Treasure Mountain (1972) by Louis - Sackett's 17 L'amour Read Free Book Online Page B

to be Tell, of course.
    If anybody was coming to help it had to be his brother, for there was no one else. Tyrel was far away in New Mexico, and none of the others were anywhere around as far as he knew.
    Rousing himself, he strained against the rawhide. Then he hooked it over the nail again and chafed it against the nailhead. The minutes passed. He worked, strained, tugged against the nail, and soaked the rawhide. He tried to turn his wrists inside the thongs, and they turned, ever so slightly.
    Something furry brushed near him and he made a violent movement of repulsion.
    The rat went scurrying. He hooked the thong over the nail again and jerked and tugged. Suddenly, something gave. The strain on his wrists slackened. He shook his wrists, twisted them, and the thongs came free.
    He brought his hands around in front of him. His wrists were raw and bloody, the cuffs on his shirt were bloodstained. He opened and closed his hands--they worked.
    Swiftly, he went to work on his ankles. Topside all was still ... he must remember that. In this quiet they could hear any unusual movement. He had no weapon, but he stood up slowly, making a noose of the rawhide. The piece from his ankles was all of five feet long. He tucked it into his belt and picked up one of the loose boards.
    Not heavy. About six feet long and one by four inches. Not what he would like, but useful. He stretched his muscles and moved closer to the hatch. There was a door, then four steps to the deck. He moaned ... then again.
    There was a stir topside. He grunted, thumped the deck, and then he heard soft footsteps. He heard fumbling with the hasp on the outside of the door, then a low call. "Hurry, Jake! Here they come!"
    The door opened and the man with the lantern leaned forward and extended the lantern, peering into the dark hold.
    With all the force he could muster, Orrin smashed him in the face with the end of the board, driving it with two hands, like a lance.
    The man screamed and toppled over backward, his lantern falling, breaking, and spilling kerosene all over the steps. Flames sprang up, but Orrin leaped over them and lunged up the steps.
    Somebody out on the water yelled, "Back off! Back off!" There was the roar of a shotgun. Orrin lifted the fallen man from the deck, slammed him against the bulkhead, and ripped a gun and a knife from his belt. He knocked the man sprawling and ran for the rail.
    A huge man rushed around the corner and Orrin struck out with his fist, the fist that gripped the knife. The blow was wild, but it connected solidly, and he cut back and down with the blade. He felt cloth tear, heard a grunt of pain. A teeth-rattling blow caught him on the side of the head.
    Orrin staggered, swung again, and then, knife still in hand, went over the rail into the water. Meanwhile, he was conscious of several gunshots, and a second bellow of the shotgun.
    He came up in the dark water, felt the smack of a bullet on the water near him, then went under, turning at right angles. But he had seen the boat, and he struck out for it, swimming strongly.
    His head came above water, and he said, "Tell!" in a low but carrying voice.
    Instantly, the boat turned toward him. He dove, coming up on the far side. He grasped the gunwale of the boat. He saw the mast, several men, and light reflected on gun barrels. In the houseboat beyond, flames were leaping from the hatch and they could see men running with buckets, trying to put out the fire.
    "Tell?" he whispered again.
    "Orrin, damn you, when you get in be careful where you set. I got a new suit-coat folded on that seat, yonder."
    Hands helped him in, and then the oar began, sculling the boat further away on the dark water. Orrin's head still buzzed with the blow he had received, and the raw flesh on his wrists was stinging with salt from the water.
    "Anybody got anything to drink? I haven't had a swallow since morning time."
    Somebody handed him a bottle. He drank. "Burgundy," he said, "but a poor year."
    "What