hear what Casey had found out.

“Dorsey said the payroll was deposited in the First Cattleman’s Bank under each man’s name. We have to go to the bank to draw our money out. And the damn bank’s closed now, so we’ll have to wait till tomorrow mornin’ to get our money.” His statement was met with a chorus of groans and complaints. Every man was eager to have money in his pocket tonight. It had not been a particularly long drive. But every drive was hard work, pushing ornery cows across a dusty prairie, driving them all day, watching them all night. The pay was forty dollars a month, so a drive this short wouldn’t put much money in their pockets. It had only taken a couple of days longer than two months. But it was enough time for them to want to “see the elephant” and ride home broke but happy after a night in Abilene.

Eli got up from his blanket and walked over to talk to Casey. “Why the hell didn’t he just hold the payroll and pay us tonight? They’ve always paid us before,” he said to him. “All the years before this, when John Whitmore was running things, we got our money the same time he got his.”

“Well, this year, thanks to the way Mr. Dorsey handles it, we’ll rest up tonight so we can light up Abilene tomorrow, good and proper. You still got grub to cook on that wagon, don’t you, Smiley?”

“I sure do,” Smiley said, “and I’m supposed to get some money to feed us on the way back home.”

“There you go, boys,” Eli declared. “You’ll have a good meal in your belly on top of a good night’s rest when you attack Abilene tomorrow.” He looked then at Davey Springer, youngest of the crew at the age of fifteen—and this, his first cattle drive. “This way, you’ll be able to brag about it when you get back home. You can tell ’em you didn’t spend all the little bit of money you made until the second night you were in Abilene.” Still looking directly at Davey, he said, “You’d best be careful if you fancy one of those little gals that makes her livin’ gazin’ at the ceilin’. You reach in your pocket and her hand will already be in there, countin’ your change.”

“You talk like you ain’t gonna go into town with the rest of us, Eli,” Sam Dunn, an experienced drover at the age of eighteen, remarked.

“Oh, I’ll be goin’ in with you,” Eli said. “Both Me and Casey, I expect. But when you young bucks head for the saloons and the dancehalls, we’ll most likely find us a good supper and a drink of likker afterward. Right, Casey?” Casey nodded in reply. “You see, I’ve left too many a little dancehall gal with a broken heart when I had to tell her I couldn’t stay with her. I don’t fancy breakin’ any more hearts.”

His remarks received the mocking he expected. “Maybe when you and Casey finish your supper, you can look for a dancehall where the old ladies are all rollin’ around in their wheelchairs,” Sam suggested.

“That’s a right interestin’ proposition,” Casey commented. “I like the sound of that.”

The jawing back and forth continued right through supper, and for a while afterward, because there was nothing else to do. Dorsey sold the remuda, as well as the cattle, so there were no horses to take care of except the one you kept to ride back home.

There was no reason to roll out of their blankets early the next morning. The bank didn’t open until nine o’clock, which to a cowhand seemed more like noon. Smiley was up early as usual, however, to fix breakfast. They were all standing by the front door of the bank when one of the tellers came to open it. He hesitated when he saw the nine cowhands waiting there. Evidently surmising that they could break the door down, he proceeded to open it. They filed in and lined up at the teller’s window.

“Good morning,” the teller greeted Casey, who was the first in his line. “What can I help you with?”

“You can help me with my lack of spendin’ money,” Casey said cheerfully. He gestured with his hand at the men standing behind him. “The nine of us work for the Whitmore Brothers Cattle Company. We brought a herd of cows up here that were sold yesterday. And Mr. Ronald Dorsey deposited the payroll for us in your bank so each one of us could pick up our money this mornin’. My name’s Casey Tubbs.” He stood there waiting for the teller to do whatever he was going to do to give him his money.

The teller could only respond with an expression of complete puzzlement. He had no knowledge of any payroll the bank was holding. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tubbs, I’ll have to get Mr. Skidmore to help you. I’m afraid I don’t know anything about your payroll.” When he saw Casey’s immediate reaction, he said, “I’ll be right back. Mr. Skidmore will know about it, I’m sure.” He left the cage and hurried back to the bank president’s office.

