Read Online Westward the Tide (1950) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
Ads: Link
deep in his pockets he stepped off the boardwalk and turned up the stairway that climbed the hill, walking out on the old, burned-over slope. When he had walked fairly well up on the hillside, he turned and looked back.
The town lay there in Deadwood Gulch, a scattered, loosely knit series of communities, some of them hidden away in small hollows or scattered in other ravines connecting with this. White Rocks loomed above him.
No woman was worth it. Telling himself that, he realized how much she had been in his mind lately, and they had exchanged only a few words, yet her face stayed in his thoughts with the memory of her voice. No woman had ever touched him like this before, and he was irritated by it, fighting the feeling as a broncho fights a bit. It wouldn't do. Clive Massey had the inside track, anyway.
Or there might be somebody back east who would come out soon to claim her. What did he know about it? She had frightened him today when he stepped out on the boardwalk to shoot it out with Spinner Johns, for she was right in the line of fire. It was because of her, and her alone, that Johns was alive. He had been forced to bluff him out because of the girl.
Ban Hardy was afraid Spinner Johns would come back, but Matt Bardoul was not. Johns would be heading for the brush now, heading for the brush with his horns sawed off. He would want to find a new country where nothing of his disgrace was known. Guessing something of what sort of man Johns was, Matt doubted whether he would ever be the same again. He had been called, been backed down, forced to take water. It did something ruinous to a man's morale, and never again would he face a man with the same fearlessness.
Matt walked back down the hill and headed for the stable to saddle his horse. He had thrown the hull on him and was adjusting the cinch when a voice spoke out of the darkness of a stall. Bardoul held perfectly still, not turning his head.
"Matt," he could not place the voice, "don't go on no wagon train. You staked me once when I was broke. I tell you that because I know you staked so many you won't remember. I'd git killed for this, if anybody knowed, butdon't go along with that wagon train!"
"Why? What's going to happen?"
He waited for what seemed a full minute before there was a reply. "Dunno. But somethin' ... ain't none of 'em supposed to come back alive."
"Who's the boss?" he demanded.
There was no reply. He waited a moment, then asked the question again, but there was no answer. His unknown informant was gone.
He bridled his horse, then led him down to the IXL and tied him to the hitching rail. He stepped inside and made his way to the bar, his eyes studying the crowd, hoping to recognize a familiar face who might be the man he had staked. There were none.
Then the door opened and Logan Deane came in.
When his eyes found Bardoul, he smiled, walking up to the bar. "Nice job today," Deane said in his soft, pleasant voice. "A very nice job. I've heard of Wyatt Earp doin' somethin' like that with Ben Thompson, but nothin' like you did today."
"Spinner Johns wasn't Ben Thompson," Bardoul said truthfully.
"He was worse," Deane replied, "much worse! Thompson had brains, an' as much nerve as any man. He backed down for Earp simply because he knew if he won, he lost. He might kill Earp but he knew Earp would get him. There's no percentage in that sort of a deal.
"Johns was crazy. There was no tellin' what he might do."
Matt nodded. Then lifting his glass, he glanced over it at Deane. "How long have you known Clive Massey?" he asked.
The half friendly light vanished from Logan Deane's eyes and they turned flat gray. "I don't just remember," he said coolly, "I really don't remember!"
"Well," Matt said, "I know nothing about him, but I've got a feeling, Deane. It's a feeling that he should be lined up with us!"
Logan Deane's eyes studied him warily, but there was speculation in them now. "You mean, you think he's a gun slinger?"
"Yes, I do. Only
The town lay there in Deadwood Gulch, a scattered, loosely knit series of communities, some of them hidden away in small hollows or scattered in other ravines connecting with this. White Rocks loomed above him.
No woman was worth it. Telling himself that, he realized how much she had been in his mind lately, and they had exchanged only a few words, yet her face stayed in his thoughts with the memory of her voice. No woman had ever touched him like this before, and he was irritated by it, fighting the feeling as a broncho fights a bit. It wouldn't do. Clive Massey had the inside track, anyway.
Or there might be somebody back east who would come out soon to claim her. What did he know about it? She had frightened him today when he stepped out on the boardwalk to shoot it out with Spinner Johns, for she was right in the line of fire. It was because of her, and her alone, that Johns was alive. He had been forced to bluff him out because of the girl.
Ban Hardy was afraid Spinner Johns would come back, but Matt Bardoul was not. Johns would be heading for the brush now, heading for the brush with his horns sawed off. He would want to find a new country where nothing of his disgrace was known. Guessing something of what sort of man Johns was, Matt doubted whether he would ever be the same again. He had been called, been backed down, forced to take water. It did something ruinous to a man's morale, and never again would he face a man with the same fearlessness.
Matt walked back down the hill and headed for the stable to saddle his horse. He had thrown the hull on him and was adjusting the cinch when a voice spoke out of the darkness of a stall. Bardoul held perfectly still, not turning his head.
"Matt," he could not place the voice, "don't go on no wagon train. You staked me once when I was broke. I tell you that because I know you staked so many you won't remember. I'd git killed for this, if anybody knowed, butdon't go along with that wagon train!"
"Why? What's going to happen?"
He waited for what seemed a full minute before there was a reply. "Dunno. But somethin' ... ain't none of 'em supposed to come back alive."
"Who's the boss?" he demanded.
There was no reply. He waited a moment, then asked the question again, but there was no answer. His unknown informant was gone.
He bridled his horse, then led him down to the IXL and tied him to the hitching rail. He stepped inside and made his way to the bar, his eyes studying the crowd, hoping to recognize a familiar face who might be the man he had staked. There were none.
Then the door opened and Logan Deane came in.
When his eyes found Bardoul, he smiled, walking up to the bar. "Nice job today," Deane said in his soft, pleasant voice. "A very nice job. I've heard of Wyatt Earp doin' somethin' like that with Ben Thompson, but nothin' like you did today."
"Spinner Johns wasn't Ben Thompson," Bardoul said truthfully.
"He was worse," Deane replied, "much worse! Thompson had brains, an' as much nerve as any man. He backed down for Earp simply because he knew if he won, he lost. He might kill Earp but he knew Earp would get him. There's no percentage in that sort of a deal.
"Johns was crazy. There was no tellin' what he might do."
Matt nodded. Then lifting his glass, he glanced over it at Deane. "How long have you known Clive Massey?" he asked.
The half friendly light vanished from Logan Deane's eyes and they turned flat gray. "I don't just remember," he said coolly, "I really don't remember!"
"Well," Matt said, "I know nothing about him, but I've got a feeling, Deane. It's a feeling that he should be lined up with us!"
Logan Deane's eyes studied him warily, but there was speculation in them now. "You mean, you think he's a gun slinger?"
"Yes, I do. Only
Similar Books
