Read Online the Lonely Men (1969) by Louis - Sackett's 14 L'amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis - Sackett's 14 L'amour
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of it.
The white boy we had seen appeared again, more than once, but always with Indian boys around him. And then, after another long day of watching, I saw him take a spear and go alone along a trail between some rocks. Like a cat I was off the rock where I watched, nodding to Rocca as I passed him.
Spanish went up to watch from where I had been, and John J. went to the horses -- we saddled them each morning -- to be ready in case of need.
Tampico Rocca was a ghost on the trail, moving without sound. We snaked down among the rocks, crawled over great boulders, and came down to where we could await the boy.
Was he changed? Had he become an Apache? If so, he would shout when he saw us.
Only he had no chance. Soundlessly Rocca dropped to the trail behind him, put one hand over the boy's mouth, and lifted him into the brush, where we crouched.
He looked wild-eyed with fright, then seeing we were white men he tried to speak. Slowly Rocca took his hand from his mouth.
"Take me away!" he whispered. "My name is Brook. Harry Brook."
"How long have they had you?"
"Two years, I think. Maybe not that long, but a long time."
"Where are the other white children? The Creeds and Orry Sackett."
"The Creeds? I have heard of them. They are in the next rancheria." He pointed.
"Over there."
"And the Sackett boy?"
"I do not know. I never heard of another boy. There is a girl with the Creed boys, but she is only five ... very small."
Well ... something seemed to drain away inside me. Had they killed him then? Had they killed Orrin's son? Battles asked the question.
"Nobody was killed," the boys said. "I was in camp when they brought them in, the Creed boys and the girl."
Squatting down on my heels, I asked, "Can you get to those others? I mean, will you ever see them?"
"You ain't takin' me along with you?" There were tears in his eyes.
"Not right now. Look, if we took you now we'd have to run, wouldn't we? All right, we leave you here. You be ready." I pointed toward a high rock. "Can you see that from camp?"
"Yes."
"All right ... when you see a black rock atop that, you come to this place, right here. We've got to get those other youngsters."
"You'll get killed. They're in Kahtenny's rancheria."
"Kahtenny? He's alive, then?"
"He sure is. An' all them Apaches yonder take a back seat for him. He's a big man among 'em."
We left him then, worried for fear the Apaches would come scouting to see what he was doing. They trusted no prisoner, even if he seemed to accept their ways.
Only thing was, they didn't figure anybody could get away from the Sierra Madres ... or that anybody would dare come in after them.
The first thing I did was hunt a piece of black lava rock to use when the time came. I placed it handy under a bush, and we went back, mounted up, and followed a trail out of there, skirting a cliff that fell away so sharply you felt as if you rode on a piece of molding along a wall.
That boy back there ... could he keep them from knowing? That troubled me some.
There was small chance he could get to the other youngsters, but there was some visiting back and forth ... it could be.
But where was Orry Sackett? Where was my brother's son?
Chapter 7
Through the chill dawn we climbed toward the high peaks, weaving our way among trees that dripped with moisture from the low-hanging clouds. Then we descended several hundred feet into a secluded park ringed with splendid pines. On the far side a cold, clear stream fell over a limestone ledge into a deep pool.
In every sheltered spot there were ruins ... ancient ruins, half buried in earth or an overgrowth of brush or moss. In one place a gnarled and twisted cedar grew inside a wall, a cedar that itself must have been hundreds of years old.
I questioned Rocca, and he shrugged. "Who knows? They were the People Who Came Before, and they were gone before the Apaches came."
He was only mildly curious. "Many peoples have come and gone. It is the way of the world. The People of
The white boy we had seen appeared again, more than once, but always with Indian boys around him. And then, after another long day of watching, I saw him take a spear and go alone along a trail between some rocks. Like a cat I was off the rock where I watched, nodding to Rocca as I passed him.
Spanish went up to watch from where I had been, and John J. went to the horses -- we saddled them each morning -- to be ready in case of need.
Tampico Rocca was a ghost on the trail, moving without sound. We snaked down among the rocks, crawled over great boulders, and came down to where we could await the boy.
Was he changed? Had he become an Apache? If so, he would shout when he saw us.
Only he had no chance. Soundlessly Rocca dropped to the trail behind him, put one hand over the boy's mouth, and lifted him into the brush, where we crouched.
He looked wild-eyed with fright, then seeing we were white men he tried to speak. Slowly Rocca took his hand from his mouth.
"Take me away!" he whispered. "My name is Brook. Harry Brook."
"How long have they had you?"
"Two years, I think. Maybe not that long, but a long time."
"Where are the other white children? The Creeds and Orry Sackett."
"The Creeds? I have heard of them. They are in the next rancheria." He pointed.
"Over there."
"And the Sackett boy?"
"I do not know. I never heard of another boy. There is a girl with the Creed boys, but she is only five ... very small."
Well ... something seemed to drain away inside me. Had they killed him then? Had they killed Orrin's son? Battles asked the question.
"Nobody was killed," the boys said. "I was in camp when they brought them in, the Creed boys and the girl."
Squatting down on my heels, I asked, "Can you get to those others? I mean, will you ever see them?"
"You ain't takin' me along with you?" There were tears in his eyes.
"Not right now. Look, if we took you now we'd have to run, wouldn't we? All right, we leave you here. You be ready." I pointed toward a high rock. "Can you see that from camp?"
"Yes."
"All right ... when you see a black rock atop that, you come to this place, right here. We've got to get those other youngsters."
"You'll get killed. They're in Kahtenny's rancheria."
"Kahtenny? He's alive, then?"
"He sure is. An' all them Apaches yonder take a back seat for him. He's a big man among 'em."
We left him then, worried for fear the Apaches would come scouting to see what he was doing. They trusted no prisoner, even if he seemed to accept their ways.
Only thing was, they didn't figure anybody could get away from the Sierra Madres ... or that anybody would dare come in after them.
The first thing I did was hunt a piece of black lava rock to use when the time came. I placed it handy under a bush, and we went back, mounted up, and followed a trail out of there, skirting a cliff that fell away so sharply you felt as if you rode on a piece of molding along a wall.
That boy back there ... could he keep them from knowing? That troubled me some.
There was small chance he could get to the other youngsters, but there was some visiting back and forth ... it could be.
But where was Orry Sackett? Where was my brother's son?
Chapter 7
Through the chill dawn we climbed toward the high peaks, weaving our way among trees that dripped with moisture from the low-hanging clouds. Then we descended several hundred feet into a secluded park ringed with splendid pines. On the far side a cold, clear stream fell over a limestone ledge into a deep pool.
In every sheltered spot there were ruins ... ancient ruins, half buried in earth or an overgrowth of brush or moss. In one place a gnarled and twisted cedar grew inside a wall, a cedar that itself must have been hundreds of years old.
I questioned Rocca, and he shrugged. "Who knows? They were the People Who Came Before, and they were gone before the Apaches came."
He was only mildly curious. "Many peoples have come and gone. It is the way of the world. The People of
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