The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Four by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page A

of the trail more soldiers made their way down the switchbacks, covered by the machine gun. They came in short, quick dashes, utilizing the slightest bits of cover. Ever they drew closer. Occasionally there would be the crack of one of the captured rifles or the dull boom of a muzzle-loader from the villager’s side of the gorge and often a soldier would fall, but always this would instantly attract a lash of resumed fire from the machine gun.
             
    “W E MUST GO , Batai Khan,” said Tohkta. “We cannot hold out here.”
    “Yes,” agreed the old man, and motioned to his companions to cross the bridge. He dropped into their place and, as they ran into the open, dropped the first soldier to raise a rifle. Ibrahim shot and Tohkta was beside him firing and reloading, but the second Tochari on the bridge was down and as the others bent to pick him up another was shot and fell into the crevasse. Then Ibrahim ran, pounding across the swaying bridge.
    The old man put his hand on Tohkta’s arm. “Go,” he said. “Go, Tohkta Khan. I will stay.”
    It was not lost on Tohkta that Batai Khan had used the leader’s title. He shook his head.
    “No,” Tohkta protested. “Our people need you.”
    “Go, I say!” He glared at Tohkta from his fierce cold eyes. Then in a softer voice, he said, “Would you have me die as an old horse dies? I cannot stop them,” he said, “but the bridge can.”
    Tohkta stared at him, uncomprehending. Then it came to him, and he was astonished. For an instant he was filled with despair as he realized what tremendous cost had gone to the building of this bridge, the long struggle with the mountain and the river, the backbreaking toil. “You would destroy our bridge? It cost four years to build!”
    “What are four years of work against four thousand years of freedom. In time, you can build another bridge.” Even as his grandfather spoke, he knew it was what they must do. The despair left him.
    Together they knelt and fired, retreated a few steps, then fired again. An icy wind roared down the tunnel of the gorge, and the bridge swayed before it. Down the cliff trail they could see them coming now, many dark figures, blossoming with fire. Bullets struck about them.
    Batai Khan was hit, and he fell, losing his grip upon the rifle, which fell into the void. Tohkta bent to lift him but there was a gleam in the old man’s eye. “Leave me here! You must destroy the bridge and silence the devil gun.”
    “Yes, Grandfather.”
    “Tohkta Khan, go with God!”
    Batai Khan tore loose and fell to the stone. Snow drove down the gorge, obliterating all before them. And Tohkta ran though his heart was crushed.
    On the bridge the howling wind caught him. The ropes flexed and jumped with every step and bullets tore through the rope and wood around him. Soldiers depressed the muzzle of the machine gun, holding the tail of the tripod high, and tracers tore at him. One left a smoldering hole in his sheephide jacket, another left a slice like that of a knife upon his calf.
    Then he was across, he fell, and was struggling to rise when he felt small hands lift him. It was Kushla. Ibrahim was there, reloading his Chinese rifle.
    “Go!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Have men bring axes. We must cut the bridge!”
    Ibrahim was next. “Come on!” Tohkta said. “We must stop the machine gun!”
    The three of them ran. They ran up the narrow trail, and though there was cover it was scant enough. Bullets flew. Tocharis fired back from behind rocks or trees. Men on both sides of the gorge died.
    As he went Tohkta gathered up the few men with stolen rifles, and when he could wait no longer they took cover behind a boulder. There were five of them.
    “We must destroy the devil gun!” Tohkta ordered them. “We must kill those who use it and any who are close, we must keep firing though we all may die. With that gun, the Hans can take the bridge before we can cut it. Are you ready?”
    Together