Sacketts 13 - Mustang Man by Louis L'amour

Author:Louis L'amour
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-07-19T16:45:10+00:00

idea how bad a shape I was in. My fingers went to my skull. There was a deep

furrow above my ear that had cut the scalp almost to the back of my head.

Leading my horse, for even if I could stay in the saddle I would be too easily

seen, I started down the gradual slope, which flattened out toward the creek.

From time to time I paused, careful to conserve what strength I had.

Before riding away, I studied the area carefully, but there was no sign of life,

no movement. What worried me most was that I had no idea what was going on, nor

where anybody was. Penelope had been out there in the rocks somewhere, but she

had vanished as if she had never been. And across there in the trees Ralph might

still be waiting, to say nothing of that poisonous flower, Sylvie.

There were big old cottonwoods and willows along the creek, and there was water.

Once under the trees, I got down and took a long drink. I was hungry, but to

risk a fire was to risk my neck. I wasn't that hungry. More than anything else,

I wanted to find a place under a safe tree and sleep, but there was no chance of

that.

Near me was a huge old cottonwood whose thick leaves rustled and whispered

endlessly. Glancing up, I noticed the huge branches and the idea came suddenly.

After tying my horse to a shrub, I rigged a quick sling for my rifle from a

couple of piggin strings and then reaching up, I caught the lowest limb of the

big tree. Its leaves and the other trees around me offered concealment, and I

climbed carefully until I was about twenty feet off the ground and could see all

around me.

The first thing I saw was a dust cloud. It was some distance off, downstream,

and whoever was causing the dust was out of sight beyond the rocks. My guess

made it about half a dozen riders.

Not far away I could see some bones, lying time-whitened under the sun. Were

these the bones of Nathan Hume's mule train? I remembered that there had been

another battle, a hundred and fifty years before, when an army of Spanish

pioneers whipped a huge band of Comanches at this place.

9

It was very still. The only sound was the gentle rustling of the cottonwood

leaves, which never seemed to be quiet. After a few minutes, just as I was about

to get down from the tree, I saw Sylvie Karnes come down from the rocks riding a

bay pony.

Now where had she gotten that horse? As I watched, she was followed by Steve

Hooker, Tex Parker, and two other men whom I did not recognize. This looked to

me like too much activity around for one lone Tennessee boy, even if he was a

Sackett. My better sense kept telling me I should pull out of here, and fast.

Sylvie by herself was a package of dynamite, and I wanted no part of her. When

they discovered Andrew dead—for it was likely they still did not know about

it—they would have another reason for hunting me down.

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