The Man Called Noon by Louis L'amour

Author:Louis L'amour
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-07-19T16:45:32+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Miguel Lebo squatted on his heels across the fire from Ruble Noon and sipped his coffee. Their camp was in a hollow screened by pines, well up the slope of the mountain, but by taking three steps they were in position to overlook the valley below, now bathed in moonlight.

"I thank you again, amigo, but I wonder why you have done this thing."

Noon shrugged. "Impulse, I guess. Your wife is a good woman, and she helped me when I needed help ... and I do not like your enemies."

"Only that?"

"You needed a chance for life. I needed help."

"Ah?"

"You are a good man with a gun."

"I have had troubles, and men came against me."

"I want you to go to Colorado," Noon said. "There is a ranch where men hide from the law and they will not be surprised if you come."

He explained about the ranch and about Fan Davidge, but he made no reference to the money Davidge was supposed to have hidden. "I need someone there to see she is not harmed, but I must warn you. Ben Janish is there, and Dave Cherry, John Lang, and some others."

"I will do what I must."

"Henneker and Arch Billing will help, but neither is a gunfighter."

He told him, too, about Peg Cullane. He liked the tough, good-humored Mexican. Lebo had come from Sonora and was half Tarahumare, a wary, trail-wise man with no illusions.

Their escape had proved simple. They caught the train from Socorro, and had been dropped at the lonely wayside station where Ruble Noon had first boarded the train on his way south. The same train crew had been with them part of the way, and the long journey gave both Ruble and Lebo a chance to catch up on their sleep.

Ruble Noon checked his Winchester, and his handgun. While Lebo picketed the horses he walked out on the dark slope to listen. No shadows stirred on the mountainside below him, but he waited for some time, checking the night sounds. He loved the stillness, the coolness, the smell of greasewood and cedar.

At daylight Lebo rode away, and then Ruble Noon rode up the trail toward the ranch of the mute. He heard no sound, and there should have been the sound of chickens, some stir of movement, and there was none.

He rode forward slowly, his rifle in his hand, his eyes roving, missing nothing.

The old Mexican lay sprawled on the sand, and he could see that he had been shot at least twice. The horses and cattle were gone. Ruble stepped down and touched the old man's cheek. It was cold.

Inside the cabin everything had been pulled apart in a hasty search ... for what? Had they expected the money to be hidden here?

Was the killing of the old Mexican wanton brutality? Or had they connected the Mexican with him?

He looked around uneasily. He saw nothing suspicious, but he did not like the feeling of the place. Was he watched? Turning slowly, he let his eyes sweep the ridges, without tilting his head back or seeming to be searching.

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