Read Online Flint (1960) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L'amour
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fighting, for his business was developing rapidly. But he had continued to workout in the gymnasiums, to box occasionally with Mike Donovan or Dominick McCafferty, to wrestle a little, and play handball. There had been no hint of this thing that lay within him.
The door swung open and the four riders came in. Flint glanced at them briefly and saw trouble. The first two were swaggering youngsters with uncut hair and dirty range clothes, just out of their teens. One of the two older men was a Mexican, the other a tough competent-looking man dressed simply, neatly.
"Hey!" one of the younger men yelled at Sulphur Tom. "Give us a drink!"
"Soon's I finish this order," Tom replied shortly. The young man came down the bar, hunting trouble.
"Look, old man," he said, "I reckon you didn't hear me. I said I wanted a drink. And I want it now."
Something seemed to rise inside of Jim Flint. Was it bitterness that this tough youngster was going to live when he knew he was going to die? Or was it that old love of battle? For nothing else was left to him now. Or was it that he hoped and wanted to be killed? "He's waiting on me," Flint said roughly. "You take your turn."
The young man turned like a cat. "Why, you -- !" The sentence was never completed. Jim Flint, far from the marts of capital and bonds, struck viciously. The young man had started to move in, and the punch caught him flush on his completely unprotected chin.
He hit the floor on his face, as if struck with a mallet.
Jim Flint looked across the fallen man at the three who were with him. "He was hunting trouble. He found it. There's more if you want to buy."
The other youngster started to speak, but the older, neatly dressed man interrupted. "You're quick," he said, "and you hit hard. How are you with a gun?"
Flint looked across the room and said coolly, "As you see, I am wearing one. If you wish to know how good I am with it, you will have to pay to learn." There had been no move from the man on the floor.
The rider who had asked his question had his answer.
So he looked down at the fallen man. "Is he dead?"
"I doubt it." Over his shoulder, Flint said to Sulphur Tom, "Get their drinks. I'll buy." The Mexican walked over and turned the boy over with his boot toe. The youngster blinked, and started to sit up, then sank back with a groan.
"Better take his gun," Sulphur Tom suggested. "He'll be sore as a stepped-on snake."
"Let him keep it," Flint said. "He can do what he likes."
Sulphur Tom took down a bottle and filled glasses for them. "Fill one for him, too," Flint said.
Slowly, the boy on the floor sat up, blinking. He put his hand to his jaw, then stared around him, suddenly remembering.
"You're wearing a gun," Flint said coldly, "and there's a drink on the bar for you. Take whichever one you've a mind to."
Getting awkwardly to his feet, the boy turned his back on Flint and stood there for a moment, swaying uncertainly. Then he stepped over to the bar and took his drink.
When they had finished the four went out and rode away.
Sulphur Tom sacked up the supplies. "You don't take much prodding, do you?"
Jim Flint looked around. "I've got an edge," he said quietly, "because I just don't give a damn."
Taking up the sack, he walked outside and over to his horse. The four riders were nowhere in sight He loaded the pack and stepped into the saddle. The old mare was carrying a bit of weight, but she was in good shape, and he planned to walk a large part of the distance.
He was not at all sure that the four riders might not be watching the town to see which direction he chose.
He rode west, the great open Plains of St. Augustine on his left. Holding close to the mountain, he turned suddenly into Patterson Canyon for a short distance, then took a narrow Indian trial over the mountain to Mangas Canyon.
Several times he stopped to listen, but heard nothing. Before descending into Mangas Canyon he studied the shadowing terrain for some time. Across the canyon and
The door swung open and the four riders came in. Flint glanced at them briefly and saw trouble. The first two were swaggering youngsters with uncut hair and dirty range clothes, just out of their teens. One of the two older men was a Mexican, the other a tough competent-looking man dressed simply, neatly.
"Hey!" one of the younger men yelled at Sulphur Tom. "Give us a drink!"
"Soon's I finish this order," Tom replied shortly. The young man came down the bar, hunting trouble.
"Look, old man," he said, "I reckon you didn't hear me. I said I wanted a drink. And I want it now."
Something seemed to rise inside of Jim Flint. Was it bitterness that this tough youngster was going to live when he knew he was going to die? Or was it that old love of battle? For nothing else was left to him now. Or was it that he hoped and wanted to be killed? "He's waiting on me," Flint said roughly. "You take your turn."
The young man turned like a cat. "Why, you -- !" The sentence was never completed. Jim Flint, far from the marts of capital and bonds, struck viciously. The young man had started to move in, and the punch caught him flush on his completely unprotected chin.
He hit the floor on his face, as if struck with a mallet.
Jim Flint looked across the fallen man at the three who were with him. "He was hunting trouble. He found it. There's more if you want to buy."
The other youngster started to speak, but the older, neatly dressed man interrupted. "You're quick," he said, "and you hit hard. How are you with a gun?"
Flint looked across the room and said coolly, "As you see, I am wearing one. If you wish to know how good I am with it, you will have to pay to learn." There had been no move from the man on the floor.
The rider who had asked his question had his answer.
So he looked down at the fallen man. "Is he dead?"
"I doubt it." Over his shoulder, Flint said to Sulphur Tom, "Get their drinks. I'll buy." The Mexican walked over and turned the boy over with his boot toe. The youngster blinked, and started to sit up, then sank back with a groan.
"Better take his gun," Sulphur Tom suggested. "He'll be sore as a stepped-on snake."
"Let him keep it," Flint said. "He can do what he likes."
Sulphur Tom took down a bottle and filled glasses for them. "Fill one for him, too," Flint said.
Slowly, the boy on the floor sat up, blinking. He put his hand to his jaw, then stared around him, suddenly remembering.
"You're wearing a gun," Flint said coldly, "and there's a drink on the bar for you. Take whichever one you've a mind to."
Getting awkwardly to his feet, the boy turned his back on Flint and stood there for a moment, swaying uncertainly. Then he stepped over to the bar and took his drink.
When they had finished the four went out and rode away.
Sulphur Tom sacked up the supplies. "You don't take much prodding, do you?"
Jim Flint looked around. "I've got an edge," he said quietly, "because I just don't give a damn."
Taking up the sack, he walked outside and over to his horse. The four riders were nowhere in sight He loaded the pack and stepped into the saddle. The old mare was carrying a bit of weight, but she was in good shape, and he planned to walk a large part of the distance.
He was not at all sure that the four riders might not be watching the town to see which direction he chose.
He rode west, the great open Plains of St. Augustine on his left. Holding close to the mountain, he turned suddenly into Patterson Canyon for a short distance, then took a narrow Indian trial over the mountain to Mangas Canyon.
Several times he stopped to listen, but heard nothing. Before descending into Mangas Canyon he studied the shadowing terrain for some time. Across the canyon and
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