Fallon (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 14

  “I am not.” She looked at him coolly. “Mr. Fallon, I have been told that I am pretty. I am also young. You warned Pa and the others that when Bellows came he would be after women…in that case I don’t believe he would shoot me.”

  He leaned back against the building and looked at her with respect. “You know,” he said, “you’re quite a girl.”

  “Thank you….I will go out on the street, and I will walk up the street to the Yankee Saloon, seeing everything I can. When I get there I will have them fire a quick shot for every man there.”

  “There’s a catch to this. Suppose they put a gun on you and tell you to come to them—or else?”

  “I shall have to keep walking. I must chance it.”

  He nodded. “I’ll say this for you. You’ve got sand. You’ve got nerve.”

  She held out her hand and looked him in the eye. “What shall I tell them?”

  “That I’ll join them if I can. If I can’t, tell them we must attack, now. We must root them out, wherever they are, and start moving now. Tell them they may be killed now, but they surely will when dark comes.”

  He took her hand, then suddenly he drew her closer and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You are very lovely,” he said, and was surprised to realize how true it was. “Far too lovely for this life.”

  She turned her back squarely on him and walked into the street. She took two steps to the outer edge of the boardwalk, where she would surely be seen by all, then she started up the street.

  There was silence, then a shout. “Come back here, girl! You come right here an’ you won’t be hurt.”

  She continued to walk.

  “You take another step”—the voice was harder now—“an’ I’ll sure enough shoot.”

  Ginia Blane walked on. Fallon could hear her boots on the walk.

  He went to the very edge of the street. He could see her up the street…she was still walking.

  The shot came, and the bullet kicked dirt only a few feet in front of her, but her step did not falter. And then she vanished from his sight.

  He edged to the street. He saw the glint of the rifle barrel and promptly fired, holding his sight just under the rifle muzzle. The grunt of the bullet-struck man could be heard even where Fallon was, and the man’s rifle fell into the street with a clatter.

  In the instant after he fired, he dropped, and bullets smashed into the wall where he had stood. Running to the back of the buildings, he did not take time even to glance out, but ducked around the corner and ran for the Yankee Saloon.

  He had scored three running steps before he heard the bang of the rifle and saw dirt kick in front of him. Then chips flew from a corner ahead of him and he dropped behind a water barrel and rolled out of sight just as a bullet smashed a hole in the barrel and spilled a stream of water where he had been a moment before.

  His luck was running out, and he knew it. Blood had started to trickle again from his split lip. His head ached heavily. “You damn’ fool!” he said to himself. “You waited too long!”

  The hotel stood out from the other buildings, and it was probably from there the shots were coming. He stepped to the corner and smashed a shot into each window, then ducked and ran, bent over and trying hard for the Yankee.

  He made it, slamming through the back door and bursting into the room. He slid to a stop and straightened up to see two guns on him, and half a dozen of Bellows’s men, including Bellows himself. They were standing there smiling, and they had Ginia with them.

  He’d bought himself a packet, and he didn’t hesitate. They were grinning at him, confident, sure, and they had the drop. Only he was a gambler and a bit of a damned fool, and that they should have known. He swung the muzzle of the Henry up and opened fire as fast as he could work the lever.

  He saw the confident grin on Bellows’s face, the taunting smile on Semple’s lips vanish in horror. At a range of twenty feet you don’t miss with a rifle, and he didn’t. He knew he was going to die. He felt it in every bone, but he was going to give Ginia her chance. You don’t bargain with men of the Bellows type, and he knew it.

  He saw Bellows jerk with the impact of his first shot. He had caught them flat-footed when he had fired instead of dropping his rifle. His was the act of a madman, but because of that very fact it came near to working—only there were too many of them.

  He swung the muzzle of his rifle and let drive at Semple. Then he saw Tandy Herren suddenly step inside the door and lift his pistol, and Fallon levered two shots at him. Ginia was struggling with one of the men and she managed to lunge against another, spoiling his aim.

  They were a pack of coyotes, and none of them wanted to face a rifle in that small room. Several lunged for the door at once and spilled into the street. He started toward the door, and then a heavy blow struck him and he was turned halfway around. He turned the rest of the way and saw the marksman on the gallery above him step back out of sight. He levered two shots through the floor, guessing at where he would be.

  Something hit him hard in the leg, and he fell, feeling the whip of bullets past him. Ginia was fighting like a cornered wildcat with the man who had held her. Now he was only trying to get free.

  Suddenly he did break loose, but she had his gun and as he scrambled for the door, she shot him.

  Fallon was up on one knee. He shoved hard against the floor with his rifle stock and got up on his feet. Bellows was lying on the floor bleeding and crying for somebody to help him. Fallon stepped past him.

  Ginia, her dress torn, caught at his arm, screaming, “No! no!”

  He pulled away from her, fell against the door jamb, and stared stupidly into the street. The dirt of the road seemed to come alive with tiny spurts of dust, and three men lay sprawled there, dead…Bellows men.

  He felt his knees weakening and he let go the rifle to get a better grip on the door jamb, but his fingers lacked the strength and he slid to the floor. Somebody was crying and somebody else was shooting, and far off he could hear the pound of racing hoofs. They kept pounding until their racing seemed to be inside his skull.

