Louis LAmour - Utah Blaine

Contents

DESPERATE STAND

S NAPPING A QUICK shot, Utah wheeled the stallion and plunged down the trail. He was just in time to intercept Witterbut this wasnt the way he had planned it. The surprise was complete. He charged down the mountain and hit the little cavalcade at full speed. They had no chance to turn or avoid him: his stallion was heavier and had the advantage of speed. With his bridle reins around his arm, Blaine grabbed a six-shooter and blasted.

A man screamed and threw up his arms and then Blaine hit him. Horses snorted and there was a wild scramble that was swamped with dust. Through the group the lineback plunged and Blaine had a glimpse of Rink Witters contorted face as the gunman clawed for a pistol. Blaine swung at the face with the barrel of his six-gun, but the blow was wide and the back of his fist smashed into the seamed, leathery face. Witter was knocked sprawling, and then the lineback was past and heading for the river.

A shot rang out, snapping past him, and then something hit him heavily in the side.

Chapter 1

H E WAS ASLEEP and then he was awake. His eyes flared wide and he held himself still, staring into the darkness, his ears reaching for sound.

He could smell the dry grass on which his blankets were spread and he could smell the night. And then he heard again the sound that had awakened him. It was the stir of hoofs on the dusty trail some thirty yards awaynot the sound of one horse alone, but of several horses.

Carefully, he lifted himself to one elbow. This was strange country and he was unarmed. What motives might inspire whoever was out there he could not guess, but large groups of riders do not move silently along midnight trails without adequate reason.

This was no celebrating bunch of cowhands headed for the home ranch. These men were quiet, and their very stillness was a warning. No stranger to trouble, he lay perfectly still, feeling the muscles back of his ears tighten with suspense.

They had stopped. A horse moved nervously, and then there was a voice. Right above your head. There was a pause. Thats it.

Another and deeper voice spoke. Lead his horse over here. There was movement, a click of hoof on stone. Hold it.

Saddle leather creaked, easily heard in the still night air. Then that second voice came again. There!

The word held satisfaction, a gloating born from some dark well of hatred and rolled on the tongue as if the speaker had waited long for this moment and wished to prolong it.

Easy with that horse! There was harsh impatience. Dont let him drop! Ease him down! I want him to know what hes gettin!

Hurry it up! The voice held impatience and obvious distaste. Do it, if youre goin to, an lets get out of here!

Take it easy! There was a snarl in the deep voice. Im runnin this show an Ive waited too long for this chance. How dyou like it, Neal?

The voice that spoke now was that of the man being hanged. He spoke coldly. You always were a double-crossin rat, Lud, an you aint changed any.

There was the sharp crack of a slap, and then the same voice spoke again. Lucky my hands are tied, Lud. Old as I am Id take you apart.

There was another blow, and the sharp creaking of leather that implied more blows. The man in the blankets was sweating. He eased from the blankets and grasped his boots, drawing them on. Then he stood up.

Hurry it up, Lud! Itll soon be light an weve miles to go!

The listener held himself still. To be found here would mean certain death, and he was utterly defenseless. Against one man, or even two, he might have taken a chance, but without a gun he was helpless against this number.

This was no committee of honest citizens but some dark and ugly bunch out to do business that demanded night and secrecy. They could not afford to be seen or known.

All right, Luds voice was thick, irritated, lead his horse out easy. I want this to last.

A horse moved and the listener heard the creak of a rope taking strain; then he heard the jerking of it as the hanged man kicked and struggled. The listener knew. He had seen a lynching before this.

Never thought Id live to see the day, the first speaker said. After Neal the rest of them will be easy. This was the one had me bothered.

Huh! Lud grunted. You leave it to me. This was the one I wanted. Now well get the rest. Lets get out of here!

There was a sudden pound of horses hoofs and the listener moved swiftly. Yet it was a movement without sound. Like a shadow he slid into the brush, the branches not even whispering on his clothing.

The chance was slight, but there was a chance. The last few feet he ran soundlessly on the thick leaves and grass. He went up the tree with swift agility and with a quick slash, he cut the rope and let the body tumble into the dust. Grasping the branch he swung out and dropped lightly beside the body, then bent swiftly and loosened the noose. Almost at once the man began to gasp hoarsely.

So far as could be seen the trail was empty, but this was no healthy place. Picking up the older man as if he were a child, the rescuer went quickly through the brush to his bed and placed the man on the ground. Then he loosened the mans shirt and got his own canteen. Gasping painfully, his neck raw from the manila rope, the man drank. Then he sank back on the blankets.

Restlessly, the young man paced, staring up the trail through the brush. One of the riders might come back, and the sooner they got away from here, the better. He knew the folly of mixing in other peoples business in a strange country.

The old man lay on the ground and stared up at the sky. His fingers fumbled at the raw flesh of his throat and came away bloody. His gray eyes turned toward his rescuer. Figfigured theyhad me. His voice was thick and hoarse.

Save the talk. Only reason youre alive is that Lud hombre. He wanted you to choke slow instead of break your neck with a drop.

The old man rolled over to his elbow and sat up. He stared around, looking at the two worn blankets, then at the canteen. He took it in trembling hands and drank slowly. Then he said, Wheres your horse?

Dont have one.

The older man stared at him. The young mans possessions appeared to be nothing but the blankets and canteen. The flannel shirt he wore was ragged and sunfaded, the jeans did not fit him, and he had no hat. His only weapon was a Bowie knife with a bone handle. Yet beneath the ragged shirt the shoulders and chest bulged with raw power and the mans face was hard and brown, his green eyes steady. Moreover there was about him a certain undefined air of command that arrested the older mans curiosity.

My names Joe Neal, he volunteered. Who are you? What are you?

The big man squatted. He reached for a piece of brown grass and snapped it off. Whats this all about? he jerked his head at the trail. Who were they?

Vigilantes, Neals voice was still hoarse. Thats the devil of it, stranger. I helped organize em.

He stretched his neck gingerly. His face was brown and seamed with wrinkles. My brands the 46 Connected. The country was overrun with rustlers so we got them vigilantes together. Them rustlers was well organized with spies everywhere. Nobody ever knew who was behind em until Lud Fuller turned it up that Gid Blake was the man. Id never have believed it.