Taggart (1959) Read Online Free
Author: Louis L'amour
Taggart.
The shooting was sudden, offhand, and Jim Bennett and Rusty Bob lay dying on th e grass, and the only witnesses were Bennett riders.
It was a bad time for gun trouble. New Mexico was in a ferment over the activitie s of young Billy Bonney, who was rousting around in the middle of a shooting war u p in Lincoln County. The Bennett brothers had money, cattle, and strong political influence , while Swante Taggart had only a fast horse. A man must use what he has.
Outlawed by the state for what had been a justifiable killing, Swante Taggart an d his fast horse headed west. A pack horse carried what supplies were at hand whe n the dream ended.
The stop at Knight's Ranch had been his mistake. Until that time he had avoided trails , but by the time he rode within sight of Knight's he was out of coffee, out of food , and he desperately needed sleep. Until then nobody had any idea what had become o f Taggart.
Two days later when Pete Shoyer came in, returning from delivering a body to th e sheriff in Silver City, he heard Taggart was wanted and discovered a man of the descriptio n had been at Knight's.
Crown King had seemed the obvious solution for Taggart. It was a mine, a scatterin g of other prospect holes, and a few buildings. Scarcely a town, it was off the mai n trail and offered a job for a man who could use a single-jack and drill. Taggar t had learned how to do that in California when he was ten, and he was doing all righ t until Pete Shoyer rode into town.
Within minutes, while Shoyer was cutting the dust from his throat in the Crown Kin g saloon, Swante Taggart rode out. He went up Poland Canyon, switched back down Horsethie f Canyon, rode through the Bradshaw Mountains, and watered his horse in the cold water s of Agua Fria opposite Squaw Creek Mesa.
Half a dozen canyons open in the raw side of Squaw Creek Mesa, each seeming to offe r a means of escape, but actually th e only trail led up the wall and not through the inviting canyons. He believed he ha d an hour's lead and he might have more, and what hoof-prints the horse might leav e in the clear stream bottom would be gone by that time, so Swante Taggart had ridde n upstream for two miles and left the water on a ledge of rock. He camped that nigh t close to Shirt-Tail Springs, with Turret Peak looming to the northwest.
It was here only a few years earlier that Major Randall's soldiers had scaled th e fortress-like peak in the night to surprise a band of Apaches in their seemingl y invulnerable hiding place.
That had been several days ago, and now he was here, weaving heavily down the lon g slope toward Tonto Creek with the heat waves dancing weirdly before him, with cracke d lips, a parched throat, and a prayer for water in the Creek. His head ached, throbbin g heavily, and the sun blazed in the brassy vault of the sky. The ground was hot beneat h his boots.
The Apache came out of the ground as if born from it, and he came shooting, but eve n an Apache can be wrong. The mistake killed him.
The dust-brown figure leaped, the sunlight caught on his rifle barrel, and Swant e Taggart, who had used a fast draw before this, felt the gun buck in his hard palm.
The mountains tossed the sound like a bouncing ball. Then the sound faded and died , and Swante Taggart stood staring at a dead Indian and knew he had been lucky. Ther e had been no time for thought ... his reaction had been instantaneous, the resul t of years of practice and awareness of danger.
The Apache pony hated the white man's smell and drew back from him. There was n o water skin on the pony, and Taggart took time only to secure the rifle and ammunition.
There were thirty-odd rounds of .44 ammunition, and before this was over he migh t need it. Staggering a little as he straightened up, Swante Taggart glanced aroun d him.
How long since the others had gone by? He had come thre e miles ... nearly four, and they must have gone as far or farther. He gathered th e gelding's reins and started on
The shooting was sudden, offhand, and Jim Bennett and Rusty Bob lay dying on th e grass, and the only witnesses were Bennett riders.
It was a bad time for gun trouble. New Mexico was in a ferment over the activitie s of young Billy Bonney, who was rousting around in the middle of a shooting war u p in Lincoln County. The Bennett brothers had money, cattle, and strong political influence , while Swante Taggart had only a fast horse. A man must use what he has.
Outlawed by the state for what had been a justifiable killing, Swante Taggart an d his fast horse headed west. A pack horse carried what supplies were at hand whe n the dream ended.
The stop at Knight's Ranch had been his mistake. Until that time he had avoided trails , but by the time he rode within sight of Knight's he was out of coffee, out of food , and he desperately needed sleep. Until then nobody had any idea what had become o f Taggart.
Two days later when Pete Shoyer came in, returning from delivering a body to th e sheriff in Silver City, he heard Taggart was wanted and discovered a man of the descriptio n had been at Knight's.
Crown King had seemed the obvious solution for Taggart. It was a mine, a scatterin g of other prospect holes, and a few buildings. Scarcely a town, it was off the mai n trail and offered a job for a man who could use a single-jack and drill. Taggar t had learned how to do that in California when he was ten, and he was doing all righ t until Pete Shoyer rode into town.
Within minutes, while Shoyer was cutting the dust from his throat in the Crown Kin g saloon, Swante Taggart rode out. He went up Poland Canyon, switched back down Horsethie f Canyon, rode through the Bradshaw Mountains, and watered his horse in the cold water s of Agua Fria opposite Squaw Creek Mesa.
Half a dozen canyons open in the raw side of Squaw Creek Mesa, each seeming to offe r a means of escape, but actually th e only trail led up the wall and not through the inviting canyons. He believed he ha d an hour's lead and he might have more, and what hoof-prints the horse might leav e in the clear stream bottom would be gone by that time, so Swante Taggart had ridde n upstream for two miles and left the water on a ledge of rock. He camped that nigh t close to Shirt-Tail Springs, with Turret Peak looming to the northwest.
It was here only a few years earlier that Major Randall's soldiers had scaled th e fortress-like peak in the night to surprise a band of Apaches in their seemingl y invulnerable hiding place.
That had been several days ago, and now he was here, weaving heavily down the lon g slope toward Tonto Creek with the heat waves dancing weirdly before him, with cracke d lips, a parched throat, and a prayer for water in the Creek. His head ached, throbbin g heavily, and the sun blazed in the brassy vault of the sky. The ground was hot beneat h his boots.
The Apache came out of the ground as if born from it, and he came shooting, but eve n an Apache can be wrong. The mistake killed him.
The dust-brown figure leaped, the sunlight caught on his rifle barrel, and Swant e Taggart, who had used a fast draw before this, felt the gun buck in his hard palm.
The mountains tossed the sound like a bouncing ball. Then the sound faded and died , and Swante Taggart stood staring at a dead Indian and knew he had been lucky. Ther e had been no time for thought ... his reaction had been instantaneous, the resul t of years of practice and awareness of danger.
The Apache pony hated the white man's smell and drew back from him. There was n o water skin on the pony, and Taggart took time only to secure the rifle and ammunition.
There were thirty-odd rounds of .44 ammunition, and before this was over he migh t need it. Staggering a little as he straightened up, Swante Taggart glanced aroun d him.
How long since the others had gone by? He had come thre e miles ... nearly four, and they must have gone as far or farther. He gathered th e gelding's reins and started on
Readers choose
Dorothy Allison
Clare Davidson
Ray Strong
Ashton Lee
C. A. Newsome
Michelle Gagnon
Donna Hatch
Barry Hutchison
Melissa Marr
Valerie Sherrard