Read Online Novel 1971 - Tucker (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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makin’ off with your money. That there don’t seem right.”
“It wasn’t.”
“That Reese now, him an’ Heseltine—they’ve skipped town. They’re scared of you.”
Maybe I was a kid, but I didn’t believe that. Not for a minute. When I remembered the hard, leather-like face of Bob Heseltine and his cold eyes, I felt a chill. He might be many things, but he was not afraid of me.
“I know they’ve skipped,” he said. He glanced up and down the street and stepped a little closer. “I know they’ve skipped and I know where they are.”
“You do?”
“They’re holed up in a shack the other side of Independence Pass. Sets back in the quakies.” I knew that mountain folks often called the aspens “quakies,” from their name of quaking aspen. “Good run of water close by,” he added. “Figured you’d want to know.”
“Thanks.”
Con Judy was not in the room when I entered, nor was he in the bar. There was a restlessness in me, and I did not want to wait. They were at the Pass…suppose they left there? How long might it be before I found them again?
In our room I quickly wrote a note, then taking up my rifle, my saddlebags and blanket roll, I went down the steps and across the lobby.
My horse was standing three-legged in his stall, and he rolled his eyes at me when I came in, and laid back his ears when I threw the saddle on his back and tightened the cinch. All I was thinking was that they had gone from here, and if I was to have my money back I must follow. Con Judy had his own affairs, and this was mine. Was I a child that I needed him to guide me?
Ducking my head as I rode through the wide door, I turned my horse down the trail. Once I glanced back. A man was standing on the walk staring after me, a man in a short sheepskin coat…the man who had told me where I could find Heseltine.
A spatter of rain fell and I slipped into my slicker. It began to rain harder, and the trail became slippery. I rode off it into the sparse grass beside it, and kept on, listening to the sound of rain on my hat and on my shoulders.
The rain would wipe out the tracks, but there were few anyway. The tracks of a lone rider going into Leadville seemed about all.
When I had been riding an hour or more the last shacks had been left behind. On the trail I could see only the lone set of hoofprints going opposite to the way I rode.
It would be dark early, I thought. The water was standing in small pools, and the cold rain slanted across the sky.
I went on. Once my horse slipped on the greasy trail, but he scrambled and got his footing. We kept on for what seemed like a long time, and presently I could see the thin ghost of smoke from a chimney.
The trail took a bend, bringing it nearer the cabin where the smoke lifted. Suddenly I realized I was tired, and that I had been hours in coming this far. Within another hour it would be dark, and here was a chance for a meal, fodder for my horse, and rest.
The rider who had left the tracks I had seen had stopped here, too. In fact, he had mounted his horse by the gate. Despite the rain I could see his tracks clearly in the mud.
The man in the sheepskin coat! The man who had told me where I would find Heseltine. He had stopped here at this house.
He had come into town only minutes, perhaps, before he talked to me. Why would a man ride in and make such a point of delivering news of where I’d find Heseltine? How would a man from out of town know I was hunting them?
I stared at the house. It was shadowed and still. Only the slow smoke rising, only the tracks of man and horse leading from the stoop. Suddenly I knew this was no place for me.
I had dismounted to open the gate, but suddenly I turned, and catching a closer grip on the reins, I stabbed my toe at the stirrup.
Instantly the evening was ripped apart by the ugly bark of guns. Something hit me and I staggered, half falling against the horse. Something hit me again, but my toe slipped into the stirrup and the
“It wasn’t.”
“That Reese now, him an’ Heseltine—they’ve skipped town. They’re scared of you.”
Maybe I was a kid, but I didn’t believe that. Not for a minute. When I remembered the hard, leather-like face of Bob Heseltine and his cold eyes, I felt a chill. He might be many things, but he was not afraid of me.
“I know they’ve skipped,” he said. He glanced up and down the street and stepped a little closer. “I know they’ve skipped and I know where they are.”
“You do?”
“They’re holed up in a shack the other side of Independence Pass. Sets back in the quakies.” I knew that mountain folks often called the aspens “quakies,” from their name of quaking aspen. “Good run of water close by,” he added. “Figured you’d want to know.”
“Thanks.”
Con Judy was not in the room when I entered, nor was he in the bar. There was a restlessness in me, and I did not want to wait. They were at the Pass…suppose they left there? How long might it be before I found them again?
In our room I quickly wrote a note, then taking up my rifle, my saddlebags and blanket roll, I went down the steps and across the lobby.
My horse was standing three-legged in his stall, and he rolled his eyes at me when I came in, and laid back his ears when I threw the saddle on his back and tightened the cinch. All I was thinking was that they had gone from here, and if I was to have my money back I must follow. Con Judy had his own affairs, and this was mine. Was I a child that I needed him to guide me?
Ducking my head as I rode through the wide door, I turned my horse down the trail. Once I glanced back. A man was standing on the walk staring after me, a man in a short sheepskin coat…the man who had told me where I could find Heseltine.
A spatter of rain fell and I slipped into my slicker. It began to rain harder, and the trail became slippery. I rode off it into the sparse grass beside it, and kept on, listening to the sound of rain on my hat and on my shoulders.
The rain would wipe out the tracks, but there were few anyway. The tracks of a lone rider going into Leadville seemed about all.
When I had been riding an hour or more the last shacks had been left behind. On the trail I could see only the lone set of hoofprints going opposite to the way I rode.
It would be dark early, I thought. The water was standing in small pools, and the cold rain slanted across the sky.
I went on. Once my horse slipped on the greasy trail, but he scrambled and got his footing. We kept on for what seemed like a long time, and presently I could see the thin ghost of smoke from a chimney.
The trail took a bend, bringing it nearer the cabin where the smoke lifted. Suddenly I realized I was tired, and that I had been hours in coming this far. Within another hour it would be dark, and here was a chance for a meal, fodder for my horse, and rest.
The rider who had left the tracks I had seen had stopped here, too. In fact, he had mounted his horse by the gate. Despite the rain I could see his tracks clearly in the mud.
The man in the sheepskin coat! The man who had told me where I would find Heseltine. He had stopped here at this house.
He had come into town only minutes, perhaps, before he talked to me. Why would a man ride in and make such a point of delivering news of where I’d find Heseltine? How would a man from out of town know I was hunting them?
I stared at the house. It was shadowed and still. Only the slow smoke rising, only the tracks of man and horse leading from the stoop. Suddenly I knew this was no place for me.
I had dismounted to open the gate, but suddenly I turned, and catching a closer grip on the reins, I stabbed my toe at the stirrup.
Instantly the evening was ripped apart by the ugly bark of guns. Something hit me and I staggered, half falling against the horse. Something hit me again, but my toe slipped into the stirrup and the
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