In a few minutes, the teller returned with the president following. Casey didn’t like the expression on the president’s face. It was one of concern, instead of confidence. “Mr. Tubbs,” he said, “I’m Malcolm Skidmore. I’m the president of this bank. There seems to be some confusion about some payroll money?”

“This is the First Cattleman’s Bank, ain’t it?” Casey asked. When Skidmore acknowledged that, Casey asked, “You did have a Mr. Ronald Dorsey in here yesterday to cash a check for the sale of Whitmore Brothers Cattle Company’s herd of two thousand cows, right?”

“Yes, we did,” Skidmore said.

“Then there ain’t no confusion,” Casey declared confidently.

But Skidmore still showed plenty. “The check was honored and the cash was picked up by a special messenger before we opened this morning to be put on the train for Chicago. Those were Mr. Dorsey’s instructions.”

“But there was most likely a separate sum of money that was the payroll only,” Casey stressed. “That was supposed to be left here in the bank for us to pick up this morning.”

“I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding,” Skidmore said. “Mr. Dorsey said nothing about any payroll. He wanted the entire amount of the money from the sale put on the train to Chicago.” Seeing the instant shock of all nine men, he quickly sought to explain his position. “Please understand, the bank is in no way involved with Mr. Dorsey’s decision on how the money was to be paid. He had a legitimate check and we honored it. Then, as is often the case with a large sum of cash, the customer wishes to have it transported in the safety of the mail car on the train. In that case, we are happy to provide a guard to accompany the customer to the train station, as we did this morning with Mr. Dorsey before the bank opened.”

“So you’re tellin’ us that the money we worked for went to Chicago this mornin’ with Ronald Dorsey?” Eli asked.

Skidmore turned to answer him. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “At least it will. That train isn’t scheduled to leave here until nine forty-five.”

Eli turned to look at Casey. They were both thinking the same thing. “We ain’t got much time to find that double-crossin’ lawyer,” he said.

“No we ain’t,” Casey said, “let’s get goin’!” They headed straight for the door, and Smiley and the six younger men followed.

Outside, they gathered around the three older men, looking for answers. “Whadda we gonna do, Casey?” Sam Dunn asked, plainly bewildered.

Casey looked at the lot of them, all as bewildered as Sam. He made an instant decision. “Me and Eli will take care of it. Smiley, you boys go on back by the creek where we camped and wait for us there. We’ll meet you back there.”

Too confused to offer any other suggestions, they dutifully climbed on their horses and went back to the place they had camped the night just passed. Casey and Eli headed for the train station at a gallop.

The train was still sitting in the station and still taking on passengers when they pulled their horses to a stop beside what appeared to be the mail car. The intention was to find Ronald Dorsey, so they climbed on the train and entered the passenger car behind the mail car. Since Casey was the only one who had actually talked to him, he led the way as they hurried down the aisle, looking left and right for Dorsey. Not seeing him in the first car, they went into the next car and looked for him with the same results. The same happened in the third car, where they bumped into the conductor.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“No,” Eli said. “We’re just lookin’ for somebody. We’ll look in the next car.”

“That’s the caboose,” the conductor said.

“Oh, well, I reckon we’ll look again in them other cars,” Eli said.

“Can I see your tickets?” The conductor was now concerned with the two desperate-looking men.

“We left ’em with our suitcases up in the first car,” Casey said, and started back up the aisle, Eli went right behind him. The conductor just stood there for a moment before deciding he’d better follow them and get a look at their tickets, if they actually had tickets.

They hurried back up the aisles with still no sign of Ronald Dorsey. When they got to the door they had first entered, they stopped to decide what to do. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen to get off the train, unless you can show me your tickets.”

Ignoring his ultimatum, Casey asked, “What’s in that next car?”

“That’s the mail car,” the conductor said. “You can’t go in there.” Casey ignored him and went to the door, but found it locked. “You can’t go in the mail car,” the conductor repeated, now past concern and approaching panic. Still, he tried to maintain his posture of authority. “Now, both of you, off the train, unless you show me a ticket.”

“Here’s my ticket,” Eli said, and pulled his Colt .45 from his holster and jammed it in the conductor’s back. “You’d best come up with a key to that door right quick. We ain’t got time to argue with you.”

