HISTARCHers:

     I'm an archeologist writing up a report of some excavations that were
     done under a ca. 1898-1916 saloon in Skagway, Alaska. One item that was
     found was a page out of a paperback western novel. I was hoping someone
     on the list who enjoyed this genre might recognise the passage and be
     able to give me the title, author, and possible dates of publication.
     The following passage was on pages 23 and 24.

     You can reply off-line to [log in to unmask]


     Thanks in advance, and please excuse the cross-postings.


     ...said, when Longarm told him of his choice. "'Course, everyone
     complains because she's a mite old and not as sassy as the younger
     mounts. But she's a Morgan." He shook his head. "Some people just
     don't know nothing' about horses."
        "She'll do fine, " Longarm told the man. Then he mentioned the shoe
     and asked him to clean out the frogs thoroughly.
        "You didn't have to tell me," the man protested. "I wouldn't let a
     horse leave my stable what wasn't in perfect condition."
        Longarm smiled at that, and was about to go back to take another
     look at the Morgan, when he heard shouts erupting suddenly in the
     darkening street. He stepped out through the stable door and saw four
     mounted men dragging four Indians at the ends of ropes. The men were
     riding at such a brisk trot that the Indians were unable to keep their
     feet for any length of time. They were, in fact, almost totally
     exhausted. Their appearance was wretched. Their hair was matted with
     sweat-caked alkali and their knees and elbows were raw and bleeding.
        The horsemen pulled up in front of the Silver City Saloon with guns
     thundering into the sky. The Indians collapsed forward onto their
     knees. Longarm shook his head in disgust as loggers and gunmen poured
     out of the saloon to dance in glee around the sullen, prostrate
     Indians. With some satisfaction, Longarm noted that not one of the
     Indians had uttered a single cry. They were as silent as vengeance as
     they lay, sprawled in the dust, looking up at their tormenters.
        "Now that's real excitement, ain't it?" the old man said, his tone
     betraying the contempt he felt for those four riders.
     Longarm glanced down at the old cowpoke. His hair was almost gone, and
     what was left was fine-spun cotton. He had the squinting look of men
     who have spent too many years looking long distances under a glaring
     sun - and the bulbous, cherry-red noes of the inebriate. The bulge of
     a flask was clearly visible on his hip.
        "You don't approve?" Longarm asked him.
        The man thrust his chin forward indignantly. "No, sir. I don't.
     After all, them Indians is just Diggers - poorest damn excuses I ever
     saw for a red man. They ain't no bother. All they do is kill
     jackrabbits and eat pin nuts." Then he shook his head. "But there
     ain't nothing I can do about it. If I was to go agin' that bunch, they
     wouldn't pay me no more heed than a steer does to a cobweb. I'd have
     as much chance as a wax cat in hell." He turned and started back into
     the livery. Longarm looked back and watched as the four men dragged
     the Indians - still roped - into the saloon. Abruptly, Longarm started
     across the street. He worked for the federal government. These Digger
     Indians were wards of that government. It was part of his job to see
     to their safety.