The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume 1 by Louis L’Amour Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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that the Tremayne boys had killed two men and wounded a couple of others, then broke jail. So they fetched their guns and come running.
They got Sam right off. Folks said he was shot nine times in that first volley. At that, Lisha rode back to pick him up, but he couldnât get nigh the body, and could see by the way Sam was that he must be dead. So he headed off to home with his horses.
Boone Tremayne put aside his letter and added a few tiny sticks to his little fire. It was so small a man might have held it in his two hands, but the little flame looked good, and it warmed his fingers which were cramped from writing and the cold.
An icy wind blew over the slope of the mountain. Boone looked longingly at the woods below, and the first silver line that was the Middle Fork of the Green, which stretched away almost due north from where he lay. If he could get down there he might still have a chance â¦Â But there was no chance. The lost blood, the lack of food and the cold had drawn upon his strength until he was only a dank shell of a man, huddled in his worn clothes, shivering and freezing and looking down at the hunters who held him.
Cautiously, the man under the shelf below was moving. He, too, was feeling the cold. âWell, feel it,â Boone whispered, âmaybe next time you wonât be so anxious to go hunting a lone man!â He ricocheted another bullet off the rock shelf.
Several rifles replied, and suddenly angry, Boone fired a careful shot at the flash of one of the guns. He heard a rifle rattle on rocks as it fell, and then a heavy body tumbling into brush. More shots were fired, but now he had turned ugly; the loneliness, the cold, the fear of death, all crowded in upon him and he shot rapidly and frantically, at rifle flashes, and dusting the brush around the smoke of the fires. He fired his rifle empty and reloaded and then with careful shots, proceeded to weed the woods below.
Then he doused his fire and moved farther along the undercut rock and found another place, almost as good as the last. Here he started another tiny blaze, shielding it with a large slab of flat rock.
Finished off telling how Sam was kilt. Johnny, he was shot bad and we didnât know if he was dead for two days, then that girl, Ellie Winters, she come up the mountain with the news. The town was mighty wrought up. Some of them was coming up after us.
We kept watch, Burt, Lisha and me. Meanwhile, we tried figuring what to do. For Maâs sake we would have to pull out, git up into the high meadows or west into the wild country over the Utah line.
Now we knowed they was hunting Johnny, and Ellieâs Pa was worried too. So the three of us ups and goes down to Durango. Johnny, he mounted the horse we brought for him, and we dusted out of there.
Slow, and careful not to leave no tracks, we moved out, leaving our cabin, our crop, everything but the horses. We made it west-northwest past Lone Cone and finally crossing the San Miguel into Uncompahgre Plateau country. We found us a little box canyon there with grass and water, and we moved in. By hunting we made out, but Ma was feeling poorly so Burt, he stayed with her while Lisha and me, we mounted up and with five head of horses, we
headed for a little town north of us on the river. We sold our horses, bought up supplies and come back.
Ma, she didnât get no better, and finally, she died one morning, just died a-setting in her rocker. Weâd brung that rocker along, and it had been a sight of comfort for her. So Ma died and Johnny played his mouth organ, and we buried her. Then there was just the four of us, with Johnny still recuperating from his bullet wounds.
We could move on, but this here was our country and we knowed it. Pa was buried back at Durango. Sam, too, now. And Ma, she was buried there in the lonely Uncompahgres, all because of the orneriness of one man.
Them horses we sold let folks know where we was, and soon there was a posse
They got Sam right off. Folks said he was shot nine times in that first volley. At that, Lisha rode back to pick him up, but he couldnât get nigh the body, and could see by the way Sam was that he must be dead. So he headed off to home with his horses.
Boone Tremayne put aside his letter and added a few tiny sticks to his little fire. It was so small a man might have held it in his two hands, but the little flame looked good, and it warmed his fingers which were cramped from writing and the cold.
An icy wind blew over the slope of the mountain. Boone looked longingly at the woods below, and the first silver line that was the Middle Fork of the Green, which stretched away almost due north from where he lay. If he could get down there he might still have a chance â¦Â But there was no chance. The lost blood, the lack of food and the cold had drawn upon his strength until he was only a dank shell of a man, huddled in his worn clothes, shivering and freezing and looking down at the hunters who held him.
Cautiously, the man under the shelf below was moving. He, too, was feeling the cold. âWell, feel it,â Boone whispered, âmaybe next time you wonât be so anxious to go hunting a lone man!â He ricocheted another bullet off the rock shelf.
Several rifles replied, and suddenly angry, Boone fired a careful shot at the flash of one of the guns. He heard a rifle rattle on rocks as it fell, and then a heavy body tumbling into brush. More shots were fired, but now he had turned ugly; the loneliness, the cold, the fear of death, all crowded in upon him and he shot rapidly and frantically, at rifle flashes, and dusting the brush around the smoke of the fires. He fired his rifle empty and reloaded and then with careful shots, proceeded to weed the woods below.
Then he doused his fire and moved farther along the undercut rock and found another place, almost as good as the last. Here he started another tiny blaze, shielding it with a large slab of flat rock.
Finished off telling how Sam was kilt. Johnny, he was shot bad and we didnât know if he was dead for two days, then that girl, Ellie Winters, she come up the mountain with the news. The town was mighty wrought up. Some of them was coming up after us.
We kept watch, Burt, Lisha and me. Meanwhile, we tried figuring what to do. For Maâs sake we would have to pull out, git up into the high meadows or west into the wild country over the Utah line.
Now we knowed they was hunting Johnny, and Ellieâs Pa was worried too. So the three of us ups and goes down to Durango. Johnny, he mounted the horse we brought for him, and we dusted out of there.
Slow, and careful not to leave no tracks, we moved out, leaving our cabin, our crop, everything but the horses. We made it west-northwest past Lone Cone and finally crossing the San Miguel into Uncompahgre Plateau country. We found us a little box canyon there with grass and water, and we moved in. By hunting we made out, but Ma was feeling poorly so Burt, he stayed with her while Lisha and me, we mounted up and with five head of horses, we
headed for a little town north of us on the river. We sold our horses, bought up supplies and come back.
Ma, she didnât get no better, and finally, she died one morning, just died a-setting in her rocker. Weâd brung that rocker along, and it had been a sight of comfort for her. So Ma died and Johnny played his mouth organ, and we buried her. Then there was just the four of us, with Johnny still recuperating from his bullet wounds.
We could move on, but this here was our country and we knowed it. Pa was buried back at Durango. Sam, too, now. And Ma, she was buried there in the lonely Uncompahgres, all because of the orneriness of one man.
Them horses we sold let folks know where we was, and soon there was a posse
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