“Yes, sir,” the conductor said right away, abandoning all pretense of authority. “But it won’t open if he’s slid the bolt on the other side.” He fumbled with his ring of keys until he found one for the mail car. With one hand on the back of the conductor’s collar and the other holding the gun against his back, Eli pushed him through the door when it opened.

A startled mail guard looked up from a small desk and asked, “What’s goin’ on, John?” A second later, he realized what was happening and he started to bolt upright from his chair, only to flop back down when he saw Casey, also holding a gun. Regaining a portion of his valor, he had to exclaim, “Right here? In the station? You must be out of your mind.”

“What’s your name?” Casey demanded.

“Wesley Logan,” he said, staring at the revolver aimed at him.

“Well, I’m gonna make this real easy for you, Wesley,” Casey continued. “All you have to do is follow my orders and we’ll soon be gone. First thing is to reach over with your left hand and pull that pistol outta your holster and lay it on the floor. Be real careful, Wesley, I druther not have to shoot you.” When Wesley laid the revolver on the floor, Casey said, “Kick it over here.” Wesley did so and Eli picked it up. “We’re here for one sack of money that belongs to the Whitmore Brothers Cattle Company,” Casey continued then. “The sooner you give us that sack, the sooner we’ll be out of here.”

Wesley looked confused. He glanced down at a ledger on his desk, then back up at Casey. “We don’t have any bag for Whitmore Brothers,” he said.

“How ’bout one for Ronald Dorsey?” Eli asked.

Wesley checked his ledger again and said, “We’ve got one for him.” So Casey asked how much was in the bag. “Fifty thousand,” Wesley said.

“Whaddaya think?” Casey asked Eli. “I ain’t tried to figure it up.”

“We could take two thousand and that oughta cover it,” Eli suggested. They hadn’t taken the time to figure out exactly what the total should be for the whole crew.

Casey nodded his agreement. To Wesley then, he said, “Open that bag and count out two thousand dollars.”

“I can’t open it,” Wesley said. “It has a lock on it, and Ronald Dorsey has the key.”

“Get the damn bag,” Casey ordered, “we’re wastin’ time here.” Wesley jumped to follow his demand. Casey followed him to a cabinet and held his gun on him while he opened it and pulled out a canvas bag. As Wesley had said, it had a lock on it.

Eli didn’t wait. He stepped forward and stabbed the bag with his skinning knife, and left the knife sticking in the bag. He told Wesley to cut a hole big enough for him to pull the money out. “Reach in there and count out two thousand”—he paused and looked at Casey and shrugged—“three thousand dollars. Hurry up,” he ordered when he felt the train jerk as if about to start. “Put it in one of them bags.” He pointed to a stack of empty mail sacks on the floor. Wesley kept pulling money out of the hole in the bag until he had counted out three thousand dollars. He paused then and looked up at Eli to see if he was going to tell him to stop. “Three thousand,” Eli said. “That’s all we came for. Hand me my knife.” Wesley dutifully extended the knife toward him. “Turn it around, handle first, you bloomin’ idiot.”

“Oops, sorry,” Wesley uttered, and turned the knife around.

With their guns still trained on the two railroad men, Eli and Casey backed up to the door. “I wanna thank you fellers for not makin’ us have to shoot one of ya.” He looked at Eli and said, “Come on, partner, we gotta hit the north road outta here.” They backed out the door and jumped off the train just as the wheels started to turn over. In the saddle, they dashed away from the station at a gallop, expecting to hear shouts of alarm at any second, but hearing none.

Back in the mail car, John and Wesley were both amazed to still be standing. It was the first train robbery for both and Wesley was still holding the ripped bag. “There’s gonna be hell to pay for this,” he said, staring at the bag and the ragged tear in its side.

“They were two desperate-lookin’ men,” John, the conductor, said. “With all the money in this car, I wonder why they didn’t want it all. There’s fifty thousand dollars in that one bag, and all they took was three thousand.”

“Yeah, don’t make sense, does it?” Wesley said, still staring at the bag. “They coulda took more and this fellow, Dorsey, wouldn’t know the difference. Makes just as much sense if they had took an even five thousand.”

