Louis LAmour - Ride the Dark Trail: The Sacketts Series, Book 18

SACKETTS LAND circa 1600

TO THE FAR BLUE MOUNTAINS circa 16001620

THE WARRIORS PATH circa 1620s

JUBAL SACKETT circa 1620s

RIDE THE RIVER circa 1840s1850s (before Civil War)

THE DAYBREAKERS circa 18701872

LANDO circa 18731875

SACKETT circa 18741875

MOJAVE CROSSING circa 18751879

THE SACKETT BRAND circa 18751879

THE SKY-LINERS circa 18751879

THE LONELY MEN circa 18751879

MUSTANG MAN circa 18751879

GALLOWAY circa 18751879

TREASURE MOUNTAIN circa 18751879

RIDE THE DARK TRAIL circa 18751879

LONELY ON THE MOUNTAIN circa 18751879

Ride the Dark Trail is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

2010 Bantam Books Mass Market Edition

Copyright 1972 by Louis & Katherine LAmour Trust

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Bantam Books,
an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

B ANTAM B OOKS and the rooster colophon
are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Originally published in paperback in the United States by Bantam
Books, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1972.

eISBN: 978-0-553-89962-7

Photograph of Louis LAmour by John HamiltonGlobe Photos, Inc.

Map by Alan McKnight

www.bantamdell.com

v3.1

The old house stood on the crest of a knoll and it was three hundred yards to the main gate. No shrubbery or trees obscured the view, nor was there any cover for a half mile beyond.

The house was old, weather-beaten, wind-harried, and long unpainted. By night no light shone from any window, and by day no movement could be seen, but the watchers from the hill a half mile away were not fooled.

Shes there, all right. You lay a hand on that gate and youll damned soon know shes there. Shes setting up there in that old house and she can shoot.

Behind the house, the mountains lifted abruptly, steep, ragged slopes broken by ledges and dikes, covered with rough growth and dead-fall timber. Directly behind the house, only the top spread of its walls visible, lay the mouth of a canyon opening into the mountains beyond.

Old Man Talon built that house to last, and when he built it, it was the finest house between New Orleans and Frisco. He had thirty tough hands then a reglar army.

How manys she got now? Matthew asked.

Not moren two or three. The best of her land and the sources of all her water lie back of the house, and theres no way to get at it except right through the ranch yard. And that ol devil aint about to let anybody get by.

Shes got to sleep, aint she? Brewer asked.

She sleeps, I suppose, but nobody aint figured out when. Lay a finger on that gate and shell part your brisket with a fifty-caliber bullet.

The way folks tell it Old Man Talon figured someday theyd have to stand siege so he laid by enough ammunition and grub, too, to supply an army.

The three men eyed the house, irritation mixed with admiration, then turned to the coffeepot on their small fire.

Flanners right. The ony way is to keep at her, every hour of every day and night. Sooner or later shes got to sleep, and then well get in. Behind that house in those canyons theres some of the finest land anywhere, watered by mountain streams and walled by mountains. No ol womans got the right to keep that land to herself, to say nothin of the hundred thousand acres out here on the plains that they lay claim to.

How come they got so much?

Talon was the first white man to settle in this country. When he and his partner came out here there was nothing but Indians and wild game. His partner was after fur, but not Talon. He seen this place and latched onto it, knowing that a hundred thousand acres out here was no good without water from the mountains.

Talon and his partner built a cabin and wintered here, the partner taking all the fur, Talon keeping house and land. Come spring, the partner pulled his stakes, but Talon stayed on, fit Injuns, hunted buffalo, trapped a mite, and caught himself some wild horses.

A few years passed by and the wagon trains started coming through. Talon had grub. He had raised him some corn, and he had jerked venison by the ton, and he swapped with the travelers for their wore-out cattle.

He held his stock back in the canyons where he had no need for hands, and on that rich grass with plenty of water he built himself some herds. Somewhere along the line he taken off for the east and married up with this Tennessee hill woman. The way I hear it she was some kin to his old partner.

Talons dead?

Dry-gulched, they say. Nobody knows who done it.

Is it true? Did she bust Flanners knees?

Uh-huh. Flanner figured when her old man died that Em Talon would pull for the States, but she never done it. Moreover, she had her an idea Flanner had killed Talon.

Flanner came out to run her off, and she let him come right on in. When he was maybe a hundred yards off she stopped him with a bullet to his feet and then she told him for what he was or what she figured him to be.

She said she wasnt going to kill him, she wanted him to live a hundred years, regrettin ever day of his life what hed done. Then she cut down on him with that big fifty and busted both knees. Jake Flanner aint walked a step since, not without them crutches.

The wind picked up, slapping their slickers against their chaps, and the three men began rigging their tarp to hold against the wind. It was going to be a bad night.

From time to time they turned to look at the great, gloomy old house, far away on its wind-swept knoll, bleak, lonely and harsh, like the woman who waited within.

E MILY TALON LEANED the Sharps against the doorjamb and peered through the shutters. Cold rain slanted from a darkening sky. Served them right, she reflected grimly, theyd have them a miserable night out there. She walked back to kindle a fire and put on water for tea.

From time to time she returned to peer through the shutters. It wouldnt be so bad if she had somebody to spell her, but the last of them died, and shed buried him with her own hands, and now she was alone.