Novel 1968 - Down The Long Hills (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page A

knife. We’ve seen places he’s used it, but not around this camp. Nothing sticks out more’n a fresh-cut tree or limb with the white wood showin’. Well, did you see any around here? This boy must be dead-tired, he must be scared, but he’s usin’ that little head of his all the time. I’d lay a bet that if a body took time you’d find scattered places where he cut firewood all through the trees yonder, but you’d have to hunt for them. I doubt if he’d be that careful unless he suspicioned somebody was huntin’ him…somebody other than his pa.”
    “Why do you say we’re in trouble?” Collins asked.
    “The kid will hide his tracks,” Darrow answered, “sure as shootin’. He figures to meet you comin’ up the trail, but that Injun is behind him, an’ he ain’t goin’ to leave him nothing if he can help it. That means he ain’t leavin’ anything for us, neither.”
    Over their meal they studied and discussed every possibility they could think of. Hardy Collins would not want to leave the trail where he knew his father might be searching, yet he might be forced to do just that.
    Scott felt sure about what his son would do, and on that score the two mountain men agreed with him. He was sure that on leaving camp Hardy would take to the water so as to leave no tracks—but where would he go then?”
    “We got to find where he found them nuts,” Squires said. “If there was more, he’d go back after them.”
    Scott Collins could not sleep. He lay awake a long time thinking of his son out there in the cold and dark. By day Collins could keep a bold face before the other men, and by day he was confident of what his son would do, or try to do; but at night when he lay down in the darkness he could only think of how frail even a sturdy seven-year-old can be.
    Hardy had grown up to an outdoor life, of course—in fact, he knew no other life. Many a time he and his father had camped in the woods together; they had gone off hunting, each in his own direction, and had left signs for each other to indicate the way they had gone. They had often rustled meals for themselves from small game and wild herbs. Nevertheless, he was only a small boy, caring for a smaller girl.…Finally Collins drifted off into sleep.
    He had been awake for a minute or two, hearing the low sound of voices outside, before he realized it was early morning. When he opened his eyes he found a fire going, smelled the coffee, and heard Darrow speaking.
    “In lookin’ for this youngster, Bill, we’d better not forget that Injun. He’d like to notch his stick for our scalps, no doubt, an’ we’d best keep a weather eye open for him.”
    Scott Collins sat up. “Wonder one of you wouldn’t give me a call. I’m overdue for some coffee.”
    They both ducked their heads and came in through the small opening. “You looked plumb tuckered out, so we let you sleep,” Bill said. He was smoking his pipe. “Whilst Frank was fixing grub, I took a look around. There’s a clump of hazelnuts right across the stream an’ up a ways. Plenty of sign around there. The boy must have loaded up on them, judgin’ by the fresh pickin’ sign he left.”
    “He’s not starving, anyway,” Scott said.
    There was very little conversation. When Scott had finished eating, the three men, with Bill Squires leading, went down to the stream, and they followed it, eying the banks carefully. They came to the hazelnut patch, and went on. From time to time they saw sign left by the Indian.
    The tracks were now several days old, but they did not dare increase their pace for fear they would lose the vague trail—and sometimes there was hardly a trail at all.
    Late that afternoon, Scott Collins drew up, studying the tracks of the Indian. “Does it seem to you, Bill,” he said, “that this Indian spends a lot of time checking out the way those youngsters get along? Every time he comes on a place where they’ve stopped, he leaves enough tracks for four or