Milo Talon

by Louis L'Amour

  Charlie was leading off, somebody would follow him, just in case, and then it would be likely they’d have Molly, if that’s who their prisoner was. Nine chances out of ten the big woman was her particular guard and she would follow Molly with Anne and Sam bringing up the rear. That was a lot of guessulation, if a body could call it that.

  Somehow, without me really planning, an idea was taking shape. Probably because behind it all I was a good deal of a damned fool, probably because I didn’t know where they were taking her or why. I just had a feeling I should act now, without any waiting around.

  Maybe if I’d been a whole sight smarter I could have come up with some clever trick, but I just wasn’t having any bright ideas. All I knew was to plunge in and let the Devil count the dead.

  They moved out, and me after them, but keeping a safe distance. Someone had spoken of the trail up North Creek, and I remembered Pablo had mentioned it as the regular access trail to the hole. The way I had come and the way they brought the wagon in was little more than a trail, and only a knowing man would think of taking a wagon over it, although I’d noticed signs of work along the way.

  What they figured to do I had no idea, but if I could get Molly free of them we could take out for the way I’d come in, and once in that narrow trail I could make them hunt cover while Molly took off for town. I turned my spare horses loose and suddenly with a whoop and a yell stampeded them right into the front of that column.

  It was almighty dark, the first thing they could have heard was running hoofs, then a whoop as I started those horses into them.

  The horses charged in, tried to reverse direction, and some of the ridden horses took off, buck-jumping and scared. Spotting Molly’s horse, I went in fast, grabbed for the lead-rope, and started off, but that big woman, she come at me swinging a whip. I ducked and she charged on by. Grabbing the lead-rope, I took off. Somebody fired, and I saw a man loom up near me and cut at him with my six-gun barrel just as his horse swung broadside to mine. It fetched him a glancing blow, but as he started to fall he latched onto the saddle horn to keep from falling off. He vanished into the night, his horse running.

  Somebody yelled “Don’t shoot!” and it sounded like that city man. In that melee anybody might get hit and he wasn’t anxious to be the one.

  There were some trees there, and I went around them and headed south. Seeing another dark patch, I picked our way around it, then pulled up and cut Molly loose. “You all right?”

  “What will they do?”

  “Try to catch us.” I’d started walking my horse and hers, too. “We’d better get to the pass. I can stop them while you get away.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I want to stay with you. Milo, I’m scared.”

  Maybe she was. Probably she was, for she had reason to be, but she was keeping her head and there were no hysterics or anything like it. Whatever else she was, she was no giddy-headed little fool. We started on, picking our way, and I tried to keep in the grass so we’d make less sound.

  We found what must have been the North St. Charles and followed it down. Once, when we paused to listen, I heard them, heard their horses. They’d found a trail and were gaining on us.

  When we came close to Turtle Buttes we took a sharp turn to the south on the trail I’d followed before, pausing long enough to wipe out any tracks and scatter dust over what I had done and the tracks we’d left. The chances were that coming in the dark as they were they’d not even see the dim trail that led off to the south but would follow the one that led toward the railroad and the Arkansas River.

  We headed south, following the flank of the mountains until we crossed Greenhorn Creek, then we angled off to the west. Using every bit of cover we could find and riding in sandy arroyos that left almost no tracks, we slowed our pace.

  “You want to tell me what happened?”

  “You found my note? You seemed to notice everything and I thought you’d see the coat. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else.”

  “I found the note.”

  “They were in my room and when I tried to slip by they caught me. They warned me that if I made any fuss it would not help and I’d just get somebody killed, so I didn’t. They brought me here.”

  “What do they want?”

  She hesitated and rode on for several yards. It was very dark, but our eyes were accustomed to the light and the stars were out. “They said they were protecting me from Jefferson Henry. They said he was looking for me.”

  “He was right there in town. If he’d been looking for you, he’d have found you.”

  “I told them that. They said he just didn’t realize who I was. They said they were afraid for me, and for themselves, too, if Henry found where they were.”

  “So they took you, anyway?”

  “They would not listen. They said I had no choice. Some men had been murdered and that I would also be killed. I didn’t believe that. Not entirely.

  “Of course, Newton Henry was killed … murdered. That was when I ran away.”

  “You knew him?”

  “I never liked him. He hated Uncle Nathan. I knew that.”

  “Uncle?”

