Louis L'Amour Read Online Free

what she had was cold coffee in a cold cup. How silly! She had forgotten to fill her own cup before putting fresh water in the coffee!
    Why not go back to sleep? It had probably just been Boone. Anyway, nothing had happened, and she might have imagined it. No, she had not. She
had
seen the latch lift!
    She was so tired, so very tired. Nobody could get in with that bar across the door, so why not go back to sleep?
    Returning to the bedroom, she lay down again. From where she lay, the door was in view. Her eyes closed.
    Outside in the darkness, the wind stirred, and dried leaves skittered across the hard-packed earth of the yard.
    The man named Boone opened his eyes. He had not slept, only closing his eyes, resting a little, but his senses were alert. He heard nothing, yet he was uneasy, and he had learned to trust those feelings. Usually, they stemmed from some subconscious awareness his consciousness had not noted. Luther was a bitter, brutal man, not accustomed to being thwarted in any way. Careful to make no sound, Boone shifted his position, taking the rifle in his hands.
    He looked toward the house. He would like a cup of coffee, but to go there now might frighten them, and that Irish girl had a pistol. He eased his belt gun into a better position and tightened his coat around him. It was chilly, mighty chilly. What had he gotten into this for, anyway? It was none of his business. If a woman wanted to come out here and take a job like that, she should expect trouble.
    A very pretty woman, too. And a lady. Anybody could see that. Her way of looking at you, the way she gathered her skirts, the way she moved—
    One of the horses blew softly, showing alarm. Boone took a fresh grip on his rifle and looked around carefully, searching every shadow. Some of those horses were broncs, wild stuff broken to drive. They were as alert as any wild animal would be.
    Nothing…no sound, no—
    It was just a whisper of sound, some coarse material brushing against something else. The corral bars? Perhaps.
    Mentally, he swore. He was not in a good position for quick movement. To rise up now would make some sound, however small, and if it was Scant Luther come back, he would not be alone.
    Then, so close it scared him, he heard a faint whisper. “She’ll have the door barred.”
    “I say take the horses an’ go. That’s a good bunch of stock.”
    “Like hell! What d’you think I brought this whip along for? We’re goin’ in there! Hell, that bar don’t mean nothin’! I lived here too long! I can get that bar out of the way! What d’you think I done the time Buck passed out in there? Him with the door barred? I got in, didn’t I?”
    “I don’t like it, Scant. What about that Boone feller?”
    “Aw, he’s long gone! What would he stick around for?”
    “Maybe he’s gettin’ sweet on her. He taken up for her, didn’t he?”
    They moved away, and Boone reached up, grasping one of the corral bars to pull himself erect. He had an urge to shoot, but beyond them was the house, and a bullet from his rifle would go through several inches of pine, and he might injure one of the women or that little girl. A man with a gun had not only to think of what he was shooting at but where the bullet might go if it missed, and almost any kind of a gun might carry up to a mile.
    If he could just get across the corral and come up on their flank—
    He rested a boot on the lower pole, then the next. Quickly, he threw himself over and landed on his feet on the soft earth inside. His boots made a soft
thump
as he landed.
    A boot grated on gravel, and someone whispered hoarsely, “What was
that
?”
    Luther’s tone was impatient. “A horse, damn it! Just a horse stampin’!”
    Like a ghost, Boone crossed the corral. They were at the house now. Luther said he could unbar the door from the outside.
How?
    There might be a crack in the door through which a stick or a stiff wire might be slipped to lift the bar. Of course, when it fell, it would