  And then he was dead…or he felt like it. Never having been dead, he might have been mistaken.

  * * *

  EVIDENTLY HE WAS mistaken, for the sunshine across his bed was pleasant, and his eyes were open, looking at it. A curtain was blowing slightly with a faint breeze—but he had never had a curtain at his window.

  He lay very still, afraid the curtain would go away, because he liked it and liked the feeling of lying here with nothing to worry about…

  No, he had plenty to worry about. He had to get out of here. He had sold a claim to Pollock and the man would soon know there was no gold there, and never had been.

  He turned his head slowly and saw that the room was empty. It was his room, all right, but it did not look the same. Somebody had put a rag rug on the floor, and there were curtains at all the windows, and another chair—a rocker—had been moved into the room.

  He put his fingers up to feel of his eye, and then he was really worried. The swelling was gone.

  If the swelling was gone he must have been lying here for days. He tried to move, but his body felt stiff. He felt of his midsection and found it was wrapped tightly in bandages. His leg, too, was bandaged.

  How badly hurt was he? Could he stand the ride it would take to get out of here?

  He moved himself tentatively. He was stiff, all right, but he could move. He glanced toward the door where he had left his travel gear. It was gone…and then he saw it, all there, even his rifle, standing just inside the closet door.

  He heard a wagon in the street, the heavy rocking, rolling sound of a loaded wagon, and he listened. He heard voices…and down below in the saloon, somebody laughed. He had not considered the saloon. There was a way out the back, however, and he could use that.

  The question was: how mu
ch time did he have?

  He heard footsteps, the quick rap of light, hard heels…a woman walking.

  Quickly, he closed his eyes, allowing one hand to lie helplessly on the blanket that covered him.

  She came quickly into the room and looked down at him, then placed a hand upon his brow. It was a cool, pleasant hand. It rested for a few minutes upon his forehead, then whoever it was went to straightening the bed, which had never needed it less.

  And then she seated herself in the rocker and he heard the creak of a basket, the faint click of knitting needles. After a moment, she began to sing very softly, and not at all badly. Somewhere along there, he fell asleep.

  When he awakened, it was dark within the room. No…not quite. There was a light across the room, shielded from his eyes.

  Someone spoke…Brennan. “How is he?”

  “He’s alive.” That was Ginia. Of course it would be Ginia. She was not the kind to let well enough alone. “How much alive it’s hard to say.” Now, that had a sarcastic tinge that his ear was delicate enough to catch.

  “Pollock was asking about him. He wants to talk to him as soon as he’s conscious.”

  Well, that was no surprise. He had ten thousand dollars of Pollock’s money.

  “Do you think he really intended to leave us?” Brennan asked.

  “Of course. That is exactly what he would do. You saw his things…he was all packed to go.”

  “Well, he won’t get away now, I’ll lay a bet on that. There are some things a man never escapes. This is one of them.”

  “He’s perfectly free.”

  “For how long? I tell you, he hasn’t a chance, and you know it. In fact, nobody knows it better than you.”

  “I’m afraid you are mistaken.” Her voice was stiff. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Brennan.”

  “He’s trapped…trapped, I say.” Brennan did not sound too upset about it, however—and it was Brennan he had counted as a friend.

  After Brennan was gone he lay perfectly still, waiting for her to go. And when she went, he would get out of here. With luck, he could be twenty miles away before daybreak…perhaps thirty.

  Suddenly Ginia got to her feet. She put her things in the basket and closed it, then she opened a cabinet and took out a bottle. He knew the sound, all right, but it startled him and he opened his eyes.

  Her back was half toward him. She had a brandy glass, and she was pouring a little from the bottle.

  He closed his eyes quickly as she turned around and came toward him. “You’d better drink this,” she said coolly. “You’re going to need it.”

  He opened his eyes. “I never saw the time when I needed a drink,” he said, “but I’ll take it.”

  “You’d better,” Ginia said grimly. “They’ll be coming any minute now.”

  “ ‘They’?”

  Her face was expressionless. “Mr. Pollock, Mr. Brennan, Joshua—all of them.”

  “Coming here? What for?”

  “They had to make it official,” she replied. And then she added, “Reverend Tattersall is coming, too.”

  “Reverend? In this town?”

  “He’s the pastor of our church. We have a church now.”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “How long have I been here?”

  “About eight days…almost nine. You’d be surprised how much has happened.”

  He was afraid to ask what had happened. Instead he said, “How’d we come out in the fight?”

  “We lost two men, and three wounded, besides you. Mr. Hamilton was killed, and Jim Karns—he was one of the new ones.

  “The Bellows gang…they were hit pretty hard, everybody seems to think. You killed Lute Semple, Tandy Herren, and another man—we found him on the balcony—and six others were killed, most of them when you emptied the saloon.”

  “You mean when they busted out of the door?”

  “When you started shooting and drove them out.” She smiled suddenly. “They’re all talking about how perfectly you had planned for them. There were four men at the mine aside from Mr. Pollock, and when those men burst out of the door they ran right into the open in front of their guns. Until then, it looked as if we’d lost the fight.”