  “He told me to call him that. My mother kept house for him, and he was very lonely after Stacy ran away with Newton. She took Nancy with her and Uncle Nathan was very lonely. He missed them dreadfully. He said so, several times.”

  Far away to the east a few lights showed where the town lay. A train seemed to be standing on the sidetrack there. I was tired, dead beat. I was hungry, too, but that could wait. All I wanted now was to fall into bed and sleep.

  “Back there,” I said, “they kept you tied.”

  “They were going to kill me. I just couldn’t believe it at first, but they were. I heard them talking about it.”

  “You mean, the men?”

  “Yes, I do, but it was Anne. She was telling them just what to do.”

  Anne?

  CHAPTER 17

  THE LAST STARS were lonesome in the sky when we rode down the street. There was light enough so the old buildings were taking shape from the darkness and light reflected from the blank black faces of the windows.

  There was a light showing from the back of the restaurant so we rode there, made a quick tie at the hitch rail, and went inside.

  German came from the kitchen with a washcloth in his hand and I saw the bulge of the six-shooter tucked behind his belt.

  “Molly?” His worry was in his voice. “You all right?”

  “Milo found me,” she said.

  “Take her inside, German,” I advised, “and keep that six-shooter handy. I’ll stash these horses. And keep her away from windows.”

  Took me only minutes to get my horses stalled in the livery barn, and I came out of the stable on the watch. My number was up but I wouldn’t know who all the shooters were. This was one where I wished I had Em around or that brother of mine, Barnabas. Better still, one of those Sacketts.

  The sun wasn’t up when I left the barn but there was the gray light of early morning that left every little detail showing. My dog friend came trotting up the street, stopping to greet me. I dropped a hand to his head and petted him a little. He seemed surprised but pleased. I suspect it had been a long time since anybody petted him.

  Gave me time to sort of look around, notice the windows and such. From now on I had to be a caring man. Turning suddenly, I went down an alley between two buildings, but instead of going on to the back door of Maggie’s, I went between two other buildings and back to the main street where I stood looking around before I emerged.

  That window opposite the restaurant was open a crack at the bottom. Maybe it always was, maybe not. I went down the street and into Maggie’s. It was only about five long steps but taking them I felt naked as a jaybird.

  German came out, drying his hands. “Set up,” he said, “I got somethin’ for you.”

  “Where’s she?”

  “Restin’. She’s back in my r
oom, lyin’ down. I don’t know where y’all been but she’s tuckered.”

  Falling into a chair, I reached for the coffee. It tasted good, mighty good. I’d taken a long look down the track. The train I’d seen had pulled out and the place where the private car had stood was empty.

  “Seen the Arkansawyer?”

  “Seen nobody. Only that Mexican friend of yours. The mean one.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Didn’t say. He took a look around, then let the door go shut and walked off. Had a notion he was lookin’ for you.”

  German brought food and I ate, my mind elsewhere. Trouble was, I was tired and it was hard to keep my thoughts on the problem.

  Anne … I couldn’t believe it of her, yet who knows what goes on inside a person? And what did I know of her but that she was a pretty girl?

  What had been taken from Nathan Albro’s safe? Something to do with that missing five million in gold or the railroad, I’d guess. Jefferson Henry wanted Nancy Henry found. Pride Hovey … no trouble figuring what he wanted. He wanted money, maybe power, but money of course. My head bobbed and I straightened up again and took a swallow of coffee.

  No use fighting it, what I needed was rest.

  “German?” I called.

  He came from the kitchen. “Can you keep her here? If they get their hands on her I’m afraid they will kill her. We can’t take a chance.”

  “What’s it all about?”

  What I hadn’t told him before, I explained now, as best I could. The trouble was, I knew too little myself. When I left Maggie’s and went back to the hotel, I walked easy and kept a loose gun in my holster. Seemed like they were trying to keep from attracting attention but a body never knew when that might change.

  When I rode into town I had taken the job of finding Nancy Henry or Albro or whatever her name was, but all I had done was upset somebody’s applecart and start all kinds of things happening. Or not to give myself credit for too much, I’d ridden into the midst of somebody else’s upset applecart. After all, Tut had been killed before I came into the picture.

  Since then Pride Hovey had showed up, and Arkansaw Tom Baggott, too.

  All I wanted now was to keep Molly out of trouble and finish the job I’d been paid for, or else quit. I was thinking of that, although I didn’t take much to quitting. Any time I had taken on a job I’d finished it.

