Read Online Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L’Amour
Tags: Usenet
Ads: Link
Rafe said. “I—”
She smiled. “You needn’t say anything more, Mr. Caradec. I admit I was almost coming to believe there was something in your story. At least, I was wondering about it, for I couldn’t understand how you hoped to profit from any such tale. Now it becomes clear. You are trying to get half my ranch. You have even moved into my house without asking permission.”
____________
S HE STEPPED TO one side of the door.
“I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave! I must also ask you to vacate the house on Crazy Man, at once! I must ask you to refrain from calling on me again or from approaching me.”
“Please!” Rafe said. “You’re jumpin’ to conclusions. I never aimed to claim any part of the ranch! I came here only because your father asked me to.”
“Good day, Mr. Caradec!” Ann still held the curtain.
He looked at her, and for an instant their eyes held. She was first to look away. He turned abruptly and stepped through the curtain, and as he did the door opened and he saw Bo Marsh.
Marsh’s eyes were excited and anxious. “Rafe,” he said, “that Boyne hombre’s in front of the National. He wants you!”
“Why, sure,” Rafe said quietly. “I’m ready.”
He walked to the front door, hitching his guns into place. Behind him, he heard Ann Rodney asking Baker:
“What did he mean that Boyne was waiting for him?”
Baker’s reply came to Rafe as he stepped out into the morning light.
“Trigger Boyne’s goin’ to kill him, Ann. You’d better go back inside!”
Rafe smiled slightly. Kill him? Would that be it? No man knew better than he the tricks that destiny plays on a man or how often the right man dies at the wrong time and place. A man never wore a gun without inviting trouble, he never stepped into a street and began the gunman’s walk without the full knowledge that he might be a shade too slow, that some small thing might disturb him just long enough!
CHAPTER VIII
Duel of Painted Rock
Morning sun was bright, and the street lay empty of horses and vehicles. A few idlers loafed in front of the stage station, but all of them were on their feet.
Rafe Caradec saw his black horse switch his tail at a fly, and he stepped down in the street. Trigger Boyne stepped off the boardwalk to face him, some distance off. Rafe did not walk slowly, he made no measured, quiet approach. He started to walk toward Boyne, going fast.
Trigger stepped down into the street easily, casually. He was smiling. Inside, his heart was throbbing, and there was a wild reckless eagerness within him. This one he would finish off fast. This would be simple, easy.
He squared in the street, and suddenly the smile was wiped from his face. Caradec was coming toward him, shortening the distance at a fast walk. That rapid approach did something to the calm on Boyne’s face and in his mind. It was wrong. Caradec should have come slowly. He should have come poised and ready to draw.
Knowing his own deadly marksmanship, Boyne felt sure he could kill this man at any distance. But as soon as he saw that walk, he knew that Caradec was going to be so close in a few more steps that he himself would be killed.
It is one thing to know you are to kill another man, quite a different thing to know you are to die yourself. Why, if Caradec walked that way he would be so close he couldn’t miss!
Boyne’s legs spread and the wolf sprang into his eyes, but there was panic there, too. He had to stop his man, get him now. His hand swept down for his gun.
Yet something was wrong. For all his speed he seemed incredibly slow, because that other man, that tall, moving figure in the buckskin coat and black hat, was already shooting.
Trigger’s own hand moved first, his own hand gripped the gun butt first, and then he was staring into a smashing, blossoming rose of flame that seemed to bloom beyond the muzzle of that big black gun in the hands of Rafe Caradec. Something stabbed at his stomach, and he went numb to his
She smiled. “You needn’t say anything more, Mr. Caradec. I admit I was almost coming to believe there was something in your story. At least, I was wondering about it, for I couldn’t understand how you hoped to profit from any such tale. Now it becomes clear. You are trying to get half my ranch. You have even moved into my house without asking permission.”
____________
S HE STEPPED TO one side of the door.
“I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave! I must also ask you to vacate the house on Crazy Man, at once! I must ask you to refrain from calling on me again or from approaching me.”
“Please!” Rafe said. “You’re jumpin’ to conclusions. I never aimed to claim any part of the ranch! I came here only because your father asked me to.”
“Good day, Mr. Caradec!” Ann still held the curtain.
He looked at her, and for an instant their eyes held. She was first to look away. He turned abruptly and stepped through the curtain, and as he did the door opened and he saw Bo Marsh.
Marsh’s eyes were excited and anxious. “Rafe,” he said, “that Boyne hombre’s in front of the National. He wants you!”
“Why, sure,” Rafe said quietly. “I’m ready.”
He walked to the front door, hitching his guns into place. Behind him, he heard Ann Rodney asking Baker:
“What did he mean that Boyne was waiting for him?”
Baker’s reply came to Rafe as he stepped out into the morning light.
“Trigger Boyne’s goin’ to kill him, Ann. You’d better go back inside!”
Rafe smiled slightly. Kill him? Would that be it? No man knew better than he the tricks that destiny plays on a man or how often the right man dies at the wrong time and place. A man never wore a gun without inviting trouble, he never stepped into a street and began the gunman’s walk without the full knowledge that he might be a shade too slow, that some small thing might disturb him just long enough!
CHAPTER VIII
Duel of Painted Rock
Morning sun was bright, and the street lay empty of horses and vehicles. A few idlers loafed in front of the stage station, but all of them were on their feet.
Rafe Caradec saw his black horse switch his tail at a fly, and he stepped down in the street. Trigger Boyne stepped off the boardwalk to face him, some distance off. Rafe did not walk slowly, he made no measured, quiet approach. He started to walk toward Boyne, going fast.
Trigger stepped down into the street easily, casually. He was smiling. Inside, his heart was throbbing, and there was a wild reckless eagerness within him. This one he would finish off fast. This would be simple, easy.
He squared in the street, and suddenly the smile was wiped from his face. Caradec was coming toward him, shortening the distance at a fast walk. That rapid approach did something to the calm on Boyne’s face and in his mind. It was wrong. Caradec should have come slowly. He should have come poised and ready to draw.
Knowing his own deadly marksmanship, Boyne felt sure he could kill this man at any distance. But as soon as he saw that walk, he knew that Caradec was going to be so close in a few more steps that he himself would be killed.
It is one thing to know you are to kill another man, quite a different thing to know you are to die yourself. Why, if Caradec walked that way he would be so close he couldn’t miss!
Boyne’s legs spread and the wolf sprang into his eyes, but there was panic there, too. He had to stop his man, get him now. His hand swept down for his gun.
Yet something was wrong. For all his speed he seemed incredibly slow, because that other man, that tall, moving figure in the buckskin coat and black hat, was already shooting.
Trigger’s own hand moved first, his own hand gripped the gun butt first, and then he was staring into a smashing, blossoming rose of flame that seemed to bloom beyond the muzzle of that big black gun in the hands of Rafe Caradec. Something stabbed at his stomach, and he went numb to his
Similar Books
