Novel 1968 - Brionne (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online

anything for a friend. Why, he staked ol’ Ed Shaw. Staked him time an’ again. Every time Rody had a pay day Ed was there to get his part of it.”
    An hour later James Brionne and Mat were aboard the train for Corinne, and before daylight they left it just a few miles east of town. After two hours’ sleep and a quick meal they headed south. It was a rough beginning for Mat, but Brionne wanted distance between himself and whoever had shot at him.
    He had no theories beyond the obvious. It might be mistaken identity, or it might be somebody who remembered him from the war. There were a good many unreconstructed Confederates around. In any case, he was riding into country where he would not be likely to see them again, or to be seen by them.
    For several days he and Mat rode and camped, loafing along the trails, stopping to fish in likely streams, moving as their thoughts willed. The days drifted easily into one another; the nights were cool, the air clear and sharp. Brionne hunted a little; he held to no fixed trail. Mat’s cheeks turned from pink to tan, then to darker brown, with the sun and wind doing their work.
    They saw no human beings, for they followed no traveled route. They did see antelope, deer, and beaver. Once they saw a bear. Twice, during the nights, mountain lions prowled. Each time Brionne frightened them away by moving about, but he kept the horses close in.
    “We haven’t seen any Indians,” Mat said one evening as they sat by their campfire.
    “They’ve seen us though, Mat. They’ve been watching us, and they’re curious. Soon they will come down to talk, I think.”
    “Is this their land?”
    “That’s a good question, Mat. They were here first. At least, they were here before the white man came. But the Indian rarely claimed any fixed ground. Usually a wide area might be known as the hunting grounds of a certain tribe, but other tribes sometimes drove them away, and no boundary was recognized that could not be held by strength.
    “They fought often among themselves over hunting grounds or areas where food plants grew. Sometimes they fought simply because they wanted to fight; often they fought for scalps. That’s one of the troubles now. The older, wiser Indians have learned they cannot fight the white man, and they wish to live in peace; but the young braves need scalps to impress the Indian girls, so sometimes they go raiding and get the whole tribe into trouble.”
    The firelight flickered against the rocks, making dancing shadows. Brionne added a few sticks to the small blaze and listened into the darkness. They would be coming soon, if he knew Indians.
    And suddenly they showed, just beyond the edge of the firelight. There were three of them. Brionne was sitting with his back against a rock, his rifle across his knees.
    “There is food,” he said quietly, almost as though speaking to Mat.
    The Indians stayed very still, watching him. Then one of them came nearer, and the other two followed. “You ride far alone,” one said. He was a tall Indian with a long face, scarred by an old wound.
    “I am not alone. I have my rifle.” He smiled then, and added, “I ride with my son. He is new to your land. I would see him become a great warrior, like yourself.”
    “He is young.”
    “But not too young to know the way of the wolf and the beaver.”
    Brionne answered their questions. They had been curious about him and his odd, wandering way toward the south. These were Utes, and members of their tribe had been raiding to the south, where he was going. Without seeming to make a point of it, he kept his rifle trained on one of them, shifting a knee from time to time.
    They took food from the pot, and they drank coffee. They had eaten not long since, but an Indian would always eat again on the simple theory that it is best to eat when chance offers, for a man never knows when he will have food again.
    “We go to stay in the land of standing rocks,” Brionne said. “We will stay a moon,