Free Novel 1955 - Heller With A Gun (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour

heard Tom say:
    â€œWhoever’s out after Mabry will get killed. Mabry will find he’s being trailed, and when he’s through with the trailer he’ll come hunting Barker.”
    â€œMight, at that,” Boyle agreed. He seemed to be weighing his chances. “But I’d as soon take a chance with him as with Barker. Mabry’s one man, Barker’s got friends. Some of the old Plummer outfit.”
    â€œPlummer?”
    â€œSheriff one time up at Alder. His outfit murdered more’n a hundred people. Then the vigilantes hung twenty-six of the gang. But they didn’t get ’em all.”
    Janice had the door opened wider now and was edging around to try a shot when Barker spoke. “What’s going on?” Then, seeing Healy, he grinned. “Got him, did you?”
    He walked over to Healy, lifted a broad hand, and struck him across the face. “I think I’ll kill you now, before we have more trouble.”
    â€œBoss?” Boyle said.
    â€œWell, what is it?”
    â€œIf we have to move these wagons, we can use him. Might’s well get some work out of him first.”
    Barker hesitated, then shrugged. “All right. But for now, tie his hands and keep him with you. I want to go through that wagon.”
    Janice eased the door shut. She turned back to her bed. Her spirits had never been lower, and Maggie felt the same, obviously. They had done nothing. There had been nothing to do.
    â€œWhat’ll we do?” Dodie whispered.
    And the whisper was like a plaintive cry in the lost emptiness of night.

Chapter 8
    K ING MABRY REACHED the Hole-in-the-Wall hours before the wagons arrived and followed a stream that he took to be the Middle Fork of the Powder, hunting a place to hole up for the night.
    When he had ridden more than a mile he turned off into a ravine and found a place where the clay shoulder broke the wind. There he dug a shelter out of a snowbank.
    The night was cold, but he was asleep before he was fairly settled in place.
    At daybreak he thrust an arm from under the robe long enough to toss a couple of sticks on the coals. When they blazed up, he added more. Not until the fire was blazing cheerfully did he come out from under and pull on his heavy socks and moccasins.
    When the coffee water was on, he mounted the bank to look around. The snow was unbroken as far as he could see except by the towering wall of red sandstone, and that was streaked with white where snow lay along the ledges and breaks.
    He ate jerked beef and drank coffee, then saddled up and cut across the flatland toward the gap.
    Nothing had come through. Had they gone up the valley of the Powder?
    The sky was gray and lowering. It looked and felt like snow. He turned back toward the Hole, keeping to low ground and riding with caution. Yet he was almost at the opening itself before he heard the sound of an ax.
    It was unmistakable. He listened, trying to place the sound exactly while the big horse stamped restlessly, eager to be moving.
    He started again, riding directly toward the Wall. There was little cover, but the stream had cut deep here and there, and the banks provided some concealment. There were some willows and here and there a cottonwood.
    After a few minutes he saw the smoke. The darker gray of the morning clouds had disguised it well. When he was approximately four hundred yards away he drew up and left his horse in a space between the willows and a clay bank.
    The sound of the ax continued.
    It was late. If they were cutting wood, it meant they did not plan to move that day. Yet Barker must know what the sky implied. He would know it meant snow, and farther west the timber was fairly heavy along the streams, offering plenty of fuel. Here there were only willows and what driftwood they could find along the stream.
    Carrying his rifle, he went downstream, covering the ground in long, easy strides. Pausing once, he cleared the rifle’s mechanism to be sure that dampness