“That’s a fact,” John said. “I’m glad there was two of us witnesses to the holdup, so we can tell ’im what happened. And I expect we’d better report it right away. That fellow, Dorsey, is riding in the caboose. I let him ride back there because he said he had a fear of riding in open passenger cars. He’s gonna be fit to be tied when we tell him what happened.”

“Right,” Wesley agreed, “we’d best get goin’.” He reached in the hole again and pulled out two thousand more and gave John half.

Approaching the south end of town, the two train robbers continued their escape at a fast lope. When it appeared there was no one chasing them, they reined their horses back to a walk and Eli pulled up beside Casey.

“What the hell were you talkin’ about when we left back there and you said we gotta hit the north road? What’s the north road?”

“There’s gotta be some road outta here headin’ north,” Casey said. “So I said that in case they get up a posse to come after us. Wesley and John can tell ’em we were goin’ out the north road.”

Eli just looked at him and shook his head slowly. “We need to stop and figure our money out before we get back to the camp.” Neither one was good at arithmetic, so they dismounted beside the road, and with the road as a blackboard and a stick as their chalk, they figured the split of the money. They finally resorted to moving off the road and into the trees, so they could divide the money in nine little piles. When they were finished, they returned to their camp and the seven anxious souls awaiting them. They all got up to crowd around the two, excited to see Eli holding a sack.

“Boys,” Casey announced, “we’re happy to tell you that you will all get your wages for two months’ work, as the honorable Ronald Dorsey promised. Plus, you’re each gettin’ a one-hundred-dollar bonus for the delay in receivin’ your wages.” That brought forth a cheer from the young cowhands.

“What about the money for my supplies?” Smiley asked.

“You got that, too,” Casey said to him, “more than they’ll actually cost. We all got what was owed us, plus the bonus.”

“You musta found ol’ Dorsey,” Smiley said. “Where’d you find him?”

“We maybe oughta chip in some of our money to you and Eli,” Sam Dunn suggested. “We wouldn’ta got a nickel, if you hadn’t gone after Dorsey to get it.”

Casey and Eli looked at each other to see who was going to explain the special circumstances around the crew’s payday. Finally Eli volunteered. “Boys, there are some special conditions that come along with your payoff. It’s best that you head straight back to Texas, and don’t go into Abilene tonight to spend your money.” He immediately captured everyone’s attention. “You see, we never caught up with Ronald Dorsey. We caught up with the money he got for the sale of the cattle we drove up here. It was on a train that just left here for Chicago.”

“You robbed a train?” Davey Springer asked.

“I guess you could call it that,” Casey said to him. “But it seems only fair. We just took what was rightfully our money and left the rest in Dorsey’s bag. If he had been honest with us, he wouldn’t have had that money to take to Chicago in the first place. That was ours, and me and Eli just went to get it back.”

“That does seem fair,” Smiley remarked, “but the Union Pacific Railroad ain’t likely to see it that way. You had to break into the mail car to get the money, didn’t you?”

“We had to persuade the conductor to unlock the door, so we could get in the car,” Casey said. “But we didn’t break down no doors, or destroy no railroad property, did we, Eli?” He paused, then said, “Except for that money sack you had to cut open with your knife.”

“That weren’t railroad property,” Eli reasoned. “That belonged to Ronald Dorsey.”

“That don’t make no difference,” Smiley insisted. He was genuinely worried about the two old cowhands. “How’d you persuade the conductor to let you in the mail car?”

Casey looked toward Eli again, but saw no tendency to answer the question, so he said, “We told him they had something that belonged to us in there.”

“And he just unlocked the door for you?” Smiley asked.

“That was pretty much what happened,” Casey said. After a pause, he added, “’Course, when Eli stuck his .44 into the conductor’s back, he knew we weren’t just wastin’ his time.”

Smiley shook his head, scarcely able to believe what the two of them were telling him. “I swear, Casey, you’re talkin’ about armed robbery of the Union Pacific Railroad. It don’t matter if it was for that little bit of money. You’re gonna have Union Pacific detectives lookin’ for you, for sure.”

“I hope they take the north road to start lookin’,” Eli mumbled to himself. Then he announced, “If any of you don’t want your share of the money, we’ll be glad to take it back.” No one opted to return the tainted money, including Smiley, which was of no surprise to Casey or Eli.

