Borden Chantry by Louis L’Amour Page A

No place to hide in the barn. He ran outside, glancing quickly around. Nothing moved nearer than the street, but there was brush at the back of the barn, and a path, he recalled, that ran to the bottom of the arroyo.
    Turning, he ran toward the path. Something crashed in the brush. He thought he heard running footsteps, then drawing a pistol, he ran after them.
    The arroyo broke into several branches, and he skated to a stop, listening. No sound…not a whisper. He started toward one branch, then halted. He glanced around for tracks, but at this point the floor of the arroyo was almost one sheet of solid rock. He swore softly, then walked up the nearest arroyo.
    It twisted and turned away from town. Walking back, he tried a second. It led back toward the hills. The other branch wound north along the back of the town, and he should have thought of it at once. There were a dozen places where a man could emerge with small chance of being seen, and whoever had grabbed the saddle had gotten away.
    But what of the saddle itself? A man does not run lightly and easily while carrying a heavy stock saddle.
    Walking back to where he heard the crash in the brush, it took him only a few minutes to find it. Obviously, whoever had stolen the saddle had thrown it aside to enable him to get away. Borden shouldered the saddle and walked away from the arroyo, past the house and into the street.
    He was tired, and the running had started his head to aching again. He crossed the street to the Bon-Ton and went in. He did not want anything to eat, and he did not want coffee. He wanted only to sit down, just for a moment.
    Dropping into the first chair, he stared around him, suddenly dizzy. Ed crossed the room and put down a pot and a cup. “You all right, Marshal? You look done in.”
    â€œIt’s that rap on the skull. I must have had a mild concussion when I got hit the other night. I’ll just sit here a moment until I feel better.”
    â€œTake your time. Did you see Hyatt? He was askin’ for you.”
    â€œI’ll see him later.”
    â€œLooks like George Riggin’s saddle,” Ed commented. “He sure set store by it, but it ain’t as good as yours.”
    â€œHe wanted me to have it.”
    â€œWell, I guess a man can use an extry saddle oncet in awhile. He sure give that one some wear. That ol’ saddle could tell some stories, given a chance and a tongue.”
    Ed walked back to the kitchen and Borden lowered his head to his arms. Only for a minute. If he could just rest for a minute.
    â€œBord?” It was Lang’s voice.
    He looked up. “Sit down, Lang. I’m just resting a bit.”
    â€œYou look all in,” Lang’s voice was worried. “Bord, you’ve got to take it easy. In your condition you shouldn’t be out running around. After all, if you’re right about this and it is a local man he isn’t going anywhere. You’re just killing yourself for nothing.”
    â€œYou’re right. Bess tells me the same thing. Have some coffee?”
    Lang filled their cups. Bord leaned back in his chair. He had always envied Lang, a cool, confident man who knew where he was going and what he wished to do.
    â€œIt’s hot out there,” Lang commented. “With that head you’re carrying it could make you sick.” He glanced at the saddle. “What’s the idea? You going someplace?”
    â€œIt was George Riggin’s saddle. He wanted me to have it.”
    â€œWhy? You’ve got a saddle.”
    Borden shrugged. “A man likes to pass something on. He left his spurs to Billy McCoy.”
    â€œYou know, Bord,” Lang paused. “I’ve been thinking about Billy. When Blossom and I are married, we could take the boy out to the ranch. He’d like it there, and he could be a help to us in summer, and could go to school in winter. We’d like to make a home for him.”
    â€œHave you mentioned it to