Read Online The Ferguson Rifle by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page B

Nevertheless I disliked firing at the animal in camp, and knew it would immediately awaken everyone who would spring to arms, believing an attack was in progress.
    Tentatively I took a step nearer, looking into the wolf’s yellowish eyes, gleaming in the firelight. He snarled more fiercely, bristling and ready to fight, but when I took a step nearer he hesitated, then when I stepped quickly forward, rifle poised, he broke and fled. Gathering up the torn sack, I brought it back into camp.
    Glancing at my watch, I saw the hour was thirty minutes past three. The sky was clouded over and I could see no stars. The wind was picking up and the air was cold. I added some sticks to the fire, which blazed up pleasantly, so I tugged on my boots and filled a cup of coffee.
    Sleep had left me, and I was as wide awake as if it were morning. The wind worried me for no small sounds could be heard through its rustling and movement. Degory Kemble was on guard and I moved away from the fire to where he watched from some small brush.
    â€œIt’s a wild night,” he whispered, when I was near. “I’ve had a notion something’s moving yonder, but I’d not want to wager upon it. Sometimes I’m sure I’ve heard something, and then it seems to be nothing. I’m glad you’re here. Now both of us can be fooled.”
    We were silent, straining our ears against the wind for sound, and then we heard it, a momentary sound through an interval in the rising wind.
    A shot … and then another, but far off … lost upon the wind.
    â€œIt wasn’t that, but something nearer by.”
    â€œWho would be shooting? Not many Indians have guns. Captain Fernandez, perhaps?”
    â€œAt what? That sound was afar off … a half mile or even a mile.”
    We waited, listening, but we heard nothing more. Suddenly our horses snorted, stamping and tugging at their picket rope. Getting up, I went quickly among them, quieting them, but listening as I moved.
    Something was out there … but
what
?
    We did not awaken the others, waiting for what would develop. The horses were wary, apprehensive of something, yet they did not act as they would if there were wolves. As the horses quieted, I left them, listening into the wind to catch the slightest sound.
    From the camp of the Cheyennes, there was no sound. I could see the faint, reddish glow of their fire, but nothing more.
    So we waited out the night. Toward morning I dozed near the fire, awakening only to stir it up for cooking our breakfast meat.
    Ebitt picked up the canvas pack, hefted it, then looked inside. He glanced at me. “Did your wolves come back? A slab of bacon’s gone.”
    Degory Kemble glanced at me, then walked over and slowly inspected the ground. Our own feet had trod so much upon the grass that no other tracks could be seen.
    â€œIt was no wolf,” Cusbe said, showing us the rawhide strings. They had been untied, the bacon taken.
    â€œIt’s them thievin’ redskins,” Bob Sandy said. “Give ’em a chance an’ they’ll take the camp away, and everything that’s in it.”
    â€œIs anything else missing?”
    Talley checked, as we all did. A small sack of meal was gone, and perhaps a half pound of powder that had been left in a sack.
    â€œOdd,” Talley muttered. “There was a full sack alongside, and my bullet molds and some lead. That wasn’t touched.”
    We exchanged a look, and then Solomon Talley shrugged. “A thief who takes only the small things,” he said, “and not much of that.”
    â€œBut a thief good enough to Injun into our camp whilst it was watched,” Davy Shanagan said. “I’ve a thought it was the Little People.”
    Cusbe Ebitt snorted. “There’s an Irishman for you! Something he can’t explain and it had to be banshees or the like! I’d say we should move out.”
    We saddled up, and saddling Kemble told of the