Given the special circumstances that insured their pay, plus bonuses, the rest of the crew were in agreement with Casey and Eli’s recommendation to leave Kansas at once and return to Texas. All the younger hands were planning to ride the grub line in hopes of finding permanent employment with some of the bigger ranches. The coming winter would be a little easier on their efforts with the extra money Casey and Eli had procured for them. Each man thanked the two for their sacrifice on their behalf and promised to never tell where they got the money.

Smiley was the only one of them who had a place to go. He had already agreed to go to work for another rancher in North Texas he had worked for before. He was replacing an old cook who was making his last trip to market that year. That left the two train robbers to decide what to do.

“Iswear, Eli, I don’t know if I’m ready to start out on the grub line again,” Casey confessed. “I started out in this business as a wrangler for Sid Williams down in Mason County. I was the same age Davey Springer is, fifteen years old. That was thirty-some years ago, and it seems more like a hundred. Maybe I’ll change my mind, but right now, I don’t wanna push another herd of half-crazy cows across another storm-swollen river or chase another stampede in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

“I reckon I know how you feel,” Eli said. “I was a few years older than Davey when I got into this business, but I’ve been doin’ it about the same number of years as you have. If Whitmore hadn’t shut down, I expect I woulda signed on again for next year, just because there ain’t nothin’ else I can do but work cows.”

“Right now, I’m gonna set right here on this creek bank and drink the rest of that pot of coffee Smiley made,” Casey declared. “I didn’t see a sign of anybody noticin’ us when we rode away from that train, so I don’t really expect to see any posse makin’ up in Abilene to come lookin’ for us.” He looked at Smiley, a dozen yards away, still packing up his chuck wagon, and yelled, “You ain’t ready to throw that coffee out, are you, Smiley?”

“Nope,” Smiley yelled back. “I’m fixin’ to have myself some apple pie with a cup of this coffee. I’ve got enough of that pie left to make about three servings, if you’re interested.” He waited for the reaction he was betting on.

“Hell yeah,” Eli yelled. “That was damn good pie.” Smiley always brought dried fruit of some kind on every cattle drive. And he had the talent to roll out some dough crust and fry it in lard for a treat once in a while.

Eli and Casey went over to the chuckwagon, and Smiley filled their cups with the last of the coffee and gave them each a serving of pie. “I didn’t say nothin’ about this till after the other boys had gone ’cause I didn’t have enough to feed everybody. Besides, you two deserve a special treat for goin’ after that money. I just hope to hell you don’t see your names up on the post office wall.”

“I don’t think we’ve got much to worry about,” Casey said. “We didn’t tell them two what our names were.”

“A railroad detective might be asking about men lookin’ to find new outfits to ride for,” Smiley speculated, “since they do know that Whitmore shut down, and that’s who you were ridin’ for.”

“I thought about that, too,” Casey said. “That’s another reason not to ride the grub line this winter.”

They finished up the pie and coffee, and Eli and Casey cleaned their plates in the creek while Smiley washed out the coffeepot. When he was packed up and ready to go, he asked if they were going to head back to the old Whitmore Brothers Ranch.

“I ain’t decided yet,” Casey told him, and Eli said he hadn’t, either.

“Well, I’ll see you when I see you,” Smiley said, and shook hands with each of them. “Take care of yourselves. You’re the only outlaws I know that I can call friends.” They enjoyed a good chuckle over that and wished him well. He climbed up into the wagon seat and started out after the younger hands. He figured he’d catch up to them when they got hungry.

The two friends remained there for a long while, talking about what they could possibly do to earn a living if they didn’t try to find another cattle outfit to sign on with. They found themselves caught in a canyon between too young to stop working and too old to start out fresh on some other occupation. The only thing they could think of where they might make a living was prospecting for gold or silver, which neither of them knew anything about.

“At least we’ve got a little money to tide us over the winter,” Eli said, “thanks to the generosity of Ronald Dorsey.”

“I think he would agree that as many years as we worked in cattle, we deserved a decent retirement package,” Casey joked. After they paid the men their due wages, plus a hundred-dollar bonus, he and Eli came away with over eight hundred dollars each. . . .