Read Online Lonely On the Mountain (1980) by Louis - Sackett's 19 L'amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis - Sackett's 19 L'amour
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trouble.
You can expect Higginses.
To any Sackett the phrase indicated trouble, but from whom? And why?
Folding his razor, he put it away in its case with his brush and soap, then completed dressing. He rolled his blankets, including his spare pistol, then put out the light.
Taking up his rifle, he stepped to the door, opening it a crack. The air was cool, and he inhaled deeply, waiting and listening.
The small lobby was empty and still. There was no one at the desk. Sitting near the door was a valise that belonged to Kyle Gavin, but the man himself was nowhere about.
As he put his things down near the door, he noticed part of a torn sticker on the valise ... toria. He straightened up, considering that.
Victoria, B.c.? It could be.
So? Gavin could easily have been there. He was a widely traveled man.
Yet when they had talked of British Columbia, he had offered no information on the area, nor had he mentioned visiting there. Why had Nolan warned him against Gavin? Or about him?
He was opening the door to step outside when he heard a click of heels on the board floor and turned. Devnet Molrone looked fresh and lovely, as though she had not traveled a mile.
"The cart is coming," he said. Even as he spoke, it was pulling up at the door. He was surprised, although he should not have been. He had never seen a Red River cart before, although he had heard of them.
Each cart was about six feet long and three wide; the bottom was of one-inch boards; the wheels were seven and a half feet in diameter.
The hubs were ten inches across and bored to receive an axle of split oak. The wood used was oak throughout. Each cart was drawn by a single horse and would carry approximately four hundred pounds.
No nails were used. Oak pins and rawhide bindings held it all together.
Kyle Gavin followed the cart and gestured to the driver. "Baptiste, who will drive for us. The ladies will ride in the cart. You and I"--Gavin glanced at Orrin--"will ride horseback. You do not mind?" Orrin Sackett shrugged. "I prefer to ride. I always feel better on a horse." Orrin threw his gear into the cart, then placed Devnet's valise and a small trunk in the wagon. Mary McCann had only a valise.
The ungreased axle groaned as they moved out, Kyle Gavin leading off. Orrin slid his rifle into the boot and swung into the saddle.
The sun was not yet up when they moved out, heading north, parallel to the Red River. There was no sign of the Stampers. As the cart was lightly loaded, they moved out at a good pace.
There was no time for conversation but the route was plain before them. At noon, they pulled up under a wide-spreading elm, and Baptiste set about preparing a meal while the horse, after being watered, was picketed on the thick green grass.
Orrin sat down under the elm's shade, removed his hat, and mopped his brow, his rifle across his lap. His eyes looked off toward the west. "What's over there?" he asked.
Baptiste shrugged a shoulder. "Sand, much sand.
Once a sea, I t'ink. Maybe so. Great hills of sand." "Do you know Riel?" "Aye, I know him. He is good man--great man. He speaks what we t'ink." He gestured. "We, the m`etis, our home is here. We live our lives on this land. All the time we work. We trap that' fur for Hudson's Bay Company. We have our homes, we raise our children, then the Comp'ny goes away.
"It iss here--poof! It iss gone! Then come others, strangers who say we have nothing. They will take our homes. Long ago we call upon Louis Riel, the father. He speaks for us.
Now we call upon the son." "I wish him luck," Orrin said.
Baptiste glanced at him slyly. "You do not come for land? Some mans say Yankees come with army. Many mans." "That's foolish talk," Orrin replied brusquely. "We've problems of our own without interfering in yours. There are always some folks who make such talk for their own purposes, but the American people wouldn't stand for it." He squinted his eyes toward the river, frowning a little. Had he seen a movement over
You can expect Higginses.
To any Sackett the phrase indicated trouble, but from whom? And why?
Folding his razor, he put it away in its case with his brush and soap, then completed dressing. He rolled his blankets, including his spare pistol, then put out the light.
Taking up his rifle, he stepped to the door, opening it a crack. The air was cool, and he inhaled deeply, waiting and listening.
The small lobby was empty and still. There was no one at the desk. Sitting near the door was a valise that belonged to Kyle Gavin, but the man himself was nowhere about.
As he put his things down near the door, he noticed part of a torn sticker on the valise ... toria. He straightened up, considering that.
Victoria, B.c.? It could be.
So? Gavin could easily have been there. He was a widely traveled man.
Yet when they had talked of British Columbia, he had offered no information on the area, nor had he mentioned visiting there. Why had Nolan warned him against Gavin? Or about him?
He was opening the door to step outside when he heard a click of heels on the board floor and turned. Devnet Molrone looked fresh and lovely, as though she had not traveled a mile.
"The cart is coming," he said. Even as he spoke, it was pulling up at the door. He was surprised, although he should not have been. He had never seen a Red River cart before, although he had heard of them.
Each cart was about six feet long and three wide; the bottom was of one-inch boards; the wheels were seven and a half feet in diameter.
The hubs were ten inches across and bored to receive an axle of split oak. The wood used was oak throughout. Each cart was drawn by a single horse and would carry approximately four hundred pounds.
No nails were used. Oak pins and rawhide bindings held it all together.
Kyle Gavin followed the cart and gestured to the driver. "Baptiste, who will drive for us. The ladies will ride in the cart. You and I"--Gavin glanced at Orrin--"will ride horseback. You do not mind?" Orrin Sackett shrugged. "I prefer to ride. I always feel better on a horse." Orrin threw his gear into the cart, then placed Devnet's valise and a small trunk in the wagon. Mary McCann had only a valise.
The ungreased axle groaned as they moved out, Kyle Gavin leading off. Orrin slid his rifle into the boot and swung into the saddle.
The sun was not yet up when they moved out, heading north, parallel to the Red River. There was no sign of the Stampers. As the cart was lightly loaded, they moved out at a good pace.
There was no time for conversation but the route was plain before them. At noon, they pulled up under a wide-spreading elm, and Baptiste set about preparing a meal while the horse, after being watered, was picketed on the thick green grass.
Orrin sat down under the elm's shade, removed his hat, and mopped his brow, his rifle across his lap. His eyes looked off toward the west. "What's over there?" he asked.
Baptiste shrugged a shoulder. "Sand, much sand.
Once a sea, I t'ink. Maybe so. Great hills of sand." "Do you know Riel?" "Aye, I know him. He is good man--great man. He speaks what we t'ink." He gestured. "We, the m`etis, our home is here. We live our lives on this land. All the time we work. We trap that' fur for Hudson's Bay Company. We have our homes, we raise our children, then the Comp'ny goes away.
"It iss here--poof! It iss gone! Then come others, strangers who say we have nothing. They will take our homes. Long ago we call upon Louis Riel, the father. He speaks for us.
Now we call upon the son." "I wish him luck," Orrin said.
Baptiste glanced at him slyly. "You do not come for land? Some mans say Yankees come with army. Many mans." "That's foolish talk," Orrin replied brusquely. "We've problems of our own without interfering in yours. There are always some folks who make such talk for their own purposes, but the American people wouldn't stand for it." He squinted his eyes toward the river, frowning a little. Had he seen a movement over
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