Read Online Novel 1971 - Tucker (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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sleeve down. The shirt was new, fresh that morning, a gray flannel one.
Hating to do it, because I’d not had many new shirts in my lifetime, I slipped my knife blade into the flannel and cut loose the cuff and most of the sleeve below the elbow. Then I eased it off and folded it into a thick pad, which I pressed to the wound to stop the bleeding. With part of the string that tied my blanket roll I tied the pad in place.
Then, using the rifle as a crutch, I pushed myself up. My horse was my first concern…I would have to have my horse.
Hobbling painfully, then crawling, I made it to the top, but I hadn’t gone fifty yards when I saw my horse. It was down, and it was dead.
No horse, and me in a box canyon with no way out. Maybe when they said there was no way, they were thinking of a man on horseback. Most western men thought in terms of using a horse because a man in that country without a horse was usually as good as dead.
Crouching among the aspen, I peered all around. I could see the rim of the canyon, and it surely looked bad for a man as crippled as I was. Right then I began to take stock.
Nobody knew where I was, so nobody was going to come to help me, even if there’d been anybody to help. Down at the mouth of the canyon were two men who felt it would be better if I was dead—two men and a woman. Only I didn’t agree with them, no way at all. I wanted to get out of there, and I wanted a whole skin. And now I was beginning to get mad…really mad.
They had stolen our money, they had been responsible for the death of pa, even though those things might be laid at my own door. If I hadn’t acted like a fool kid and run off, that horse would never have strayed, and pa might be alive this minute.
All the time I felt aggrieved over them taking our money I couldn’t escape the idea that I’d played the fool myself. But they’d tried three times to kill me. Once when they shot into the restaurant, and again when Doc Sites had laid for me in the dark at the foot of the stairs. Now they had tried it a third time, and they might have succeeded. Only now I was mad enough to want to live, mad enough to want to see them in hell, and me with my money back.
I’d lost some blood—they’d seen that. But though they knew I’d been hit, they didn’t know how bad. I didn’t know how bad myself, but by the size of that wound it didn’t look good.
Two things I had to do now. I had to hunt me a hole and see how bad I was hurt, and then I had to crawl out of that canyon, one way or another. Once out of the canyon I somehow had to get me a horse and get back to Leadville to stay until I was able to ride again.
Pa, he always said there was no stoppin’ a man who was set on an idea. He’d told me of men who kept going, even when they was out of their heads, so I told myself what I had to do, and then I set about it.
Just beyond where my horse lay there was an opening in the brush. It might be where a deadfall lay, but it might be a path, and a path would lead to somewhere. Crawling, so’s I could drag my leg, I worked my way along the slope, sometimes in and sometimes out of the aspens.
It was a trail, sort of, but it was mighty old. No fresh tracks showed; it hadn’t been used in a long time. I turned down the trail, for I needed water, and it was down in the bottom of the canyon.
It began to rain. The grass and lupine around me were already wet, but rain couldn’t matter to me now. What I needed was some kind of shelter, some place where I could make a fire, and do something about my wound.
Time to time I thought of that other blow. Had I been shot a second time? No telling…but no time to worry about that. The thing to do now was to crawl.
Somewhere along the trail I passed out. Now, in stories I’d read sometimes in those dime-novel books that Reese, Sites, an’ me were always swappin’ around, when a man passed out he would always come to hisself in a nice bedroom with a pretty girl a-pattin’ his
Hating to do it, because I’d not had many new shirts in my lifetime, I slipped my knife blade into the flannel and cut loose the cuff and most of the sleeve below the elbow. Then I eased it off and folded it into a thick pad, which I pressed to the wound to stop the bleeding. With part of the string that tied my blanket roll I tied the pad in place.
Then, using the rifle as a crutch, I pushed myself up. My horse was my first concern…I would have to have my horse.
Hobbling painfully, then crawling, I made it to the top, but I hadn’t gone fifty yards when I saw my horse. It was down, and it was dead.
No horse, and me in a box canyon with no way out. Maybe when they said there was no way, they were thinking of a man on horseback. Most western men thought in terms of using a horse because a man in that country without a horse was usually as good as dead.
Crouching among the aspen, I peered all around. I could see the rim of the canyon, and it surely looked bad for a man as crippled as I was. Right then I began to take stock.
Nobody knew where I was, so nobody was going to come to help me, even if there’d been anybody to help. Down at the mouth of the canyon were two men who felt it would be better if I was dead—two men and a woman. Only I didn’t agree with them, no way at all. I wanted to get out of there, and I wanted a whole skin. And now I was beginning to get mad…really mad.
They had stolen our money, they had been responsible for the death of pa, even though those things might be laid at my own door. If I hadn’t acted like a fool kid and run off, that horse would never have strayed, and pa might be alive this minute.
All the time I felt aggrieved over them taking our money I couldn’t escape the idea that I’d played the fool myself. But they’d tried three times to kill me. Once when they shot into the restaurant, and again when Doc Sites had laid for me in the dark at the foot of the stairs. Now they had tried it a third time, and they might have succeeded. Only now I was mad enough to want to live, mad enough to want to see them in hell, and me with my money back.
I’d lost some blood—they’d seen that. But though they knew I’d been hit, they didn’t know how bad. I didn’t know how bad myself, but by the size of that wound it didn’t look good.
Two things I had to do now. I had to hunt me a hole and see how bad I was hurt, and then I had to crawl out of that canyon, one way or another. Once out of the canyon I somehow had to get me a horse and get back to Leadville to stay until I was able to ride again.
Pa, he always said there was no stoppin’ a man who was set on an idea. He’d told me of men who kept going, even when they was out of their heads, so I told myself what I had to do, and then I set about it.
Just beyond where my horse lay there was an opening in the brush. It might be where a deadfall lay, but it might be a path, and a path would lead to somewhere. Crawling, so’s I could drag my leg, I worked my way along the slope, sometimes in and sometimes out of the aspens.
It was a trail, sort of, but it was mighty old. No fresh tracks showed; it hadn’t been used in a long time. I turned down the trail, for I needed water, and it was down in the bottom of the canyon.
It began to rain. The grass and lupine around me were already wet, but rain couldn’t matter to me now. What I needed was some kind of shelter, some place where I could make a fire, and do something about my wound.
Time to time I thought of that other blow. Had I been shot a second time? No telling…but no time to worry about that. The thing to do now was to crawl.
Somewhere along the trail I passed out. Now, in stories I’d read sometimes in those dime-novel books that Reese, Sites, an’ me were always swappin’ around, when a man passed out he would always come to hisself in a nice bedroom with a pretty girl a-pattin’ his
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