Louis LAmour - The Iron Marshal

Contents

T ESTING THE M ARSHALS M ETTLE

S HANAGHY TOUCHED THE badge on his chest. I have to search the place.

The big man came into the middle of the yard. You should damn well know that tin badge aint worth nothin outside of town. And not very much in it.

Shanaghy smiled. You know, Mr. Moorhouse, I like you. Now Im going to search the premises, and if you obstruct me Im going to throw you in jail. Now we havent any jail, but I can shackle you hand and foot, and Ill do it. Maybe next week Id come out to see how youre getting along, but I might forget.

He moved so quickly Moorhouse was surprised, and he stopped abruptly and half turned. Tom Shanaghy hit him.

The punch was a good one and Shanaghy could hit, but Moorhouse didnt even stagger.

Nobody ever beat me, Moorhouse said. He caught Shanaghy with a roundhouse left that knocked him staggering and followed it up with a clubbing right that drove him to his knees. Then Moorhouse grabbed Shanaghy in his huge hands.

Now I break your back, he said calmly.

To My Friends, the Sales Representatives
and Sales Managers from Bantam Books
and Select Magazines

BANTAM BOOKS

Lou Satz

Senior Vice President

Director of Sales

George Sullivan

Vice President

In Charge of Direct Sales

Jack Romanos

Vice President

Sales Planning

Adamson, Robert

Adelson, Bruce

Arnold, John

Bass, Vincent

Boggs, Michael

Bolster, Randy

Bombard, Jeffrey

Bourne, James

Boyce, George

Browning, Gail

Carpenter, Roy

Cassin, Brian

Cates, Merrill

Cornetta, John

Cudmore, David

Cuprik, Steve

Dwyer, Margaret

Ellithorpe, James

Erion, Glenn

Farrell, Pat

Federspiel, John

Frye, Philip

Fox, Bonnie

Gershei, Larry

Goodman, Allen

Goodman, Harvey

Gordon, John

Harbus, Irv

Hayes, Don

Helderman, John

Hoenig, Sidney

Holcepl, James

Huber, Fred

Hummell, John

Hummler, John

Iacono, Bill

Kelleher, Robert

Kitzmiller, David

Loggie, John

Louton, Al

Lukeman, Al

Mandel, Al

Malenfant, George

McDaniel, Bill

McDaniel, Robert

McFarland, Chester

McKenzie, Bruce

Miner, Brad

Mudgett, Stephen

Overfield, Richard

Padow, David

Paul, John

Phillips, Bill

Rizzo, Tony

Rodis, Hank

Scanlon, Jim

Scholfield, Orren

Schiller, John

Sharbel, Fred

Simecki, Leonard

Skolnick, Sol

Smallwood, Daryle

Smith, Bob

Smith, Larry

Snyder, Jim

Snyder, Ruth

Sobel, Shelly

Stone, Don

Sutherland, Robert

Szymik, Jim

Taylor, Harry

Thomas, Gene

Thomas, Mark

Thompson, Art

Weaver, Art

Webb, Bernalle

Williamson, Steve

Wittner, Ivan

Wofford, Fonce

Wortman, Joe

Ziccardi, John

Zurek, Mel

SELECT MAGAZINES

Ruth Bower

Vice President

Director of Sales

Book Division

Amick, Ray

Anderson, Gary

Ankenbauer, Jim

Ayers, Robert

Barringer, Walt

Beall, Howard

Bernier, Larry

Burke, Leo

Cheslawski, Ben

Colosi, Joe

Cook, John

Eckel, Greg

Entrekin, Carson

Everett, Linda

Gudikunst, Bob

Hathaway, Ed

Harris, George

Johnson, Ronald

Karns, Ken

Karstetter, Chel

Keating, Chuck

Keegan, Bob

Kelley, Michael

Kelly, Tom

Kosar, Gary

Kreyer, Les

Lawrence, Don

Lauria, Tom

Mac Arthur, Carol

MacFayden, Doug

Martinez, Bill

McKenzie, Ken

Monkman, Diane

Murray, Bob

Newland, Chuck

Owens, George

Pesognelli, John

Poll, Gayla

Raia, Wayne

Reese, Tom

Rosefield, Doug

Rossbach, Bob

Rutledge, John

Salter, Bill

Semi, Dan

Shapiro, Mike

Siegel, Steve

Simpson, Les

Snyder, Jack

Tate, Jim

Taylor, Brian

Toth, Nick

Twigg, Bob

Vordokas, John

Williams, Sandy

Winheim, Steve

Winter, John

Woodger, Ted

Zike, Ron

Chapter 1

A BRUTAL KICK in the ribs jolted him from a sound sleep and he lunged to his feet. The kicker, obviously a railroad detective, stepped back and drew a gun.

Dont try it, he advised. Just get off.

Now? Are you crazy? At this speed Id get killed.

Tough. You either jump off or you get shot off.

Shanaghy looked at the gun. Ah, whats the use? For two-bits Id take that away from you and make you eat it, but Ill take the jump.

He turned and swung over the edge of the open gondola, hung for an instant to gauge the speed, then dropped from the ladder. He hit the ground knees bent and rolled head over heels down the embankment, coming to his feet in a cloud of dust to hear a fading shout.

an take your dirty duds with you!

A bundle came flying from the train and hit the ground several hundred yards further along. Then the train was past and he watched the caboose disappearing down the singing rails.

Shanaghy spat dust and swore at the disappearing train. Ah, me lad! he said bitterly. There will come a time!

He dug sand from his eyes and ears, muttering the while, and then he looked slowly around.

He stood on the bank beside the tracks in the midst of a vast and empty plain, nothing but grass, rippling in the wind. It reminded him of the sea when he crossed from Ireland.

He was thirsty, he was hungry, and he was mad all the way through. Moreover, he was bruised from the fall, adding to the bruises from what had gone before. He stared around again. At least, they would never find him here. He started to walk.

Suddenly he thought of the bundle thrown from the train. Dirty duds? He had no clothing but what he wore, and no possessions but the few things in his pocket. All else had been abandoned when he fled.

He had been on the dodge, unable to meet his friends for two days before he grabbed the freight train in the yards. He had not seen his enemies but he heard them coming. He was unarmed and the freight offered his only chance. He took the fast-moving train on the fly and once aboard he had fallen asleep. With daylight he awakened but, dead tired, he dropped off to sleep again while the train rumbled on its way. For most of two days and nights they had traveled, so now where was he?

He walked on until he came to the bundle. He paused, looking down at it as it lay among the weeds and brush near the foot of the slight embankment. A canvas haversack and a blanket-roll. He had never owned anything of the kind.

Shanaghy slid down the embankment and picked it up. Heavier than he expected. For a moment he considered leaving it but the blankets decided him. In a few hours darkness would be upon him and unless he was mistaken the nearest town was far, far away. Despite what the railroad bull had shouted, the blankets looked remarkably new and clean. Kneeling on the track he opened the haversack. The first thing he found was a slab of bacon wrapped in cheesecloth, then a small packet of coffee. Some bindle-stiffs outfit, he told himself, then changed his mind. There was a packet of letters, a notebook with some loose papers tucked into it and a map.

In the compartment behind the letters was a carefully folded suit of black broadcloth, two clean shirts, a shirt-collar, cuff-links and a collar button. There was a suit of underwear, just off the shelf, a razor, soap, a shaving-brush, comb, pair of scissors and some face lotion.