Novel 1956 - Silver Canyon (v5.0) by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour [L'Amour, Louis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Usenet
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 1956-06-05T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

* * *

IT WAS AFTER midnight when finally I rode away from the Boxed M, leaving the main trail and cutting across country to the head of Gypsum Canyon.

Before leaving I had told Canaval what I had heard about the Slades, and he had listened, without comment. Whether he believed me I could not say, but at least he had been warned. Each of us knew all there was to know about Slade. The man was a killer for hire, a cold-blooded and efficient man with a gun.

There is a magic about the desert at night. Until you have seen it, stood alone in the midst of it, you cannot know what enchantment is. There is a stillness there and a nearness of stars such as no other place on earth offers.

I rode quietly and steadily, not hurrying, but feeling the coolness of the night, and remembering the girl I had left behind me, remembering Moira.

Mulvaney was waiting for me. “Knew the horse’s walk.” He nodded toward the hills. “Too quiet out there.”

We turned in then, and rested, but during the night I awakened with the sound of a shot ringing in my ears. Mulvaney was sleeping soundly so I did not disturb him, nor was I even sure that I had heard it. A real shot? Or something in a dream? All was quiet, and after listening for a while I crawled back into the warmth of my blankets, of no mind to go exploring in the middle of a chill desert night.

In the morning I mentioned it to Mulvaney.

“Did you get up?”

“Yes, but I didn’t hear anything. It might have been one of the Benaras boys. Sometimes they hunt at night.”

Two hours later I knew better. Maverick Spring lay in that no man’s land where the Boxed M bordered the Two-Bar, and I had ridden that way, for there was bog on one side of the spring and twice I’d had to pull steers out of there.

The morning was fresh and clear as I was coming up out of the wash. Heading across for the spring, I saw a riderless horse.

He was standing his head down and, suddenly worried, I picked my horse up to a canter.

Drawing near, I saw that a dark bundle lay on the ground near the horse. The dark bundle was a man, and he was dead. Even before I turned the body over, I knew it was Rud Maclaren.

He had been shot twice from behind, both times in the head.

He was sprawled on his face, one knee drawn up, both hands lying in sight, on the sand. His belt gun was tied down. Rud Maclaren had been shot down from behind without an instant of warning.

After that one quick look, I stepped back and, drawing my rifle from the scabbard, I fire three quick shots as a signal to Mulvaney.

When he saw Maclaren his face went three shades whiter.

“This is trouble, lad. The country respected him. A man will hang for this.”

“Feel of him, Mulvaney.

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