Read Online Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis L'amour
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it.
Despite himself, Ben felt relief. The risk had worried him. Twelve guards, several with shotguns.
How were they to handle them? Kerb Perrin wanted the job, so let Kerb have it. For the first time the thought of betrayal entered his mind. He shook his head. No. Perrin was his problem. He would cope with it himself, as he always had. But what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver? And Doc had reported the words Ducrow had spoken in anger, that it was no longer Ben Curry who mattered, but Kerb Perrin.
Something brewing there.
He was getting old. For the first time he began to doubt his rightness. What about the boy? He had wanted a man he could trust to take over, but had he any right to raise the boy to be an outlaw? He walked to the window again. He had a reason, or thought he did, but Mike had none beyond his father's wish.
Suddenly, Ben stopped, staring at the partial reflection of himself in the glass. Mike was the son he had never had, why not Mike and Drusilla?
He shook his head. No, no. Never. Yet-how many fathers could raise their own son-in-law? He smiled at the thought, but put it aside. There was too much else to think about now.
Kerb Perrin was planning rebellion. Planning to go his own way. His thoughts reverted to Dru.
Suppose she wanted Mike Bastian, outlaw or not? Had it been Juliana now, he could have bluntly told her no and she would have, might have, listened. But Dru? He chuckled. She would laugh at him. She was too much like him.
What to do? Ben Curry moved away from the window. He must remember not to stand there again. Once, he need not have worried but now there were enemies among his own men, something he dared not tolerate. What had Ducrow and Fernandez been doing in Weaver? Scouting the job for Perrin? For themselves?
He walked back to the fireplace and stared at the sullen coals. He was growing old, and it was time to quit. He wanted the last years with his wife and the girls. He wanted to get out, to get away. He was a man born out of his time, and in the past he might have been a Viking, a robber baron, a freebooter.
Now he was an outlaw.
He had liked planning their forays. He had liked playing his chess game with the law, but lately, was he changing? Or was it the times? Was it like Roundy kept telling him, that the old days were gone? An outlaw was an enemy of society, a different society from that rough, casually tolerant west in which he had spent his early years.
He walked over to the clothes tree and took down his gunbelt. He checked each pistol, then slung the belt about his hips. From now on he had better wear them, all the time.
Mike Bastian rolled out of bed and sat up.
Rarely did he sleep during the day, but on his return he had been tired. Now he felt better. Darkness had come while he rested, and the sky was spangled with stars. From his window he could see a few lights glowing from the settlement below, a settlement of outlaws.
Only Doe Sawyer and himself shared the stone house with Ben Curry, and on the occasional visits when others discussed future jobs with Ben, they never left the spacious living room with its big table where the planning was done.
The doors leading to other rooms were closed and conferences were kept to the big table. Ben Curry had always been a private person and nobody had ever ventured to intrude on that privacy, not even Mike himself. He was restless and uneasy. There had been a sampling of what he could expect in the facing of Corbus and later with Ducrow and Fernandez. Was that what he wanted? Or did he want a more respectable life? Such a life as Drusilla Ragan might wish to share?
Hey! He flushed. What was he thinking of? She had scarcely noticed him, and who was he, after all?
He was nothing, he had nothing. He did not have a home, other than this provided by Ben Curry, he had no job, he had nothing to offer. Although he knew there were some people who admired outlaws, largely because they had never known any, he did not think
Despite himself, Ben felt relief. The risk had worried him. Twelve guards, several with shotguns.
How were they to handle them? Kerb Perrin wanted the job, so let Kerb have it. For the first time the thought of betrayal entered his mind. He shook his head. No. Perrin was his problem. He would cope with it himself, as he always had. But what were Ducrow and Fernandez doing in Weaver? And Doc had reported the words Ducrow had spoken in anger, that it was no longer Ben Curry who mattered, but Kerb Perrin.
Something brewing there.
He was getting old. For the first time he began to doubt his rightness. What about the boy? He had wanted a man he could trust to take over, but had he any right to raise the boy to be an outlaw? He walked to the window again. He had a reason, or thought he did, but Mike had none beyond his father's wish.
Suddenly, Ben stopped, staring at the partial reflection of himself in the glass. Mike was the son he had never had, why not Mike and Drusilla?
He shook his head. No, no. Never. Yet-how many fathers could raise their own son-in-law? He smiled at the thought, but put it aside. There was too much else to think about now.
Kerb Perrin was planning rebellion. Planning to go his own way. His thoughts reverted to Dru.
Suppose she wanted Mike Bastian, outlaw or not? Had it been Juliana now, he could have bluntly told her no and she would have, might have, listened. But Dru? He chuckled. She would laugh at him. She was too much like him.
What to do? Ben Curry moved away from the window. He must remember not to stand there again. Once, he need not have worried but now there were enemies among his own men, something he dared not tolerate. What had Ducrow and Fernandez been doing in Weaver? Scouting the job for Perrin? For themselves?
He walked back to the fireplace and stared at the sullen coals. He was growing old, and it was time to quit. He wanted the last years with his wife and the girls. He wanted to get out, to get away. He was a man born out of his time, and in the past he might have been a Viking, a robber baron, a freebooter.
Now he was an outlaw.
He had liked planning their forays. He had liked playing his chess game with the law, but lately, was he changing? Or was it the times? Was it like Roundy kept telling him, that the old days were gone? An outlaw was an enemy of society, a different society from that rough, casually tolerant west in which he had spent his early years.
He walked over to the clothes tree and took down his gunbelt. He checked each pistol, then slung the belt about his hips. From now on he had better wear them, all the time.
Mike Bastian rolled out of bed and sat up.
Rarely did he sleep during the day, but on his return he had been tired. Now he felt better. Darkness had come while he rested, and the sky was spangled with stars. From his window he could see a few lights glowing from the settlement below, a settlement of outlaws.
Only Doe Sawyer and himself shared the stone house with Ben Curry, and on the occasional visits when others discussed future jobs with Ben, they never left the spacious living room with its big table where the planning was done.
The doors leading to other rooms were closed and conferences were kept to the big table. Ben Curry had always been a private person and nobody had ever ventured to intrude on that privacy, not even Mike himself. He was restless and uneasy. There had been a sampling of what he could expect in the facing of Corbus and later with Ducrow and Fernandez. Was that what he wanted? Or did he want a more respectable life? Such a life as Drusilla Ragan might wish to share?
Hey! He flushed. What was he thinking of? She had scarcely noticed him, and who was he, after all?
He was nothing, he had nothing. He did not have a home, other than this provided by Ben Curry, he had no job, he had nothing to offer. Although he knew there were some people who admired outlaws, largely because they had never known any, he did not think
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