Free Novel 1968 - Brionne (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A

pictures. There was a symbol for running water, there were symbols for peaks…suppose there was a symbol for silver?
    The old man had known this country, and he might have found something. Somebody had been supplying him with cash, and that somebody had apparently been Rody Brennan. Therefore Brennan need not have gone into the mountains at all. Ed Shaw would have worked on Brennan’s grubstake; and he must have brought out some silver that he turned into cash. With Shaw dead, Rody Brennan became the legitimate owner of the mine—if there was one.
    Little by little, James Brionne isolated the few facts he had obtained from the various conversations he had heard. Out of them had come Shaw’s apparent angle of approach to the mountains, and some hint of the time he had taken. Vague as these things were, it was interesting to speculate on the direction he might have followed, and the possible location of the mine.
    After adding a little fuel to the fire, concealed in a small hollow and shielded by the aspen, Brionne took up his rifle and went to a rock that jutted from the side of the mountain. Earlier he had noticed that it would be simple enough to climb up there, and once there, he sat down to survey the country around.
    Looking down, he could see the campfire and the small figure of his son. Looking outward, he could see only endless blackness of forest, the blue-black of the star-studded sky, and the great bulk of the mountain, rising behind him and on his left.
    For a long time he studied the night—not the stars, but the forest blackness. When he caught the gleam, it was out of the corner of his right eye, miles away and much lower down.
    Watching, he saw it again…and again. A campfire. His point of vantage could scarcely have been better. The air was clear, and he was high up. The fire might be ten miles away, but it was probably less.
    Brionne considered the country between, trying to recall how much of a trail he had left behind. He was rising to leave the rock when he glimpsed another light, not quite so far off, and a little higher up the mountain.
    He studied that light through his glasses, but they helped him not at all. The distance was too great, and they merely showed a somewhat larger light, unidentifiable even as a fire. Now who could that be?
    Returning to camp, he arranged his blankets and lay down, clasping his hands behind his head. For a long time he considered his next move, then at last he fell asleep, remembering Anne, as he had seen her last…too long ago.

----
    T HE SECOND LIGHT Brionne had seen was the campfire of Dutton Mowry and Miranda Loften.
    Knowing the way to go, they had moved faster than Brionne. They were not following anyone, and were not expecting anyone to be following them. Mowry was a good man on a trail, and he had chosen good stock for them. They were higher up the mountain than the Allards, and about three miles ahead of them.
    The trail they had followed was an old game trail, used occasionally by Indians. Two days ago, their trail had been the same as that of the Allards, and Mowry had noticed the fresh sign, and had taken time to learn the track of each horse. Within a few minutes after coming upon the trail he knew one of the men was Cotton Allard.
    Then the trail, as designated by Miranda, took them farther up the slope. He turned to her now and indicated the rifle she carried.
    “Can you use that?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t ever go anywhere without it. Not in this country. And if I say jump, you jump—don’t ask why. If you take time to ask, it may be too late.”
    “All right.”
    “How much farther is this mine of yours?”
    “It’s up on top…among the lakes. Another three days, I think, if nothing stops us.”
    He considered putting the fire out, but instead he banked it; then he left it and went to his blankets. “Get some sleep,” he said to Miranda. “We’ve got a rough day ahead. We’re going to try to cut three days to two, if we