  “I didn’t get Bellows?”

  “You wounded him. They had the trial the next day, and they tried him and another man who would never tell us his name.”

  “What happened?”

  “They were guilty, and they were hanged. Justice is very prompt here, Mr. Fallon.” And then she added slyly, “Wiley Pollock was the prosecuting attorney.”

  They had acted promptly then. He lay quietly thinking about it, and then he heard the boots on the steps.

  “Look”—he sat up quickly, so quickly he felt a dart of pain in his side—“my horse is right down in the stable. Stall them…say anything…let me get out of here. After all,” he pleaded, “I never did you any harm.”

  “I never let you,” she said, “or you might have. After all, you did try to seduce me.”

  “I what?”

  “Didn’t you try to win me over with flattering words? Didn’t you tell me I was too lovely for this sort of life?”

  “Well, look…I didn’t mean to…”

  “And weren’t we in a dark cellar under the hotel? How does that sound?”

  Suddenly he was angry. “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”

  “Oh, shut up!” she said primly. “Here they are.”

  John Brennan was in the lead, and behind him were Blane, Teel, Budge, Devol, Pollock, and a dozen others, some of whom he did not know.

  “That claim you sold me,” Pollock said, grinning, “was no damned good.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Fallon said. “I can return the money.”

  “You don’t have any money,” Ginia interrupted. “I used it.”

  “You what?”

  “She gave it to me,” Pollock said, “to develop the claim up on the mountain…the claim you found when you had that brush with the Utes.”

  “You talked when you were delirious,” Ginia said maliciously, “but the claim sounded good. So I went to Mr. Pollock and suggested he go with Mr. Teel…he’s a very good tracker, you know…and back-track you to where you found the gold. It took them five days to find it, but they did.”

  He lay perfectly still, his eyes staring out of the window. It was night out there now, and if he’d been left to himself he would be out there…running.

  So they had located the claim he’d found, and she had returned his money to Pollock to develop the claim.

  “You took the money out of my pockets? That’s stealing!”

  “I doubt if anybody would know more about that than you, Mr. Fallon, but time was passing and you were very ill…and of course, every wife has a right—”

  “Every who?”

  “Every wife. Of course, I am not your wife yet, but I told them all how you proposed to me under the hotel that time, and the things you said to me, and how we planned to be married, so Mr. Pollock and I drew up the papers for the Red Horse Mining & Development Company.”

  “I threw in my claim,” Pollock said cheerfully, “the one you sold me.”

  “And we contributed ours,” Ginia said, and the light in her eyes was no longer quite so malicious, “and the money you got from Mr. Pollock. You are president of the company, Mr. Pollock is vice president and superintendent of development, and I’m the treasurer.”

  “And we had an election,” Blane interrupted, “and you were elected mayor. I voted against you,” he added.

  “You’re the only sane one in the crowd,” Fallon said irritably. “This has turned into a madhouse.”

  “And this,” Ginia said, indicating a man standing near her, “is the Reverend Mr. Tattersall.”

 
The door opened just then and Joshua Teel’s wife came in with a cake, followed by Ruth Damon, in her prettiest dress.

  “What’s that for?” Fallon asked.

  “That’s the wedding cake, Mr. Fallon,” Ginia replied, “and Ruth is my bridesmaid.”

  “This has gone far enough!” Fallon protested. “A joke is a joke. I never proposed to you—never!”

  “Not in so many words,” Ginia agreed.

  “How many do?” Mrs. Teel asked. “In so many words? Josh didn’t.”

  “Neither did Pa,” Mrs. Blane said, “not in so many words.”

  The Reverend Mr. Tattersall came up beside the bed. He cleared his throat.

  “We wouldn’t like to have it said,” Riordan commented, “that one of our girls was slighted. Why, I’ve seen men hung for less.”

  The Reverend Mr. Tattersall cleared his throat again, more emphatically. “We are gathered here…”

  Macon Fallon was no stranger to the town of Red Horse, and the fact that he was a man with a fast horse wasn’t going to do him a damned bit of good.

  WHAT IS LOUIS L’AMOUR’S LOST TREASURES?

  Louis L’Amour’s Lost Treasures is a project created to release some of the author’s more unconventional manuscripts from the family archives.

  Currently included in the project are Louis L’Amour’s Lost Treasures: Volume 1, published in the fall of 2017, and Volume 2, which will be published in the fall of 2019. These books contain both finished and unfinished short stories, unfinished novels, literary and motion picture treatments, notes, and outlines. They are a wide selection of the many works Louis was never able to publish during his lifetime.

  In 2018 we released No Traveller Returns, L’Amour’s never-before-seen first novel, which was written between 1938 and 1942. In the future, there may be a selection of even more L’Amour titles.

  Additionally, many notes and alternate drafts to Louis’s well-known and previously published novels and short stories will now be included as “bonus feature” postscripts within the books that they relate to. For example, the Lost Treasures postscript to Last of the Breed will contain early notes on the story, the short story that was discovered to be a missing piece of the novel, the history of the novel’s inspiration and creation, and information about unproduced motion picture and comic book versions.