Read Online Novel 1971 - Tucker (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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forward lunge of the horse sent me into the saddle.
Hanging low in the saddle, I rode on up the trail, away from the house. Behind me another gun slugged the night, and still another. My horse staggered under me, gathered itself, and went on.
Up the hill we went, taking a quick turn into the trees and weaving through them. Behind me I heard a shout, and galloping hoofs.
Through the trees we dodged and turned. The horse was laboring hard now, but it was game. Suddenly I saw a notch in the rocks below me and pulled up, sliding to the ground. As I did so I pulled the drawstring on my blanket roll so that it fell into my hands. Then I grabbed my Winchester and, slapping the horse with the flat of my hand, I turned and slid through the notch. As I went down with a rattle of stones I heard the trotting hoofs of my horse, moving on.
Going through the notch in the rim had landed me on a steep slope of talus. I slid on this broken rock, clinging to rifle and blanket roll, then rolled off it to the grass and went on down a slope through the aspens.
A momentary glimpse down through the trees allowed me to see a canyon wall falling steeply away ahead of me, cloaked with aspen all the way down to the water’s edge, at least two hundred yards below.
Hooking an arm around a slender trunk, I held up and listened. Would they come down after me? I doubted it, but I could not be sure. I let myself slide down to a squatting position, concealed by the trunks of the trees and the growth of plants among the aspens.
For a time all I could hear was the slow drop of water from the leaves, and the whispering of the rain as it fell among the trees.
Then I heard, some distance up the slope, a faint movement, and I heard someone call out, “We got him! He’s been winged, anyway!”
Suddenly, almost with the shock of a blow, I realized I had been wounded back there. There had been no pain, only the shock of being hit…was it once or twice? Then the wild scramble had followed, in which my only thought had been to escape death.
They had suckered me into an ambush. If I had not noticed the tracks at the gate I would have gone on into the cabin and been shot down at point-blank range.
“There’s blood here!” came Reese’s voice.
“All right.” It was Bob Heseltine and his tone was calm. “So we got lead into him. That doesn’t mean he’s dead.”
“You goin’ down there after him?” Reese protested.
“We don’t need to,” Heseltine said. “That’s a box canyon, and it opens out right near the cabin. All we have to do is set and wait for him to come out, or die there. There ain’t no two ways about it.”
They talked some more, but they were closer together by then, and their voices were lower. I could hear nothing more that they said. But I waited.
Slowly my breath came back to me, but with it came a feeling of weakness. I knew I was hit, and was afraid to find out how bad. I didn’t want to die, and I was scared, more scared than I’d ever been. It might happen here…right here.
I realized there was no reason why I should win and they should not. A bullet had hit me, and a bullet that could hit me could kill me.
Suddenly, crouched under the aspens, I began to shake as if I’d had a chill. Maybe it was because I was scared. Maybe it was just reaction. At the same time I knew that if I could hear them, they could hear me, and I had no idea whether I could move or not.
With infinite care, I eased one knee to the ground and got a tearing spasm of pain in the leg.
It was the leg, then…I’d been hit in the leg.
Holding my rifle by the barrel with the butt against the soft ground to steady me, I began to feel with my right hand. I found the wetness of blood, and followed it up my leg. It was right at the top, a raw, bloody place just back of my holster.
Now they were moving off. Their voices dwindled away; their movements faded out. I leaned the rifle against the tree and tugged my left coat sleeve up and the shirt
Hanging low in the saddle, I rode on up the trail, away from the house. Behind me another gun slugged the night, and still another. My horse staggered under me, gathered itself, and went on.
Up the hill we went, taking a quick turn into the trees and weaving through them. Behind me I heard a shout, and galloping hoofs.
Through the trees we dodged and turned. The horse was laboring hard now, but it was game. Suddenly I saw a notch in the rocks below me and pulled up, sliding to the ground. As I did so I pulled the drawstring on my blanket roll so that it fell into my hands. Then I grabbed my Winchester and, slapping the horse with the flat of my hand, I turned and slid through the notch. As I went down with a rattle of stones I heard the trotting hoofs of my horse, moving on.
Going through the notch in the rim had landed me on a steep slope of talus. I slid on this broken rock, clinging to rifle and blanket roll, then rolled off it to the grass and went on down a slope through the aspens.
A momentary glimpse down through the trees allowed me to see a canyon wall falling steeply away ahead of me, cloaked with aspen all the way down to the water’s edge, at least two hundred yards below.
Hooking an arm around a slender trunk, I held up and listened. Would they come down after me? I doubted it, but I could not be sure. I let myself slide down to a squatting position, concealed by the trunks of the trees and the growth of plants among the aspens.
For a time all I could hear was the slow drop of water from the leaves, and the whispering of the rain as it fell among the trees.
Then I heard, some distance up the slope, a faint movement, and I heard someone call out, “We got him! He’s been winged, anyway!”
Suddenly, almost with the shock of a blow, I realized I had been wounded back there. There had been no pain, only the shock of being hit…was it once or twice? Then the wild scramble had followed, in which my only thought had been to escape death.
They had suckered me into an ambush. If I had not noticed the tracks at the gate I would have gone on into the cabin and been shot down at point-blank range.
“There’s blood here!” came Reese’s voice.
“All right.” It was Bob Heseltine and his tone was calm. “So we got lead into him. That doesn’t mean he’s dead.”
“You goin’ down there after him?” Reese protested.
“We don’t need to,” Heseltine said. “That’s a box canyon, and it opens out right near the cabin. All we have to do is set and wait for him to come out, or die there. There ain’t no two ways about it.”
They talked some more, but they were closer together by then, and their voices were lower. I could hear nothing more that they said. But I waited.
Slowly my breath came back to me, but with it came a feeling of weakness. I knew I was hit, and was afraid to find out how bad. I didn’t want to die, and I was scared, more scared than I’d ever been. It might happen here…right here.
I realized there was no reason why I should win and they should not. A bullet had hit me, and a bullet that could hit me could kill me.
Suddenly, crouched under the aspens, I began to shake as if I’d had a chill. Maybe it was because I was scared. Maybe it was just reaction. At the same time I knew that if I could hear them, they could hear me, and I had no idea whether I could move or not.
With infinite care, I eased one knee to the ground and got a tearing spasm of pain in the leg.
It was the leg, then…I’d been hit in the leg.
Holding my rifle by the barrel with the butt against the soft ground to steady me, I began to feel with my right hand. I found the wetness of blood, and followed it up my leg. It was right at the top, a raw, bloody place just back of my holster.
Now they were moving off. Their voices dwindled away; their movements faded out. I leaned the rifle against the tree and tugged my left coat sleeve up and the shirt
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