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

traders back along the Missouri. Your mother had two gallons of prune juice that had fermented, and she was going to throw it out. I started with that. Then I shaved up a pound of rank black chewing tobacco and a couple of pounds of red peppers. I boiled them together to get the strength out of the tobacco and the peppers. Mrs. Damon had a bottle of Jamaica ginger, so I added that. I dumped it all into forty gallons of spring water, added two bars of soap to give it a bead, and a gallon of black molasses.”
    â€œPeople will drink
that
?”
    â€œIt’s the only whiskey in town.”
    â€œI just don’t understand you, Mr. Fallon. Why, that would kill a man!”
    â€œNot the men out here. I promise you, some of them will like it, others will tolerate it.”
    She frowned, her eyes searching his face. “Mr. Fallon, just what are you trying to do?”
    â€œIt should be obvious. I’m playing midwife to a town. Red Horse never really lived, so I’m giving it a second chance.”
    â€œAnd then what?”
    He shrugged. “Who knows? The chances are I’ll go on to somewhere else.”

----
    F ALLON NO LONGER ate with the Damons and the Blanes. Young Jim Blane obviously disliked him, and some of this feeling seemed to have rubbed off on the others. When he killed meat he shared it with them, then went on about his business.
    He had scouted the flat below the town. There was just enough grade to permit an easy flow of water if he could get water on the upper part of the flat. The bed of the wash offered at least one very good site for a dam…a narrow place where the walls and bottom were rock for a short distance.
    He had rolled a few stones into position across the wash, then with his rope he had snaked a couple of logs down.
    Each time he rode out from town he scouted for tracks, but found none. The stock was grazing in a small herd on the lower part of the flat, with Al Damon herding.
    Restlessly, Fallon watched the trail each day, but he saw no wagons, no movement at all, and time was running out. Their slim food supply was steadily growing less, and this in spite of his contributions of meat. He himself was living on meat, squaw cabbage, wild onions, and whatever else he could glean from the desert around.
    The canyon itself, the dark maw opening into the mountains beyond and behind the town, intrigued him. The walls reared up suddenly just a few hundred yards beyond the last building, but you could not see more than fifty feet into the canyon from the best vantage point the town had to offer.
    If a man was caught in that canyon by a flash flood he would simply have no chance at all.
    On the eleventh day a wagon showed up, rumbling over the bridge and into the town. Fallon rode out to meet it.
    The driver of the wagon was a lean, hard-faced man who wore a belt gun and had a rifle beside him, leaning against the seat. The woman beside him was motherly-looking, and her face showed strength.
    Joshua Teel was from Missouri, a harness-maker by trade, and Fallon took an instant liking to him.
    â€œIf you’re interested in mining,” Fallon said to him, “there are claims to be had; but if you’re a harness-maker, why not work at your trade and prospect in your spare time?”
    â€œInjuns about?”
    â€œUsed to be, but not since we’ve been around. Not even any sign.” At the risk of losing a prospective citizen, he added, “Frankly, you look like a man I’d like to have on my side. The Bellows outfit is around, and they’re as bad as any Indians.”
    â€œHeard of them.”
    Teel cast a glance at the town, letting his eyes sweep slowly around. “Woman’s tired of movin’, young uns’re sickly. Figured to stop for a mite.”
    â€œEver farm any?”
    Teel’s eyes showed a mild interest. “Raised to it. Taken my first steps behind a plow.”
    Macon Fallon explained about the flat, and the dam he