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Authors: Louis L'amour
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that when she talked of this she was not using her own words, but words she had heard. From her father, perhaps? Or from somebody else? Had Tom any inkling of her doubts? Or that there might be some who lacked faith, someone close to Mady or himself?
He had no doubt that somebody had informed the Munsons that he and his men had ridden to Refugio the day before. Those hard-ridden horses were hard to explain in any other way.
Somebody had informed the Munsons in time for them to get some fighting men to Refugio.
That they had failed in their mission was largely due to the fact that they had failed to catch Duvarney and his men together in a single group.
Tap Duvarney had lived too long to trust anyone too much. It was his nature to like people, but also to understand that many men are weak, and some are strong. In the rough life of the frontier strengths and weaknesses crop out in most unexpected places, and there is less chance to conceal defects of character that in a less demanding world might never become known . . . even to their possessor.
Someone close to Tom Kittery, someone whom he trusted, was betraying him. It would pay to ride carefully and to study the trail sign before revealing too much to anyone.
Riding back to the hide-out in the brush, Tap Duvarney considered his moves with care, trying to foresee the moves the enemy would make, and to plan his own accordingly.
They must do the unexpected, always the unexpected.
Tom Kittery got up from the fire and approached as Tap swung down. "We'll drive for Kansas," Tap said, "and we'll start day after tomorrow."
Chapter Six.
Over the sullen coals of a me s quite-root fire, Tap Duvarney told his men: "Roll out at first' light, bunch on Matagorda, and sweep south. Start about here." He drew a rough map of the island. "Push down and swim them over to here."
He turned to Kittery. "Tom, how about you taking your boys and sweeping kind of east by north from Copano Creek? Scatter out and gather what you can, but waste no time chasing the tough old ones.
"Darkly Foster can take Shannon, Lahey, and Gallagher over to the tip of Black Jack Peninsula and drive north. We'll work fast and we'll miss a lot of stuff, but we should rendezvous on Horseshoe Lake with a good-sized herd."
Kittery nodded. "Seems likely. How about you?"
"I'll take Doc, Lawton Bean, Spicer, and Jule Simms over to the island. Walker and Porter can work with you."
"You'll never make it. Not in the time you're givin* us. That's a whole lot of country."
"I know it is, and we can't make a clean sweep. Just start driving and keep moving.
What we get we'll take, and what's left we can get the next time."
"All right, Major," Kittery said ironically, "you're givin' the orders."
Breck and Lubec stared stubbornly at the ground, ignoring Tap. The Cajun showed no feeling one way or the other. Tap said mildly, "If we all do our part, this should be quite a drive. We'll slip out of here without a fight."
Lubec laughed contemptuously. "You don't know them Munsons, Major." Lubec emphasized the title. "They'll wait until you bunch your stock and they'll move. You'll see."
"I hope you'll be there shooting when they do, Johnny," Tap replied pleasantly. "Now I'm going to hit the hay. I'm tired."
Slowly, they drifted away to their beds, all but Breck, Lubec, and Kittery.
"They don't like it much, Major," Spicer whispered, "you takin' command like this."
The night was still. The crickets' chirping was the only sound. Tap clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars, which winked occasionally through the black mantilla formed by the branches and leaves overhead. He liked the smell of the earth, the trees, the coolness of a soft wind from off the Gulf.
Despite his outward assurance, he was far from confident. There were too many things that could happen, too many things to go wrong, and there was too much that was doubtful about his own relationship with Tom Kittery.
The man was moody and
He had no doubt that somebody had informed the Munsons that he and his men had ridden to Refugio the day before. Those hard-ridden horses were hard to explain in any other way.
Somebody had informed the Munsons in time for them to get some fighting men to Refugio.
That they had failed in their mission was largely due to the fact that they had failed to catch Duvarney and his men together in a single group.
Tap Duvarney had lived too long to trust anyone too much. It was his nature to like people, but also to understand that many men are weak, and some are strong. In the rough life of the frontier strengths and weaknesses crop out in most unexpected places, and there is less chance to conceal defects of character that in a less demanding world might never become known . . . even to their possessor.
Someone close to Tom Kittery, someone whom he trusted, was betraying him. It would pay to ride carefully and to study the trail sign before revealing too much to anyone.
Riding back to the hide-out in the brush, Tap Duvarney considered his moves with care, trying to foresee the moves the enemy would make, and to plan his own accordingly.
They must do the unexpected, always the unexpected.
Tom Kittery got up from the fire and approached as Tap swung down. "We'll drive for Kansas," Tap said, "and we'll start day after tomorrow."
Chapter Six.
Over the sullen coals of a me s quite-root fire, Tap Duvarney told his men: "Roll out at first' light, bunch on Matagorda, and sweep south. Start about here." He drew a rough map of the island. "Push down and swim them over to here."
He turned to Kittery. "Tom, how about you taking your boys and sweeping kind of east by north from Copano Creek? Scatter out and gather what you can, but waste no time chasing the tough old ones.
"Darkly Foster can take Shannon, Lahey, and Gallagher over to the tip of Black Jack Peninsula and drive north. We'll work fast and we'll miss a lot of stuff, but we should rendezvous on Horseshoe Lake with a good-sized herd."
Kittery nodded. "Seems likely. How about you?"
"I'll take Doc, Lawton Bean, Spicer, and Jule Simms over to the island. Walker and Porter can work with you."
"You'll never make it. Not in the time you're givin* us. That's a whole lot of country."
"I know it is, and we can't make a clean sweep. Just start driving and keep moving.
What we get we'll take, and what's left we can get the next time."
"All right, Major," Kittery said ironically, "you're givin' the orders."
Breck and Lubec stared stubbornly at the ground, ignoring Tap. The Cajun showed no feeling one way or the other. Tap said mildly, "If we all do our part, this should be quite a drive. We'll slip out of here without a fight."
Lubec laughed contemptuously. "You don't know them Munsons, Major." Lubec emphasized the title. "They'll wait until you bunch your stock and they'll move. You'll see."
"I hope you'll be there shooting when they do, Johnny," Tap replied pleasantly. "Now I'm going to hit the hay. I'm tired."
Slowly, they drifted away to their beds, all but Breck, Lubec, and Kittery.
"They don't like it much, Major," Spicer whispered, "you takin' command like this."
The night was still. The crickets' chirping was the only sound. Tap clasped his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars, which winked occasionally through the black mantilla formed by the branches and leaves overhead. He liked the smell of the earth, the trees, the coolness of a soft wind from off the Gulf.
Despite his outward assurance, he was far from confident. There were too many things that could happen, too many things to go wrong, and there was too much that was doubtful about his own relationship with Tom Kittery.
The man was moody and
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