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

inn after I’d found the body of Foulsham. And I thought of Macklem. “But it is a good thing to know.”
    Somebody had stood over me that night in the cabin. Somebody had wanted to kill me…and perhaps they still did.
    We rode quietly along, but now I kept a closer eye on the trail behind and the brush along the way. We talked of many things, for Macaire was a man who kept himself informed, and was keen in his judgments. And there was much to talk about. A man had just introduced the tin can into the United States, and was canning food. Some men named Daggett and Kensett were talking of canning fish in New York. And somebody wanted to introduce a bill that would permit Catholics to vote in Massachusetts. James Monroe was running for a second term.
    The next inn was a pleasant place, surrounded by great old trees. We drew up in the shade, and several men were sitting on a bench in front of the place.
    I had ridden on ahead. Miss Majoribanks drew up shortly. “Will you take my horse, please?” she asked.
    I did so.
    â€œPlease rub him down most carefully. And walk him a little before you put him in the stable.” It was an order.
    â€œI do not work for you, Miss Majoribanks.”
    â€œWhat? Who do you work for? I thought you were someone Macaire hired.”
    She knew better than that, but I simply said, “I work for no one. When I work it is as an independent contractor. If you ask me to care for your horse as a favor, I should be pleased to do so.”
    â€œAs a
favor
? Of course not!” She turned sharply away. “Do not do it then. Macaire will handle her for me.”
    Her shoulders were very straight, and I watched her go with pleasure at her beauty and irritation at her manner. She seemed determined to consider me a menial, and I refused the category. There was no work a menial might do that I would not willingly do myself…or had not done. It was her attitude that irritated me.
    When we’d put our own horses away, I joined Macaire, who was caring for the others. “Have you seen him again?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “No…but I like it not still. The country is alive with thieves and highwaymen.”
    â€œWe are a strong party,” I said. “It is not likely we’ll be attacked.”
    Macaire considered my statement and agreed. “You carry yourself well, with your rifle always handy. As for the big man with you,” he gave me a quick, thoughtful look, “he looks like a pirate.”
    â€œJambe-de-Bois? I think he is a man to leave alone, Macaire.”
    â€œYou do not know him?”
    â€œWe met on the road, and we travel the same way.” I hesitated, but I trusted Macaire and liked him. “Sometimes I do believe he knows more about me than he should. I mean…well, perhaps when we met it was not altogether an accident.”
    Macaire gave me a thoughtful glance. “You are a shipwright, you say? Why, then? Why would any man be following a shipwright?”
    I shrugged and said nothing. Macaire worked carefully, grooming Miss Majoribanks’ horse. I liked the way he worked, swiftly, easily, with no wasted motions. It was a thing I valued, for it was so I had been taught.
    â€œJohn Daniel,” Macaire said. “It is a good name, but there is much going on here I do not understand.”
    I shrugged again. “It is simple enough, Macaire. By chance we have met. Your Miss Majoribanks goes to seek her brother, who believes he has discovered a plot against his country, in which a man named Torville is involved.
    â€œOn my way south, I find a man who has been stabbed and left for dead, attacked by that same Torville, or someone kin to him. He was or had been a British officer, perhaps a British agent. Now what was he doing on that lonely road from Canada?”
    I had a new thought.
    â€œWas he following someone? Or was he, perhaps, on his way to see Miss Majoribanks?”
    Macaire straightened