Free Novel 1963 - Fallon (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page B

slippery wrist-grip, and the movement jerked Fallon’s knees loose. His knees skidded in the mud, and with a gasp of panic, Fallon felt himself going over.
    Wildly, he grabbed out and caught the rope. It tore through his hand, but his grip held. Then his body struck Teel’s with a thud, and the two men clung together. Fighting for his life against the tug of the current, Fallon got his arm through the same loop with Teel.
    Rain beat at their faces with angry fingers, and the rushing water tore at their bodies. Once a heavy chunk of wood struck Fallon in the side and he cried out in pain, but the rope remained taut.
    Carefully, Fallon began to feel against the bank for a foothold. If he could just get a little slack in the rope…
    Teel, who knew as much about a roping horse as Fallon, caught on at once, and dug for a toehold. If they could just get some slack.
    They got it, and the black instantly backed up to keep the rope taut, and they had gained a few inches. Again they tried, and Teel got a foothold, although Fallon could get none, but Teel got an arm under Fallon’s shoulders and heaved him up enough to get the slack they needed. Promptly the black horse backed up, tightening the rope again.
    But that was the end of it.
    Only inches above them was the edge, and water swirled about their hips. They could find no foothold. The only consolation was that Fallon knew the black would hold. He would keep that rope tight until he fell from exhaustion.
    That black horse had roped too many bad steers, mean longhorns, and bulls that were fighters. It was his job to keep that rope tight, and it was thus he had been trained. He would keep the rope tight until doomsday, and after.
    Sagging in the loop, which cut into their bodies, they waited. Fallon’s arms ached. His hand, burned on the rope, was raw and bloody, and the pain was frightful.
    The great roaring of the water had ceased, but it still rushed around them, still tugged at their bodies; but the awful, tearing violence of it was gone. It was still dangerous, but the black horse was holding them.
    â€œShe’s fallin’!” Teel shouted in Fallon’s ear. “Below my hip pockets now!”
    After a few more minutes the fall was obvious. And now, on his right, Fallon saw an outthrust of rock.
    Reaching out, he got a foot on it and pushed up; the black horse instantly took up the slack. Fallon swung a hand up and got hold of the edge. Teel’s boots fought for a toehold and dug in, and suddenly they both had arms over the edge and the black took up the slack so suddenly that they found themselves over the edge and sprawled in a muddy tangle.
    Teel struggled to his feet and stood swaying. “You surely picked a lousy night for a ride!” he said wryly.
    Fallon got up and spoke to the black horse, which walked toward them. “I could do with some coffee,” he said.
    â€œHell!” Teel said. “I could do with a drink, although I’ve sworn off the stuff.”
    Riding double, they rode back into town.
    It was breaking day when they came into the street, covered with mud, and exhausted but hilarious. Damon was out, sweeping off his walk, and he looked at them in astonishment.
    â€œWhat happened to you two?” he asked.
    Teel was not a man given to saving face or mincing words. Briefly, he told what had happened. “We could have lost the herd,” he said at the end, “and you’ve eight or nine head there yourself.”
    â€œI can’t understand it,” Damon said. “Al wouldn’t—”
    â€œHe was drunk,” Pete Shoyer interrupted. Shoyer was a late-comer and owed no loyalty to Damon. “I got up to close a window and saw him ridin’ up the street. Chances are he’s back there in the stable, sleepin’ it off.”

----
    A L DAMON AWAKENED slowly. The first thing he smelled was the fresh hay beneath him; and opening his eyes, he found himself staring up at the