Sackett's Land by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour [L'Amour, Louis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Western, Historical, Adventure
ISBN: 9780808554868
Google: nSgqw2IGGTEC
Amazon: B000FBJB0Y
Barnesnoble: B000FBJB0Y
Goodreads: 7033849
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1973-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Through the dark waters the gig glided smoothly. Sakim was in the bow.

Our sail was furled as we wished to offer no silhouette to be seen from the shore. We were loaded to the gunwhales with furs, excellent furs, though perhaps not of the quality of our first load.

None of us had any illusions about what would happen if Bardle discovered our whereabouts, so we approached our base in the rocks with great caution.

It had begun to rain, a soft, drizzling rain. We huddled in our boat, edging in toward shore. The rocks loomed before us, barely visible, like the shore. We touched the water with our oars.

Working in closer, ghostlike, we ran our gig up into the sand. Sakim got out to haul it firmer aground. Fowling piece in hand, I stepped down to the sand.

It was very quiet, only the soft rain falling, and the whisper of the rain upon the water. “Stay with the boat,” I whispered, and then walked forward alone in the darkness.

The space under the over-hang was empty, yet I was not reassured. Something about the place was wrong, very wrong. Retreating to the boat, I whispered, “Ease her back on the water, Sakim, and stand by to shove off.”

“There is something?”

“Nothing … only I have a feeling.”

“I, too.”

Could they have found the cave where lay our furs? Were they waiting there? It was possible they could find the cave but not the furs.

“I want to sleep,” Rufisco said, irritably. “And I am hungry.”

“Better to wait for food,” I said, “than try to digest cold steel.”

Moving back along the shore, I circled warily toward the cave. Suddenly I heard uncalled-for sounds. I stood stock-still and listened.

The crack of a breaking stick, then another. The sound of flint against stone. Somebody was building a fire. I turned around.

Rufisco! He had come ashore and already had a small blaze going.

I swore bitterly, under my breath, and had taken a step toward him when suddenly the night exploded with a rush of human bodies.

They charged the fire.

The attackers had eyes only for the fire, perhaps could see only it.

Suddenly, Nick Bardle’s voice roared through the falling rain: “Damn you all to Hell! There’s only one! Who gave the word? Where are the others?”

Turning, I crept toward the shore, hoping, praying, that Sakim would be near and waiting in the boat. I eased through the dark water, over my ankles, my knees … A hand from utter darkness caught me. It was Sakim.

Handing him my fowling piece and sword, I swung silently and thankfully aboard.

Rufisco was dead or a prisoner. There was nothing we could do to help him at the moment. We could help him best by retaining our freedom, our mobility.

Sakim wasted no time. He dipped the oars into the water very gently and sculled the boat deeper into the darkness.

Ashore there were angry arguments and shouts. Then I clearly heard Bardle. “Where are they? Damn you! Tell me or I’ll slit your gullet!”

“I am alone,” Rufisco’s voice carried well, as no doubt he intended.

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