Novel 1966 - Kilrone (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page A

buffalo hunter, and scout. He was a thin, angular man with a sour expression but a wry sense of humor. He had phrased his arguments against this march briefly and concisely, and when they were not acted upon he had saddled his fastest horse. There was, he told himself, a time for fighting and a time for running, and he wanted to be ready to run.
    “There’s been talk,” he said suddenly. “I caught me a whisper or two of some new Injun who’s cuttin’ a wide swath among the Bannocks. Seems like he took some scalps on the Little Big Horn an’ he’s been tellin’ the Bannocks how easy it was to kill white sodgers. I had a look for him but never could get a chance to see how he shaped up, but from what they say he’s one mean, smart Injun.”
    Paddock offered no comment. He was beginning to feel the saddle; that came from too much desk duty. There were always rumors, and he took no stock in them.
    “Buffalo Horn is the chief,” Pryor commented. “He’s said to be over in Oregon.”
    “Maybe.”
    Almost another mile had passed before Hank Laban ventured another comment. “Seems this here Injun has him a lot of rifles. All a warrior had to do is say he’ll ride along with him and he gets a new rifle with ammunition. I got no idea where he gets them…Medicine Dog, I mean.”
    Paddock looked at Laban. “Did you say Medicine Dog? He was supposed to be the one who hit those wagon trains a few months back.”
    “He’s a mean one,” Laban repeated.
    He rode away suddenly, without further comment, galloping on ahead, then slowing down to sweep back and forth hunting for Indian sign. He found none…although he did see the tracks of Kilrone’s horse, heading south for the fort.
    Laban had not met Kilrone, but by the time the column moved out, his arrival was common gossip around the post, and the word was that he had once been an officer in the army. Laban wondered about Kilrone, absently, without any real concentration of thought. What really disturbed him was the Dog, but he did not seem able to get his worries across to Paddock.
    Hank Laban knew enough about Indians to trust his instincts, and his every sense told him that Medicine Dog was a bad one. Paddock had been a fool to leave the post, but you don’t tell an army major he’s a fool…not if you want to work for the army; and Laban liked the salary, liked the easy living and the available ammunition.
    He liked none of this. Charles Mellett was perfectly capable of taking care of himself with the number of men he had. Just the same, Laban knew he would rather be where he was than back at the post.
    Despite the gray day the air was clear, and he could see far off. But his eyes kept straying toward the rear, and he knew what he was looking for. He was expecting to see the smoke of burning buildings.
    At the noon halt, Laban squatted by the fire, holding a cup of coffee. “Major,” he said, “I ain’t one to interfere, but you’re on a wild-goose chase. You ain’t about to trap that Injun.”
    “I will be the judge of that,” Paddock replied brusquely.
    “Major,” Laban insisted, “he ain’t no common Injun, this here Medicine Dog. You ask me, he’s too smart to tackle Charlie Mellett. He’ll hit the post, sure as shootin’.”
    “With seventy-five soldiers waiting for him? That’s what he would expect. He certainly can’t know that we’ve marched out from the post.”
    “He’ll know. This Injun gets information right off. You can just bet that by this time he knows.”
    Information? But how? Doubt assailed Paddock. Almost at once he thought of Mary Tall Singer, Denise’s friend. After all, he argued, she was an Indian.
    Suppose Laban was right? Suppose Kilrone had been right? If this Indian, this Medicine Dog, should attack the post now there was no chance it could be successfully defended. Sergeant Ryerson was in command until Rybolt returned from Halleck, or one of the detachments returned. Ryerson was a good man…but he was