Bar-20 Days

Slivers Lowe leaped up from his chair. Yo’re right, Harper! Dead right! I was a little cattle owner onct, so was you, an’ Jerry, an’ most of us! Slivers found it convenient to forget that fully half of his small herd had perished in the bitter and long winter of five years before, and that the remainder had either flowed down his parched throat or been lost across the big round table near the bar. Not a few of his cows were banked in the east under Harlan’s name.