Free Over on the Dry Side by Louis L’Amour

promisin’. Chantry’d been workin’ north along the west face when I seen him, and when he disappeared.
    I looked at the sun. Too late. I’d have to hightail it for home to get there ’fore sundown, ’cause I had to go down to the river canyon and up the other side, and I wasn’t wishful of tryin’ it after dark. It was a right spooky ride down and up in the daylight. Even ridin’ a good mountain horse like I had.
    Tomorrow…tomorrow I’d have to hitch up the team and come after them poles. Once up here I’d picket the team and head for the red wall.
    Right then I had a worried time. What right did I have to go traipsin’ off? Pa was doin’ his share, and it was up to me to do mine. He needed them poles. He needed the team, and he needed me and my time. We had our work cut out for us.
    Still, how long would it take? An hour, maybe two. I picked up my ax and stuff and headed for the canyon.
    What if I picketed the team an’ a mountain lion come down on ’em? Or a bear? Course, most times bears won’t kill livestock, not unless they done it before or need to eat.
    We couldn’t afford to lose that team, not even one of ’em.
    The bottom of the canyon was dark when I got there, but the top was still gold with sunshine. That trail was a hair-raiser. But it would’ve been more scary if it hadn’t been for part of the slopes bein’ timbered.
    I fetched to the bottom. It was dark down there, only water shinin’ like silver. We splashed through and started up to the crest. A third of the way up I stopped to let my horse catch wind, and I turned in the saddle and looked back.
    I seen nothin’, but I heard splashin’ in the water, then a hoof clicked on stone.
    Me, I touched a heel to my horse an’ we started on. I didn’t know what was back there, and I wanted to make no effort to find out. This was a plumb spooky place, and even if it was just one man, I wanted no gunfight on that hairline trail.
    When I topped out on the crest, I put a spur to that gelding an’ lit out for home. It wasn’t far, but I let my horse go. Goin’ home, that was the fastest horse. I never seen a horse had more love for home and the stable than that one. He lit out for home like he had fire under his tail.
    The house light sure looked good! I rode into the yard, slid off that horse, and led him into the stable. Pa come to the door.
    â€œDry that horse off, boy, an’ git in here. Supper’s on the table.”
    When I taken my riggin’ off, I went to throw it over the partition and there was Owen Chantry’s black. I hung up my saddle and spoke soft to the black, and put a hand on it.
    Wiped off, yes. Curried a mite, yes.…But the skin was damp. I was sure the skin was damp.
    When I come through the door, Chantry was settin’ at the table with Pa. He looked up and smiled, and that made me sore. Who did he think he was? And how did he beat me gettin’ home? Maybe it wasn’t him.
    Then I was wondering. Who was it out there? Who followed me up that canyon trail?
    Chapter 7
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    O WEN CHANTRY WAS restless, irritable. What he wanted was something to read, but the Kernohans were not readers. There was only a copy of the
Iliad
, which had belonged to his brother. Which was odd, for Clive had always been a reader.
    â€œKernohan,” Owen said suddenly, “weren’t there any books here when you came? Clive was a man who liked reading. I would have expected him to have some books.”
    â€œBooks? Oh, sure! There’s a-plenty. We boxed ’em up an’ stored ’em in the loft. They was takin’ up space and collectin’ dust, so we just put ’em up there.
    â€œMe, I never did learn to read much, an’ Doby here, he’s mostly innerested in horses an’ guns.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind,” Chantry said, “I’ll look those books over. Might be something to