Read Online Rivers West by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page A

the side of his face smashed in, he still tried. Then the man broke his neck. They can say what they wish…and most say it was accident. I say, sir—and I have seen many a fight—that it was deliberate. It was calculated, efficient, deliberate. Macklem knew he was going to break his neck, knew he was going to kill the man.
    â€œAnd he did it, sir. Broke his neck and killed him, and Macklem with not a hair mussed. He simply tucked his shirt in a bit when it was over and made some comment about self-defense. Within minutes he was gone from the town.”
    Jambe-de-Bois listened, scowling a little. When we were away from the hostler, he said, “I told you, lad, the man is evil incarnate. We must avoid him. He will be the death of us, I tell you, and you…you’re too confident.”
    I was nettled. I did not like being disposed of so lightly. At the same time, the hostler’s words were shocking. It is one thing to fight, even to kill. It is another when one does it deliberately, and without hesitation or remorse.
    When the next day came, we passed over country which had only lately been settled. Although now the farmhouses were clustered more thickly together, there were still areas of dense evergreen forest as well as great boulders and rocks. The river was crossed by a remarkable bridge of which I had heard, as had many who work with heavy timber.
    The Piscataqua Bridge was a really splendid structure, at least 2600 feet long, with 26 piers set in the water and on the banks. The bridge was laid out in three sections, two of them horizontal and one arched. The arch itself was said to contain seventy tons of timber. I could easily believe it, and took the time to stop, go under the bridge, and examine the work. It was beautifully fitted and assembled.
    We stayed the night in Exeter, and not a word passed between myself and Miss Majoribanks, although Macaire was pleasant, and I finally had a word or two with the younger man.
    He was really quite a handsome fellow, although he had a way about him I did not trust. His name was Edwin Hale.
    â€œI understood you were going to Boston?” he suggested.
    â€œIt was a thought we had, but I am a builder, and the western waters are the place for me.”
    â€œThe western waters? Or is it Miss Majoribanks who is the attraction?”
    â€œI have scarcely spoken to her.”
    He shrugged, looking at me with a sly, rather taunting smile. “You mean, she has scarcely spoken to you.”
    â€œIf you prefer.”
    He seemed ready to provoke a quarrel so I walked away from him.
    The inns we found were remarkably clean and well kept, the owners of them usually men of some importance in their communities. The food was, for the most part, excellent.
    At daybreak each morning we were off and riding. As before, Miss Majoribanks took the lead, and Jambe-de-Bois and I dropped farther behind. None of the roads were good. Most were only a few years old and heavily rutted from rains. But we kept to the grass along the shoulder and made good time.
    The horses I’d won in my bet with Kimball were good, stalwart animals, not showy, but they were stayers. At the end of the day, they seemed to have as much stamina as at the beginning.
    We stopped to eat at high noon in the village of Kingston, eighteen miles upon our way. It was a small place of some scattered houses, a church, and several stores.
    Macaire dropped back with us. We rode for several minutes, and then he said suddenly, “John Daniel, are you carrying money?”
    At my obvious surprise, he said, “It is not my business, but in Kingston I came to the street afore you and a man I saw. He was no one to like the looks of, and he turned away so quickly, I think he was not wishing to be seen. It’s a notion of mine he’s following us.”
    â€œNo, I have little money,” I said. I thought back to the snake-eyed man from the upper Maine woods, the one who’d been at the