Read Online the Man from Skibbereen (1973) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
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me."
Reppato Pratt came softly down to the spring and drank. He got up, wiping off his bristly chin. "They'll be eatin' now, and soon they'll take in the horses."
Cris decided suddenly. "We'll go now. When they start to herd the beasts, we'll move."
Rep hesitated, then shrugged. Cris turned to Barda. "You stay close enough, and run with us when we run. We might not be able to get back here after you." Then they moved out until the enemy was in sight; and there they halted and watched.
The horse herd was three hundred yards or so from where they waited. The two men on duty were not mounted; shortly, they walked out to start driving the horses to the picketing site. The sun was down. The herdsmen were expecting nothing, and the horses began slowly, reluctantly, to leave the grass.
"Walk your horses," Cris whispered, "until they see us or we're within two hundred yards. Then let them have it!"
Steadily they went through the gathering darkness, that late twilight when all things become indistinct and shadowy. Cris held his pistol ready, and he spoke to the colonel's gelding that he rode. "Easy does it, boy, easy does it!"
The horses were beginning to gather, their heads pointed toward the narrow trail that led into the hollow where the outlaws were camped. "All right, now," Cris spoke just loud enough to be heard. "Let's go!"
His words ended in a shout and they slapped heels to their horses and charged, Rep's packhorse on a lead coming behind them. Startled, the outlaws' horses threw up their heads, nostrils wide, and saw four dark forms charging down upon them, the air ringing with yells.
Rep fired, and one of the herdsmen spun and dropped, staggered up, then fell again to one of Cris Mayo's slugs. The other man fled from what he evidently took to be a cavalry charge. Shouting and firing, the three riders raced after the fleeing horses. From the hill behind there was a shot, and Cris ducked involuntarily, having felt the whip of the air as the bullet passed, and then they were gone into the darkness, driving the horses ahead of them onto the vast plain.
He could not believe it. They had brought it off, and for the time at least the outlaws would be unable to leave. Far into the night they drove the horses, finally losing them as the herd began to lag and scatter. They made no effort to keep the horses bunched then, just let them go, confident that few would find their way back.
At the camp in the hollow Justin Parley waited for the report, and it could not have been worse. "Three or four riders," the lookout said, "and there might have been more. They got Wes Jackson with their first fire, an' Noble, he cut an' run."
"The horses?"
"Scattered over the prairie, every blamed one! We'll be lucky if we can round up half a dozen."
"Noble?"
"He's waitin'. Says he didn't have a chance. Swears it was the U.S. Cavalry."
"He's a fool and a coward. Get rid of him."
Silver Dick Contego glanced up from his coffee. "Give it some thought, Major." Whenever Silver Did wished to be persuasive he always used the title. "Noble has kinfolk down yonder in the Indian country. He's half Cherokee, you know, an' we're ridin' right into his home base. They'll be askin' after him."
Parley hesitated only a moment. "Of course. We must not judge too harshly. By the time we reach the Cherokee country he may have given us reason to forget his error. In fact, we will give him a chance now. Noble?" he called.
The man was large, fat around the waist, heavy in the jowls. He was sweating as he walked forward, obviously frightened.
"You've allowed our horses to be stolen, Noble, but you're a good man. So good that you're going to prove it by going out there to recover them. Noble, I want you to leave now. Don't come back until you have at least four horses. With that many we can recover the others."
"But--"
"Now, Noble. This minute. I trust to your skill. Just bring them back to us."
The big man hesitated, trying to find words that would get him
Reppato Pratt came softly down to the spring and drank. He got up, wiping off his bristly chin. "They'll be eatin' now, and soon they'll take in the horses."
Cris decided suddenly. "We'll go now. When they start to herd the beasts, we'll move."
Rep hesitated, then shrugged. Cris turned to Barda. "You stay close enough, and run with us when we run. We might not be able to get back here after you." Then they moved out until the enemy was in sight; and there they halted and watched.
The horse herd was three hundred yards or so from where they waited. The two men on duty were not mounted; shortly, they walked out to start driving the horses to the picketing site. The sun was down. The herdsmen were expecting nothing, and the horses began slowly, reluctantly, to leave the grass.
"Walk your horses," Cris whispered, "until they see us or we're within two hundred yards. Then let them have it!"
Steadily they went through the gathering darkness, that late twilight when all things become indistinct and shadowy. Cris held his pistol ready, and he spoke to the colonel's gelding that he rode. "Easy does it, boy, easy does it!"
The horses were beginning to gather, their heads pointed toward the narrow trail that led into the hollow where the outlaws were camped. "All right, now," Cris spoke just loud enough to be heard. "Let's go!"
His words ended in a shout and they slapped heels to their horses and charged, Rep's packhorse on a lead coming behind them. Startled, the outlaws' horses threw up their heads, nostrils wide, and saw four dark forms charging down upon them, the air ringing with yells.
Rep fired, and one of the herdsmen spun and dropped, staggered up, then fell again to one of Cris Mayo's slugs. The other man fled from what he evidently took to be a cavalry charge. Shouting and firing, the three riders raced after the fleeing horses. From the hill behind there was a shot, and Cris ducked involuntarily, having felt the whip of the air as the bullet passed, and then they were gone into the darkness, driving the horses ahead of them onto the vast plain.
He could not believe it. They had brought it off, and for the time at least the outlaws would be unable to leave. Far into the night they drove the horses, finally losing them as the herd began to lag and scatter. They made no effort to keep the horses bunched then, just let them go, confident that few would find their way back.
At the camp in the hollow Justin Parley waited for the report, and it could not have been worse. "Three or four riders," the lookout said, "and there might have been more. They got Wes Jackson with their first fire, an' Noble, he cut an' run."
"The horses?"
"Scattered over the prairie, every blamed one! We'll be lucky if we can round up half a dozen."
"Noble?"
"He's waitin'. Says he didn't have a chance. Swears it was the U.S. Cavalry."
"He's a fool and a coward. Get rid of him."
Silver Dick Contego glanced up from his coffee. "Give it some thought, Major." Whenever Silver Did wished to be persuasive he always used the title. "Noble has kinfolk down yonder in the Indian country. He's half Cherokee, you know, an' we're ridin' right into his home base. They'll be askin' after him."
Parley hesitated only a moment. "Of course. We must not judge too harshly. By the time we reach the Cherokee country he may have given us reason to forget his error. In fact, we will give him a chance now. Noble?" he called.
The man was large, fat around the waist, heavy in the jowls. He was sweating as he walked forward, obviously frightened.
"You've allowed our horses to be stolen, Noble, but you're a good man. So good that you're going to prove it by going out there to recover them. Noble, I want you to leave now. Don't come back until you have at least four horses. With that many we can recover the others."
"But--"
"Now, Noble. This minute. I trust to your skill. Just bring them back to us."
The big man hesitated, trying to find words that would get him
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