Louis LAmour - Under the Sweetwater Rim

Contents

To George and Marian

UNDER THE SWEETWATER RIM

A Bantam Book / July 2005

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Bantam edition published May 1971

All rights reserved.

Copyright 1971 by Louis & Katherine LAmour Trust

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Bantam Books New York, New York.

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Visit our website at
www.bantamdell.com

eISBN: 978-0-553-90013-2

v3.0

CHAPTER 21
______________

T EN BRIAN SLUMPED in the saddle and suddenly through the fog of exhaustion there came an idea. Carefully he withdrew his feet from the stirrups. Brush was thick all about him with patches of grass between the clumps. As wood was thrown on the fire and it flared up, he let himself go and toppled from the saddle into the brush.

A shout went up, but he was already scrambling away among the brush. At least for the moment he was free.

Jube! Get him! Get that damned lieutenant and kill him where you find him! Get him, man!

Brian could hear a dozen men crashing into the brush. He had had no idea there were so many.

All of a sudden there was a shot, far away to the left, a shot and a gulping cry. There was silence.

The women and Jason still sat their horses. The renegades had suddenly disappeared. Somebody had been shot, and by an unknownwho?

For a long time there was stillness and then Jess spoke matter of factly. Theres only one of him, whoever he is. Bring the women in, boys, and dismount them. Whoever it is, well take him in and salt him down.

Brian fired at the sound of the voice, holding low and shooting quickly, two shots, inches apart. Even as he triggered the last one he was rolling over swiftly, and came up to a crouch.

Fear had exploded his weariness. He was tense with excitement, not the best of moods to be in at the moment, but he was ready.

Several shots smashed into the brush where he had been.

Good work, Ten! The voice was forty or fifty yards off, by the sound of itReuben Kelseys voice! You an me again. We can take em!

Kel! somebody shouted. Whatre you shootin at us for? Whats gone wrong?

Kelseys voice rumbled, a strange tone as though he were speaking against a rock wall and it was echoing back.

Now, boys, you know I always liked a good fight, but I like to win, an you boys are buckin a stacked deck with Brian here. He aint the kind to lose. An those girls aint for the likes of you. Me, maybe, but not you.

They were silent, and Brian could imagine what they were saying. They were caught in a cross fire if they moved, and although there were more of themhow many he had no ideathey were wondering if there were enough. He moved, crouching, through the brush, working nearer to them.

Jason still sat his horse, but Mary and Belle were on the ground. Both had taken their chance and slipped from their saddles. If Jason was even conscious it was remarkable. The silence continued. Nobody moved, each one waiting for some indication of what would happen next. Brian lay pressed against the eartha bug crawled across his handhe felt the breeze touch his cheek, ever so lightly.

The outlaws were not liking it very much, for they knew the kind of trouble Kelsey could bring them. At the same time they resented his interfering.

Wheres the gold, Reub? You got it with you? one man asked presently.

Kelsey laughedonly that, but it seemed to enrage them. Half a dozen shots flashed, pointed toward the sound.

Kelsey laughed again.

Ten Brian, flat against the grass, inched his way along, working closer to where they waited. Where were Mary and Belle? They had dropped from their horses, but by now the renegades might have moved out to them. He paused to listen, then inched onward.

Where they came from he never knew, but suddenly several men lunged up from the brush and rushed at him. Rolling over on his back, he got off one shot with his rifle, then swung at the legs of the charging men.

He caught the nearest one across the shins and he screamed and fell forward, almost on top of Brian, who rolled over and came up fast, holding his rifle in both hands. He caught the nearest man with a butt stroke across the face, and then drove the barrel into the ribs of another.

The attackers closed in around him, but that was the sort of fighting he liked, and for which he had been trained. In the Foreign Legion they expect their enemies to close, and at close quarters there is no more effective weapon than a rifle butt in the hands of a man trained to use it.

As the first man lunged to get close, Brian delivered a short butt stroke that dropped him in his tracks. Reversing the movement, he smashed the barrel into the stomach of the next man, then drove the butt against the chin of a third.

They had expected nothing like it, and had met no such attack before. Wild with fury and desperation, Brian waded in, smashing short blows to the head and body. Fearful of injuring each other, none of them fired.

He got his chance suddenly and squeezed off a shot at a six-inch range. The man was driven back on his haunches, and a kick flattened him out. Suddenly the brutal fight was over.

One terrified man was scrambling away through the brush, another lay groaning on the grass. Two lay silent, merely dark shapes of what had been men.

He squatted quickly, fearful of being outlined against the sky, and crouched there, his breath tearing at his lungs in ragged gasps. He put the butt of his Henry against the ground and balanced himself with it, then went forward on his knees. The nearest man lay within arms reach and Brian could see a faint gleam from his pistol butt. Reaching over, he drew the gun.

Mary was here, somewhere near him. Odd about that, he had known so many women, and beautiful women, but none he really wanted until he met Mary, and then all of a sudden he knew he had gone far enough. He knew how Major Devereaux felt and could not find it in himself to blame him. After all, he had come out of nowhere with no future that anybody could see, not even in the army, which would suffer from too many officers looking for places once the war was over.

There was Washington, perhaps. He had languages to help him, and knew more about the worlds armies than most, but his kind of experience did not necessarily count for much. And the military mind is always slow to accept change.

Slowly his breathing returned to normal. Where was Mary? And Belle? They had been close by, but he heard nothing, and he dare not make a sound that might give his position away. One bullet would be enough, and they would be desperate to kill him now.

Whatever was to happen had to happen soon. He felt he would cave in at any moment. He closed his eyes, and the lids felt hot and dry. There was no moisture on his lipsfever?

Somewhere a cricket was chirping, and a nighthawk swooped low above him. He waited on his knees, no longer eager for a fight, just hoping they would go away and leave him.

But he must find Mary and Belle. They had been off to his left, he believed. He started to move, and heard a faint whisper.