Novel 1968 - Down The Long Hills (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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hours later, when the others had eaten, he rode in and swung down, stripping the gear from his horse.
“Picked up some sign,” he said over a cup of coffee. “That red stallion had himself a drink t’other side of the lake.”
“Any other sign?” Scott was almost afraid to ask. “Are the youngsters with him?”
Frank Darrow took a big bite of frying pan bread, and chewed methodically, while Bill Squires’s eyes started to twinkle.
“Uh-huh,” Darrow said, no longer able to repress a grin. “They’re with ’im. Somehow or t’other they found each other. It was yestiddy mornin’, near as a body could figure.”
He gulped hot coffee. “We got to hurry,” he said. “Those others weren’t far behind ’em.” And after a minute he added, “The stallion’s got a saddle on him now, so the kid can get up on him when he’s of a mind to. So one o’ them others is ridin’ bareback…I seen the place where he mounted up again.”
“Maybe tomorrow then,” Squires said. “I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ up with those gents.”
Chapter 9
N OBODY WAS IN camp when Hardy Collins crawled up through the brush and studied the layout. He waited long enough to be sure it was not a trap; to wait longer might give them time to return. He did not ask himself if he was doing a wrong thing, for the men had talked of stealing Big Red and killing Betty Sue and himself. Moreover, the men had plenty of grub, and he did not intend that Betty Sue should go hungry when bad men had more than enough.
He planned every move before he started from the brush, and once he emerged in the open he worked swiftly. A slab of bacon into a burlap sack, a pound of coffee, a pound or so of sugar, above five pounds of pilot bread, and maybe four pounds, as near as he could guess, of dried fruit. It made a heavy load, but when he got it to the brush he left it hidden there and returned to camp.
Hastily, he rummaged through everything, but he could find nothing to shoot with. There was ammunition enough, but…Then he found it—a U.S. Army derringer, .41 caliber. He checked quickly to see if it was loaded, then he stuffed it down in his pocket.
There was a movement in the brush, and he turned and fled, ducking into the opening in the brush almost without slowing down. Once inside, he took hold of the sack and dragged it after him. On the other side of the heavy growth he shouldered the sack and, keeping to low ground, he worked his way back to where Betty Sue waited. Together they trudged off.
If Big Red was to find them—and he could find them much more easily than they could find him—they must leave a trail he could follow. To do that, they must, he decided, walk right straight across the valley. In that way the horse would come upon their trail. For Red had run away to the north—at least, he was heading north when last they saw him—so if he started back he must cross their trail.
Having taken a sighting on a peak, Hardy started off, holding to as straight a course as possible. Betty Sue walked beside him.
“Get something to eat?” Betty Sue asked, after a while.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll eat tonight,” Hardy said, “and Big Red will find us. You can figure on it. Why, I can’t number the times he’s traipsed into the woods after me, and sometimes I’d hide out from him, but he’d find me, ever’ time.”
They went down into the bed of a stream, but this time they did not follow through the water, although it was shallow enough for wading. Instead, they walked through the grass along the banks, and Hardy frequently wetted his feet in the water, hoping to make the scent more lasting.
When they had gone no more than two miles, Hardy saw Betty Sue lagging. He was afraid to stop so soon, but he knew she could not go any farther. In a deep, wooded hollow near the stream he made a small fire and broiled some bacon over the coals. They ate this, and each of them ate a small piece of the pilot bread. Then they
“Picked up some sign,” he said over a cup of coffee. “That red stallion had himself a drink t’other side of the lake.”
“Any other sign?” Scott was almost afraid to ask. “Are the youngsters with him?”
Frank Darrow took a big bite of frying pan bread, and chewed methodically, while Bill Squires’s eyes started to twinkle.
“Uh-huh,” Darrow said, no longer able to repress a grin. “They’re with ’im. Somehow or t’other they found each other. It was yestiddy mornin’, near as a body could figure.”
He gulped hot coffee. “We got to hurry,” he said. “Those others weren’t far behind ’em.” And after a minute he added, “The stallion’s got a saddle on him now, so the kid can get up on him when he’s of a mind to. So one o’ them others is ridin’ bareback…I seen the place where he mounted up again.”
“Maybe tomorrow then,” Squires said. “I’m lookin’ forward to meetin’ up with those gents.”
Chapter 9
N OBODY WAS IN camp when Hardy Collins crawled up through the brush and studied the layout. He waited long enough to be sure it was not a trap; to wait longer might give them time to return. He did not ask himself if he was doing a wrong thing, for the men had talked of stealing Big Red and killing Betty Sue and himself. Moreover, the men had plenty of grub, and he did not intend that Betty Sue should go hungry when bad men had more than enough.
He planned every move before he started from the brush, and once he emerged in the open he worked swiftly. A slab of bacon into a burlap sack, a pound of coffee, a pound or so of sugar, above five pounds of pilot bread, and maybe four pounds, as near as he could guess, of dried fruit. It made a heavy load, but when he got it to the brush he left it hidden there and returned to camp.
Hastily, he rummaged through everything, but he could find nothing to shoot with. There was ammunition enough, but…Then he found it—a U.S. Army derringer, .41 caliber. He checked quickly to see if it was loaded, then he stuffed it down in his pocket.
There was a movement in the brush, and he turned and fled, ducking into the opening in the brush almost without slowing down. Once inside, he took hold of the sack and dragged it after him. On the other side of the heavy growth he shouldered the sack and, keeping to low ground, he worked his way back to where Betty Sue waited. Together they trudged off.
If Big Red was to find them—and he could find them much more easily than they could find him—they must leave a trail he could follow. To do that, they must, he decided, walk right straight across the valley. In that way the horse would come upon their trail. For Red had run away to the north—at least, he was heading north when last they saw him—so if he started back he must cross their trail.
Having taken a sighting on a peak, Hardy started off, holding to as straight a course as possible. Betty Sue walked beside him.
“Get something to eat?” Betty Sue asked, after a while.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll eat tonight,” Hardy said, “and Big Red will find us. You can figure on it. Why, I can’t number the times he’s traipsed into the woods after me, and sometimes I’d hide out from him, but he’d find me, ever’ time.”
They went down into the bed of a stream, but this time they did not follow through the water, although it was shallow enough for wading. Instead, they walked through the grass along the banks, and Hardy frequently wetted his feet in the water, hoping to make the scent more lasting.
When they had gone no more than two miles, Hardy saw Betty Sue lagging. He was afraid to stop so soon, but he knew she could not go any farther. In a deep, wooded hollow near the stream he made a small fire and broiled some bacon over the coals. They ate this, and each of them ate a small piece of the pilot bread. Then they
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