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

had not frozen it tight.
    When he worked his way to the top of the bank again he could see the vans. The stove in one of the wagons was going, and there was a fire beyond it.
    As he watched, Healy came out of the willow carrying an armful of wood. Wycoff, one arm in a sling and his rifle in the other hand, walked a little to his left. Healy dumped the wood and started back toward the willows.
    Edging around for a better view, Mabry saw Barker. But Art Boyle was nowhere in sight.
    The small camp was concealed partly by the V of the two vans, forming a wall against the wind. A clay bank was to the west, and a hedge of willows protected the other two sides. Barker was sitting on a log drinking coffee. None of the women was in sight, and there was no sign of Doc Guilford.
    Obviously, Barker had made his move. Wycoff’s injured arm could be a result. What Barker now intended was not apparent, except that he planned to spend the night, yet in this weather that could easily mean being snowed in for a week. And his present position was far from good. Why wasn’t he moving?
    It was growing colder. Tying his scarf across his mouth to conceal his breath, he worked his way nearer.
    He could do nothing without knowing where Boyle was. To make a move without knowing the whereabouts of all three men would be reckless in the extreme, and a man did not live long by being reckless. Only fools took chances.
    It began to snow. Large flakes began to sift down from the gray sky, fast and thick. His coat began to whiten. He wiped off the rifle.
    Healy was swinging an ax awkwardly, chopping a log. Wycoff was standing nearby, carrying the rifle in the hollow of his good arm.
    Neither man was talking and Healy was obviously all in. The unfamiliar work and the cold were exhausting him. Wycoff chewed tobacco and watched, his features expressionless.
    Healy stopped suddenly. “Got to take a breather,” Mabry heard him say. “I never used an ax before.”
    â€œI can see that.” Wycoff was contemptuous.
    â€œWhat’s Barker figure to do?” Healy asked.
    Wycoff shrugged, saying nothing. Obviously he believed it was no concern of Healy’s.
    â€œHe might get away with killing us, but if he touches the girls, he’s in trouble.”
    â€œOur business,” Wycoff said. “You get busy.”
    Healy picked up the ax and started a swing. Mabry eased back carefully, making no sound. Not a word about either Doc Guilford or Boyle.
    He began to scout the vicinity. He was no longer worried about tracks, for in this snow they would soon be gone. He had circled well to the east, between the wagons and the Hole, when suddenly he stopped.
    The body of a man lay sprawled across the wash ahead of him. A man that was no longer alive.
    Moving to the body, Mabry looked down into the features of Doc Guilford. The old actor stared up at the sky, his sightless eyes staring at the falling snow. A flake touched an eyeball and remained there. The creases in his clothes and the tired lines of his face had become a web of white lines from the snow.
    If Barker had killed this man, he dared not let the others live. So why was he waiting? And why here, of all places?
    Mabry thought of the man who had been following him. He had led the fellow into the broken country to the south and then switched back north, traveling on rock to leave few tracks. Eventually the tracker would work out his trail and come up with him, and he might have a rendezvous with Barker at this point.
    Suddenly he heard voices. One of them he instantly recognized as Boyle’s. The teamster was alive, then, and still present.
    Mabry saw Healy come in with an armful of wood, and they let him rest. Wycoff swore as he bumped his arm.
    â€œWhat the hell?” Boyle was impatient. “Why not bust the wagon open and take them out?”
    â€œLet them starve for a while,” Barker said. “They’ll listen better if they do.”
    â€œTo the devil