Collection 1989 - Long Ride Home (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online

as if to unheard music. And Kim Sartain sat erect in the saddle, a dark blue shirt tucked into gray wool trousers which were tucked into black, hand-tooled boots with large Mexican spurs. Kim Sartain rode coolly, and with a smile on his lips.
    The mountains seemed split asunder before him, and where the sunlight fell upon the gigantic crack, the shadows lay before him, and he rode down into darkness with a hand on his thigh and a loose and ready gun inches from his hand. There was no sound, there was no movement. A mile, and the crack widened, then opened into a wide green valley across which the track of the ancient Paiute trail left a gray-white streak among the tumbled boulders and broken ledges. There was a sound of running water, and a freshness in the air, and at the fording of the stream, Kim Sartain swung down, allowing his horse to drink.
    There were trees at the base of a big-as-a-house boulder, and from the shelter of these boulders stepped Matty Brown.
    He stepped into the bright sunlight and stood there, and Kim Sartain saw him. And Matty Brown took another step forward and said, speaking clearly, “I reckon that gun rep o’ yours is all talk, Sartain!
Let’s see!
”
    His right hand slapped down fast and the gun came up smoothly and his first shot blasted harmlessly off into the vast blue sky, and then Matty turned halfway around and fell, rolling over slowly with blood staining his shirtfront and the emptiness in his eyes staring up at the emptiness in the sky, and Kim Sartain’s .44 Russian lifted a little tendril of smoke toward the sky. And then Kim saw Het Morse step from the brush, with Ollie off to his right, and Verne Stecher spoke from behind him.
    â€œMatty,” Stecher said, “he allus did figure hisself faster than he was. He wanted to have his try, so we let him. Now you, snooper, we plant you here.”
    â€œHey, where’s your partner?” Ollie suddenly demanded. The big man was perspiring profusely. Only Het was quiet, negligent, almost lazy; that old man, was poison wicked.
    Bud’s voice floated above them. “I’m right up here, Ollie. S’pose you drop your guns!”
    Ollie’s head jerked and fear showed on his face, stark fear. Where the voice came from he did not know, but it might have been a dozen places. Kim Sartain could feel the panic in him but his own eyes did not waver from Het’s.
    â€œGuess we better drop ’em, Pop.” Ollie’s voice shook. “They got us.”
    The old man’s voice was frosty with contempt. “We’re three to two. They got nothin’. Let Verne get that other’n. We’ll take Sartain.”
    â€œNo!” Ollie’s fear was strident in his voice. The death of Matty Brown, the body lying there, had put fear all through him. “No! Don’t—!”
    Kim saw it coming an instant before Het squeezed off his shot, and he fired, smashing two quick ones at Het. He saw the old man jerk sharply, heard the whine of the bullet past his own head, and then he fired again, throwing himself to the right to one knee, the other leg stretched far out. Then he swung his gun to Ollie. Other guns were smashing around him, and a shot kicked dirt into his mouth and eyes. Momentarily blinded, he rolled over, lost hold on his gun and clawed at his eyes. Something tugged at his shirt and he grabbed for his left-hand gun and came up shooting. Old Het was half behind a rock and had his gun resting on it.
    Kim lunged to his feet and ran directly at the old man, hearing the hard bark of a pistol and the shrill whine of a rifle bullet, and then he skidded to a halt and dropped his gun on Het. Het tried to lift his own six-shooter from the rock as Kim fired. Dust lifted from the old man’s shirt and the bullet smashed him to the ground and he lost hold on his gun.
    And then the shooting was past, and Kim glanced swiftly around. Bud was near the boulder where he had waited for the