Novel 1963 - Fallon (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online

no saddle-bags.
    â€œLive around here?” Fallon asked.
    The taunting eyes surveyed Fallon with care as the man touched his tongue to his cigarette, and then drawing his fingers along it, he said, “Down the road a piece.”
    â€œI didn’t figure you’d come far,” Fallon replied pointedly, his glance shifting to the man’s horse.
    The man looked around, getting out a match. “Red Horse? Now, that’s odd. I don’t recall ever hearing of such a town around here.”
    â€œYou have now.”
    The man took his time with the match, his eyes noting Fallon’s gun. “You’ll be this Fallon gent…Macon Fallon. The name has a familiar sound.”
    â€œSo does Bellows.”
    The man chuckled. “You lay it right on the line, don’t you? Well, I’m not Bellows, although he did suggest I drop around and offer our services.”
    â€œThey aren’t needed.”
    â€œBellows will decide that.” Coolly, he looked around. “Seems to me there’s only four or five of you here. That’s not very many, is it?”
    Fallon stepped down from his horse. “Do you see that bridge down there, my friend? You tell Bellows that every man he sends to Red Horse—every one who doesn’t die with lead in him—will hang from that bridge.
    â€œYou can also tell him that if he sends so much as one man down here to make trouble, I’ll come after him.”
    â€œYou’re carrying a high hand there, friend. It sounds like you’re running a bluff.”
    Fallon felt anger mounting within him. Also, he knew that at the first sign of weakness the Bellows outfit would come down upon them.
    â€œYou’re wearing a gun,” he said.
    The man looked at him thoughtfully, his eyes suddenly wary. “I’d say that sounds like you’re pretty sure of yourself.” He shook his head. “I’ll not call, Mr. Fallon.”
    Standing on the street, Fallon watched the man ride slowly out of town, and then he turned on his heel and went into the store.
    â€œAnother customer,” Damon said cheerfully, “bought tobacco.”
    Fallon indicated his hip. “Where’s your gun?”
    â€œGun?”
    â€œLook,” Fallon said, showing his irritation, “that man you just had in here is a killer. He’s one of the Bellows outfit. You put on a gun and wear it, and you be ready to use it.”
    â€œSeems like tomfoolery to me,” the older man said testily. “I never heard of any Bellows gang.”
    â€œNor I,” Jim Blane said. “I think those men out on the road were just passing through.”
    â€œIf it wasn’t for your womenfolks I’d ride out of here and let you take the consequences. You people think of the West as if it was Philadelphia.”
    He rode away, and Damon shrugged. “What’s he so touchy about? That seemed a right nice feller. Pleasant as all get out.”
    â€œMr. Damon,” Ginia interposed, “maybe he’s right. After all, they did tie Jim up, and they hit him.”
    â€œThey were drunk!” Jim scoffed. “Just drunken cowhands carrying on. There was no need to shoot that man like he did, no need at all.”
    Ginia walked up the street. Dislike him as she would, there was no getting around the fact that he had worked harder than any of them, and he had asked for no help in cleaning up the street, painting the signs, or repairing the boardwalk.
    Not that she trusted him…not one bit. But so far as she could see, he had not lied.
    He was polishing glasses when she walked into the saloon. “I don’t know why you do that. You’ve nothing to sell.”
    He gestured toward the barrel. “You underestimate me. That’s full of whiskey. Indian whiskey, I’ll admit, but whiskey.”
    â€œBut where could you get it?”
    â€œIt depends on what a man has handy, but the formula was worked out by the Indian