Read Online High Valley Manhunt: Laramie Davies #1 by B. S. Dunn - Free Book Online Page A

talk to the law, just don't let that crazy old coot kill
me.”
    Laramie
nodded, “Okay then, go and get the horses ready to leave. We
should have been gone ages ago.”
    “And
don't get no idea's about runnin' either sonny. I may be old but I
can still shoot straight.”
    Slate
said nothing as he walked out the door.
    “You
should've let me shoot him boy,” Lonesome opined.
    “Do
you think he will go through with it?” Sally questioned.
    “I
guess we'll find out.”
    A
while later the horses were saddled and all three were ready to
depart, “Are you sure you don't want to come with us? You know
they'll be comin' this way.”
    Lonesome
gave a raspy chuckle, “Son, I've fought Indians and faced down
grizz. You don't think a bunch of pesky old outlaws is goin' to scare
me any do ya? Besides, this is my home and this is where I plan on
dyin'.”
    Laramie
held out his hand and Lonesome took it in his firm, rough grasp,
“I'll see you when the snow flies.”
    “You
damn well better,” the old man said gruffly.
    “When
they come, tell them which way we went. Don't get mixed up in it as
it's not your fight.”
    “Don't
you worry about me.”
    They
turned their horses and rode away, and left the old trapper where he
stood and watched them as they went.
    “Do
you think he will be alright?” Sally asked, a hint of sadness
in her voice.
    “I
hope so Sally, I sure hope so.”

    *

    There
were ten of them altogether but only nine were lined up in front of
Lonesome Lane. The other, a Crow Indian walked a wide path, and
looked for sign. Since Laramie and the others had gone, the old
mountain man had sat and waited for the pursuers to come. Now he
faced them with the Hawken pointed in their direction, its hammer on
full cock.
    “Are
you blind old man?” asked Jeb Coltrain in frustration, “Can't
you see this badge? It says Sheriff.”
    Lonesome
smiled coldly, “It's right purty. Now, have you ever seen what
a lead ball can do to one of them nice shiny badges you're wearin'?”
    The
Sheriff was out of patience, “I asked you a question. Were they
here and where did they go?”
    “No
they weren't here and I don't know where they went and that was two
questions.”
    Benny
moved his horse forward, “Damn you old man...”
    The
Hawken moved and its gaping muzzle settled on the kid, “Now
sonny, just you pull them horns of yours in before I go and teach you
some manners.”
    “Back
off kid, let the sheriff handle it,” said Harbin.
    “He
ain't goin' to tell us squat Blackie,” Benny whined.
    Lonesome
redirected his gaze until it rested on the boss outlaw, “So
you're the great Blackie Harbin. You and yours are the ones the
Blackfeet is lookin' for.”
    Blackie's
eyes hardened.
    “Did
he tell you what he did Sheriff?”
    “Shut
up old man,” Harbin grated.
    “He
killed himself an Indian. Not just any Indian, the brother of a chief
no less.”
    Harbin
pulled the flap of his duster aside, and exposed one of his pearl
handled Colts, “I told you to shut up, I won't tell you again.”
    The
old trapper ignored the killer's threats and continued, “But it
didn't stop there. He had himself a great time with the braves' wife
before he cut her throat!”
    “Damn
you,” Harbin cursed and his hand blurred. The Colt cleared
leather and before the old man could bring the Hawken into line, a
single shot crashed out. The .45 calibre slug caught Lonesome in the
chest, and knocked him back. As he went down, the mountain man lost
grip of his prized possession and it fell into the grass beside him.
As Laramie had told Sally, Lonesome was tough, and the old timer
struggled back up to his knees. He looked Harbin in the eye and tried
to speak. No words came forth and after a few hard fought seconds of
trying to stay erect, Lonesome Lane fell face first into the grass
and remained still.
    “No,
what have you done!” cried the Judge.
    “What
in hell did you go and do that for Harbin?” cursed the Sheriff.
    “He
talked too much,”