Louis LAmour - Mustang Man: The Sacketts Series, Book 15

Contents

THE SACKETTS

T HEIR STORY IS the story of the American frontier, an unforgettable chronicle of the men and women who tamed a wilderness and built a nation with their dreams and their courage.

Created by master storyteller Louis LAmour, the Sackett saga brings to life the spirit and adventures of generations of pioneers. Fiercely independent and determined to face any and all challenges, they discovered their destiny in settling a great and wild land.

Each Sackett novel is a complete, exciting historical adventure. Read as a group, they tell the thrilling epic tale of a country unlike any the world has ever known. And no one writes more powerfully about the frontier than Louis LAmour, who has walked and ridden down the same trails as the Sackett family he has immortalized. The Sackett novels represent LAmour at his very best and are one of the greatest achievements of a truly legendary career.

Authors Note

B ORREGOS PLAZA WAS on the south bank of the Canadian River, only a short distance from the river crossing that was to become Tascosa. Tascosa went from a booming and untamed cow town to a ghost town, and is presently the site of Boys Ranch, founded by Panhandle businessmen.

Romero, a small town in ranching country, has a long memory of buffalo hunting and Indian fighting days. The country around is little changed from the period of my story.

The Rabbit Ears, known to many travelers along the Old Santa Fe Trail, is only a little way from the town of Clayton, New Mexico. The box canyon featured in the story is there, so is the pool, which is usually covered with a green scum, and there is also an open hole some three to four feet in diameter. Around it the walls and rocks are blackened by fire, likely the result of some explosion of oil or gas.

Loma Parda on the Mora River is now a ghost town, some eight miles northwest of Watrous, New Mexico. When Fort Union was abandoned the town began to die, but in the 1870s it had a rough and bloody reputation.

At the time of my story the buffalo hunters still had two or three good years ahead of them, and they would be replaced by cattlemen. Practically the only settlers in the Panhandle country then were Mexicans from Taos or Mora with their sheep.

The Sostenes lArcheveque mentioned early in the story was a notorious outlaw and killer of the period, often credited with twenty-three killings. He was killed by his own people when his conduct became too unruly.

T HE S ACKETTS

Sacketts Land

To the Far Blue Mountains

The Warriors Path

Mustang Man

Ride the River

The Daybreakers

The Courting of Griselda
(from the collection End of the Drive)

Lando

Sackett

Booty for a Badman
(from the collection War Party)

Mojave Crossing

The Sackett Brand

The Sky-Liners

The Lonely Men

Mustang Man

Galloway

Treasure Mountain

Ride the Dark Trail

Lonely on the Mountain

Chapter 1

W HEN I CAME down off the cap rock riding a wind-broken bronc, half of New Mexico must have been trailin behind me, all ready to shake out a loop for a hanging.

Nobody told me I should wait around and get my neck stretched, so when Id seen them coming my way I just wrapped myself around the nearest horse and taken off down country. Seemed likely those boys would run out of ambition before long, but they must have been mighty shy of entertainment in that gyprock country, because they kept a-coming.

Me, I high-tailed it out of there as fast as that bronc would take me, and for a spell that was pretty fast. Only the bronc had run himself out trying to save my bacon and now I needed myself a fresh horse, or else Id never need another.

About that time I sighted a clump of cottonwoods down on the flat, and cottonwoods spell water in any mans country. Water usually meant there was stock close by, and probably folks. Where there was either there might be a horse.

So right then I began building myself a fresh dust cloud behind me, and when I rode up to those trees I was just a-fogging it. Sure enough, there were horses there, and some mighty fine stock, too. So I shook out a loop and dabbed it on a handsome line-back dun with a black mane and tail.

Snubbing him to a post, I stepped down and unlatched my saddle and threw it on the dun. I cinched up tight, and was about to climb into the leather when I heard the click of a cocked hammer and froze right where I was. That gun was behind me, but judging by the sound the range was no more than twenty feet; and my ma never raised no foolish papooses. Back there in the Clinch Mountains of Tennessee we boys learned to use guns mighty early, but we also learned to hold them in respect. When a man puts a gun on you, youve no cause to believe he wont use it.

Misterthe voice was dry and coldyou sure aint paticlar where you put your saddle.

Figured I was mighty paticlar. If that aint the best horse in the lot, you show me a better and Ill switch my saddle.

He chuckled, but I knew that rifle hadnt moved any. This was a hard man there behind me.

What you figure gives you title to that horse?

You keep an eye on the rim of the cap rock yonder, and when you see dust a-fetching up over the rim youll know what gives me title. Those boys back yonder got themselves a rope, and they figure on making me the belle of the ball.

What did you do?

Well, I taken a chance and turned around. That old man held a Sharps .50 buffalo gun on me, a gun that would open a hole in a man as big as your fist. He was slight built, but he had a pair of the coldest eyes you ever did see.

I fetched my gun a mite fastern another man; only I was a stranger, and that other man, he owned himself a big outfit and a lot of good friends.

You got a name? Something folks call you by?

Nolan Sackett.

Heard of you. Outlaw, the way folks tell it.

Look at that rim, mister. Theres your dust. Now this here aint no time to start discussin a mans moral outlook. Theres no time to talk about my past, not if I am to have a future.

He stepped around me sos he could look at the rim, and then he said, What d you figure to do now, Sackett?

Seems to me Ive got a choice between a rope and a bullet, or a rope and a chance. Folks consider me a right fast hand with a six-shooter, so Im likely to take the chance and see if I could beat you to a killing.

You wouldnt beat me, Sackett, but I like your sand. You get up on that horse and light out. Hold to the bottom yonder and youll be out of sight. The canyon cuts back toward the Yellow House, and youll have a fair run down the valley. Give that horse a spell now and again and hell take you clear of them.

Well, I taken out. But not before I had one long look at that old man. Thanks, I said; and you need a friend, you call on Nolan Sackett. Or any Sackett, for that matter, for we run long on kinfolk.

That line-back dun taken out of there like he had a fire under his tail and was tryin to outrun it. Sure enough, the canyon forked, and I went up the branch called Yellow House. An hour later, when I topped out on the cap rock again, there was no sign of pursuit. So I slowed the dun to a canter, and then to a walk.

That was wide-open country, a vast plain cut by occasional ravines, the rare streams flowing into the Arkansas or the Canadian River, although both rivers lay north of where I was riding, the Arkansas far to the north.