the Empty Land (1969) Read Online Free
Author: Louis L'amour
one night, not fax from Sand Mountain, they surprised him.
He dropped to the ground and opened fire, and when the fireworks were over he was packing two slugs, but one bandit was dead, another seriously wounded, and the third he tracked down and brought in on the very stage he had tried to hold up.
One week later he had walked out on the street for the first time and three of the outlaws' friends were waiting for him. They had him boxed, and expected him to drop his gunbelt on command. Instead, he drew. It caught them flatfooted, and in a matter of seconds he had chalked up his second and third killings. The third man escaped, carrying a bullet as a memento of the occasion.
Coburn drew his time and drifted to Colorado, where he hired out as a cowhand. Four months later he went to Texas to drive a herd to Dodge. After one scramble with rustlers and two Kiowas, he brought the cattle in, and went after a second herd, which he bought with his own money. The Kiowas were waiting for him and he lost his head and his shirt.
For four months he was a deputy marshal in a cow town and never drew a gun on a man. He had a reputation for being fair and the trail hands knew he'd come up from Texas himself, so when he talked, they listened. But he was restless, and he moved on.
He was still moving on, partly because he liked the look of the mountains ahead of him and partly because he knew what was happening in the town behind him. He knew every move that had been made, and those that would be made. Even some of the names were the same.
He saw the rider before she saw him. She was a quarter of a mile down the slope, and a hundred yards ahead of him. She was riding a blazed-face sorrel, and she carried a rifle as if she intended to use it.
Coburn, from higher up, could see the two men she was following. One was Kid Curtis, a small-time gunman and cow thief; the older man was Skin Weber. He had been around Pioche, Virginia City, and Eureka, always running with the rough bunch. Neither man had ever raised a cow in his life.
Replacing his field glasses in his saddlebag. Coburn angled across the slope, keeping to the cover of the scattered juniper when possible. He had a notion that girl would need help when she caught up with her cattle.
His approach brought him to the cut through the hills before the cattle could make it. He wasted no time examining his motives. The necessity for action was here and he accepted the responsibility. Had the pursuer been a man he would have left him to his own devices, but no woman was fitted to cope with Weber and Curtis.
The cattle were a good-looking lot, longhorns crossed with some other breed that gave them more beef. The two riders hazed them into the cut "Somebody cumin," Weber said.
Matt knew it was his own horse that Weber's horse had sensed, but neither man suspected Matt's presence. Skin walked back to the opening and looked down the trail. 'You're right somebody comin'. Looks like that Shannon girt"
"You can't shoot a woman," Curtis replied.
"Kid, sometimes you're a damn fool. Who'd shoot a good-lookin' woman at a time like this?"
Curtis glanced at him uneasily. "Skin . . . you watch it. Nobody in his right mind fools around with a woman in this country."
Skin's reply was a dry chuckle. "She's a long way from home, and she's got no husband to worry over what becomes of her."
"She's got a couple of cowhands. They could become almighty curious. We left a trail a blind man could foller."
"Uh-huh, an from here on we leave no trail a-tall.' A sudden silence caused Matt to peer around the slab of rock behind which he was hidden. The girl had ridden into the cut, and it was obvious she had not expected anyone to be waiting there. Her rifle started to lift, but she was already under their guns.
"I have been following my cattle," she said. She was very cool. 'They seem to have drifted off my range."
Skin was amused. 'Ma'am, they didn't drift. We pushed 'em. The boys up yonder at the mines need
He dropped to the ground and opened fire, and when the fireworks were over he was packing two slugs, but one bandit was dead, another seriously wounded, and the third he tracked down and brought in on the very stage he had tried to hold up.
One week later he had walked out on the street for the first time and three of the outlaws' friends were waiting for him. They had him boxed, and expected him to drop his gunbelt on command. Instead, he drew. It caught them flatfooted, and in a matter of seconds he had chalked up his second and third killings. The third man escaped, carrying a bullet as a memento of the occasion.
Coburn drew his time and drifted to Colorado, where he hired out as a cowhand. Four months later he went to Texas to drive a herd to Dodge. After one scramble with rustlers and two Kiowas, he brought the cattle in, and went after a second herd, which he bought with his own money. The Kiowas were waiting for him and he lost his head and his shirt.
For four months he was a deputy marshal in a cow town and never drew a gun on a man. He had a reputation for being fair and the trail hands knew he'd come up from Texas himself, so when he talked, they listened. But he was restless, and he moved on.
He was still moving on, partly because he liked the look of the mountains ahead of him and partly because he knew what was happening in the town behind him. He knew every move that had been made, and those that would be made. Even some of the names were the same.
He saw the rider before she saw him. She was a quarter of a mile down the slope, and a hundred yards ahead of him. She was riding a blazed-face sorrel, and she carried a rifle as if she intended to use it.
Coburn, from higher up, could see the two men she was following. One was Kid Curtis, a small-time gunman and cow thief; the older man was Skin Weber. He had been around Pioche, Virginia City, and Eureka, always running with the rough bunch. Neither man had ever raised a cow in his life.
Replacing his field glasses in his saddlebag. Coburn angled across the slope, keeping to the cover of the scattered juniper when possible. He had a notion that girl would need help when she caught up with her cattle.
His approach brought him to the cut through the hills before the cattle could make it. He wasted no time examining his motives. The necessity for action was here and he accepted the responsibility. Had the pursuer been a man he would have left him to his own devices, but no woman was fitted to cope with Weber and Curtis.
The cattle were a good-looking lot, longhorns crossed with some other breed that gave them more beef. The two riders hazed them into the cut "Somebody cumin," Weber said.
Matt knew it was his own horse that Weber's horse had sensed, but neither man suspected Matt's presence. Skin walked back to the opening and looked down the trail. 'You're right somebody comin'. Looks like that Shannon girt"
"You can't shoot a woman," Curtis replied.
"Kid, sometimes you're a damn fool. Who'd shoot a good-lookin' woman at a time like this?"
Curtis glanced at him uneasily. "Skin . . . you watch it. Nobody in his right mind fools around with a woman in this country."
Skin's reply was a dry chuckle. "She's a long way from home, and she's got no husband to worry over what becomes of her."
"She's got a couple of cowhands. They could become almighty curious. We left a trail a blind man could foller."
"Uh-huh, an from here on we leave no trail a-tall.' A sudden silence caused Matt to peer around the slab of rock behind which he was hidden. The girl had ridden into the cut, and it was obvious she had not expected anyone to be waiting there. Her rifle started to lift, but she was already under their guns.
"I have been following my cattle," she said. She was very cool. 'They seem to have drifted off my range."
Skin was amused. 'Ma'am, they didn't drift. We pushed 'em. The boys up yonder at the mines need
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