North To The Rails by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour [L'Amour, Louis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Usenet, C429, Kat, Exratorrents
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 1971-10-05T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

* * *

DAWN BROKE COLD and gray. Tom Chantry rolled out of his blankets, scrambled into his clothes, and tugged on his boots.

Helvie and McKay were at the wagon, plates held out for the cook. Chantry stood up, stamped his feet into his boots, and slung his gun belt around his waist. Helvie looked at it, but made no comment.

Rugger strolled up to the wagon, throwing a sour glance at the gun. “You strap that on an’ you may have to use it.”

“If I have to, I will,” Chantry said, and he added, “When this drive’s over, Rugger, if you have any money to bet, I’ll outshoot you for whatever you’ve got.”

Rugger stared at him. “Huh! You must think you’re good. I’ll take that bet.”

French Williams rolled out and sat up. “You’d better not, Rugger. I think Chantry can shoot. I think he’ll surprise the hell out of you.”

Rugger snorted, but he was less confident. If French thought Chantry could shoot, it was a good bet that he could. For French Williams made few mistakes in such matters.

“French, do you know Clay Spring?” Chantry asked.

“I been there a time or two. I guess everybody in this country knows it.”

“How about stopping there tonight?”

“I’d sort of figured on it.”

Williams was a neat, natty man who looked well in whatever he wore. This morning he wore a blue army shirt, black jeans, and a flat-brimmed hat. His boots were almost new, and were decorated with large-roweled Mexican spurs. He wore his gun tied down. Chantry suspected that Williams had a better background than was implied by his conversation or by his way of life.

“That man the Indians killed?” Williams asked now. “You say his name was Paul?”

“Yes.”

Williams walked away without comment.

Within minutes the herd was on the move, pointed east now. The dust beneath the hoofs of the cattle rose in clouds. The sky remained dull, leaden.

Clay Spring, if Chantry remembered rightly what he had been told, lay at the foot of a mesa where several runoff springs combined to form Clay Creek. He had never been there, but Bone McCarthy had mentioned it.

From there they would drive to the vicinity of Two Buttes, and this would be what the Kiowas would expect. But their next move would, he believed, surprise the Indians. It might also confuse them. For instead of driving away to avoid the Indians, they would drive right toward them. And he had his own ideas about what to do next.

Oddly enough, he had come to like French. The arrogant gunman, with his amused, taunting eyes, puzzled him, but Chantry wasted no time in trying to figure out his personality. His liking stemmed from the fact that Williams was good at his job, and Tom Chantry always admired a man who knew what he was doing and did it well.

The thought came to him that he might have to kill Williams, but if so he would do it with regret. That thought gave him pause. He…kill? Such an

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