Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) Read Online Free
Author: Louis L'amour
situation was now serious. It was Sheehan's duty to report the outbreak to the post at Yuma at the earliest possible moment, but he could not spare a horse for a messenger. Their very survival might depend on the horses to carry canteens and ammunition, and later they might have to share them, turn and turn about. Their one chance for survival lay in a safe arrival at Papago Wells.
Once there they could rest, supply themselves with fresh water and make the attempt to reach Yuma. The worst of their journey undoubtedly lay between their present position and Papago. The Indians had escaped and might be returning in force, and not for one minute did Sheehan believe the few who attacked them were the only hostiles.
And so, from various points on that southern desert, parties of men on foot and horseback moved toward Papago Wells, drawn by the common necessity of water.
At Cipriano Well the Indians, gorged on mule meat, grunted in their sleep. Junie Hatchett slid the loop of her bound wrists down over her narrow hips and down behind her ankles. Then, doubling her knees under her chin, she put her bound feet through the circle of her arms and brought her wrists up in front of her. Then she began to fight the rawhide knots with her teeth.
After more than an hour of heartbreaking struggle her wrists were free, and it required half again that long to free her ankles. Ghostlike in the silence, she got up. It was impossible to get a horse, for they would be frightened of the smell of the white man about her, and the Indians would awaken. She wasted no time except to retrieve a waterbag, but walked silently away into the darkness.
Junie Hatchett was fifteen, soon to be sixteen, and her years had known little of love, much of loneliness, of longing, and of hardship. They had been years, too, of empty yearning toward the impossible ... but from that yearning she now drew strength, for there is no power greater than the power of a dream, and she walked steadily away into the vast and empty desert, unafraid.
Chapter Three
In the first gray light of day three riders rode up to Papago Wells. Jennifer Fair had all she could do to hold herself in the saddle, but exhausted as she was, there was no relenting in her purpose. Kimbrough, though disliking the presence of Lonnie Foreman, was unable to do anything about it, and had decided at last that it was just as well.
There was no wedding ring on the lady's finger, but Lonnie knew a lady when he saw one, and in his book of rules, which was strict, Jennifer Fair was a lady.
Fair ... Jennifer Fair ... Big Jim Fair!
Of course! All at once it made sense, for the name of Jim Fair was known wherever cattlemen gathered. If Jim Fair's daughter was riding out of the country with a man it was because her father disapproved of the man. Lonnie himself was a romantic, and if Jennifer loved the man, then her father had no right to object. Well ... not much.
Lonnie Foreman knew that Grant Kimbrough was a gentleman. From the West Virginia hills himself, he knew Kimbrough for what he was at first glance--Southern aristocracy. Back where he came from there was little of that, though down in the lowlands it was quite a thing. Up where Lonnie came from a man was judged by his shooting and his farming, and Lonnie had carried a rifle ever since he was tall enough to keep both ends off the ground. And he knew how to use one, too.
They had arrived on the morning after the arrival of Beaupre and Lugo, of whom they saw nothing. On this same morning, far to the east of them, Junie Hatchett walked steadily toward the west, and behind her the sleeping Indians had not yet awakened.
They had drawn up, well back from the tanks. "Maybe," Lonnie suggested in a low voice, "I better ride up and take a look. Might be Indians."
Jennifer moved to protest, but Grant Kimbrough said, "All right ... but be careful."
Jennifer glanced at him sharply, but made no comment. Kimbrough moved his horse near hers. "The boy is good at
Once there they could rest, supply themselves with fresh water and make the attempt to reach Yuma. The worst of their journey undoubtedly lay between their present position and Papago. The Indians had escaped and might be returning in force, and not for one minute did Sheehan believe the few who attacked them were the only hostiles.
And so, from various points on that southern desert, parties of men on foot and horseback moved toward Papago Wells, drawn by the common necessity of water.
At Cipriano Well the Indians, gorged on mule meat, grunted in their sleep. Junie Hatchett slid the loop of her bound wrists down over her narrow hips and down behind her ankles. Then, doubling her knees under her chin, she put her bound feet through the circle of her arms and brought her wrists up in front of her. Then she began to fight the rawhide knots with her teeth.
After more than an hour of heartbreaking struggle her wrists were free, and it required half again that long to free her ankles. Ghostlike in the silence, she got up. It was impossible to get a horse, for they would be frightened of the smell of the white man about her, and the Indians would awaken. She wasted no time except to retrieve a waterbag, but walked silently away into the darkness.
Junie Hatchett was fifteen, soon to be sixteen, and her years had known little of love, much of loneliness, of longing, and of hardship. They had been years, too, of empty yearning toward the impossible ... but from that yearning she now drew strength, for there is no power greater than the power of a dream, and she walked steadily away into the vast and empty desert, unafraid.
Chapter Three
In the first gray light of day three riders rode up to Papago Wells. Jennifer Fair had all she could do to hold herself in the saddle, but exhausted as she was, there was no relenting in her purpose. Kimbrough, though disliking the presence of Lonnie Foreman, was unable to do anything about it, and had decided at last that it was just as well.
There was no wedding ring on the lady's finger, but Lonnie knew a lady when he saw one, and in his book of rules, which was strict, Jennifer Fair was a lady.
Fair ... Jennifer Fair ... Big Jim Fair!
Of course! All at once it made sense, for the name of Jim Fair was known wherever cattlemen gathered. If Jim Fair's daughter was riding out of the country with a man it was because her father disapproved of the man. Lonnie himself was a romantic, and if Jennifer loved the man, then her father had no right to object. Well ... not much.
Lonnie Foreman knew that Grant Kimbrough was a gentleman. From the West Virginia hills himself, he knew Kimbrough for what he was at first glance--Southern aristocracy. Back where he came from there was little of that, though down in the lowlands it was quite a thing. Up where Lonnie came from a man was judged by his shooting and his farming, and Lonnie had carried a rifle ever since he was tall enough to keep both ends off the ground. And he knew how to use one, too.
They had arrived on the morning after the arrival of Beaupre and Lugo, of whom they saw nothing. On this same morning, far to the east of them, Junie Hatchett walked steadily toward the west, and behind her the sleeping Indians had not yet awakened.
They had drawn up, well back from the tanks. "Maybe," Lonnie suggested in a low voice, "I better ride up and take a look. Might be Indians."
Jennifer moved to protest, but Grant Kimbrough said, "All right ... but be careful."
Jennifer glanced at him sharply, but made no comment. Kimbrough moved his horse near hers. "The boy is good at
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