  Molly was asleep and German was between her and trouble. Me, I was right out in front.

  Once back in my room I taken off my boots and stretched out on the bed, but not until I’d propped a chair under the knob. I was dead tired and if I didn’t get some sleep I was going to fall asleep standing or riding or whatever.

  The Magoffins now, they’d been tied in with Newton Henry and had evidently decided to sell him out to his old man … or somebody. Maybe they had gone to Pride Hovey.

  Either Newton, Jefferson, or Hovey had poisoned them. The killer had gone through what they found of the Magoffins’ gear but the important part had still been unclaimed baggage so they’d probably come up empty. Somehow they’d laid hold of Tut and had tried to get what they could from him. He’d gotten away and they’d killed him. That killing was almost surely Jefferson Henry’s men.

  My eyes closed. In the street I could hear the passing of a buckboard, the jangle of harness, and somebody saying “… if I’m going to feed that stock I’ll need hay.”

  There was a mutter of voices from the next room and the sound of a beer wagon passing, loaded with barrels, and the particular sound it made. Somewhere along there, I fell asleep.

  When next I opened my eyes it was dusk. The room wasn’t quite dark and the only sound I heard was a door slamming and the sound of boots on the boardwalk.

  Yet I opened my eyes remembering what Molly had said, that she’d hid something in my room.

  I sat up and swung my sock feet to the floor. What had she hidden, and where?

  And what about the notebook I still hadn’t read? Oh, I’d taken a glance at it, here and there, but not to really read it.

  Taking off the globe, I struck a match and touched the flame to the wick, then replaced the globe. Then I got out the notebook.

  It was a sort of daybook and had belonged to Nathan Albro. The first few pages were notations on purchases and sales of stocks as well as land. The purchases had been small at first, growing in numbers and values as time passed. It was a small record of a man making himself rich. Here and there were losses, but generally he chose well and sold at a profit. The writing was extremely fine, with many abbreviations. There was a list of property sales and the sums realized but no account of their disposal.

  Then suddenly there were some brief notations: N-? Something odd there. Months later there was: S&N gone. Then what must have been a confession: Never learned to talk to a woman. Never could tell her how much I loved her, needed her. Then there were several pages of notations of business deals, some more sales but no mention of what had happened to the money, then: Empty! Empty! Empty! S meant so much. N …? Only a child but cold … cold … and cruel.

  There were wide gaps in the dates then. Occasional deals, usually for big money. Then simply the word: Divorced. And somewhat later: Married Newton Henry. My God! That scoundrel! I fear for Stacy. N will survive.

  Page after page of business deals, each noted with mere initials and figures.

  Molly to see me. Has been putting flowers on my desk! Such a pretty child! If my own daughter could have been so gentle and kind! NH has no idea what a nettle he has grasped!

  I put the notebook down. My eyes were heavy with sleep. NH … that would be Newton Henry. What nettle? Not Stacy, Nathan wrote of Stacy with affection despite her running off. Nancy? She was but a child. Yet he had said Nancy will survive.

  Sleepy as I was, I turned the page. From Topolobampo. All goes forward. Tai Ts’an met with us. Approves Topo as terminal. In confidence, later, told me somebody living on the place. A man, a woman, and a young girl. NH, S & N surely. But how—?

  Turning over, I awakened. For a moment I lay still, trying to remember where I was. In my room at the hotel, reading the notebook. Quickly, I put out my hand. It was there. The chair was still under the knob but it was still completely dark. Sitting up I crossed the room, poured some water in the bowl, and splashed it in my eyes and on my face.

  The memory of what I had been reading returned. Living on the place. What place?

  A moment of listening, all was still. Standing at the window, I looked down into the empty street. All was dark and still. Nothing moved. Turning away, my eyes caught a flicker of movement from a roof across the way.

  A man was there, or the shadow of a man, crouching near the stone chimney.

  CHAPTER 18

  ONE OF THE reasons I’ve lived as long as I have is that I never stand squarely in front of a window. When I want to look out I stand on one side or the other, and that was what I was doing now.

  The man yonder had a rifle, but I couldn’t make out whether he was looking toward my window or some other farther along. From his position he would be unable to see the bed where I should be lying, so he must be gunning for somebody else. Molly?

  But Molly was not in her room. She was down at Maggie’s restaurant where German Schafer could protect her.

  Or I thought she was.

  It was in my thoughts that I had fallen asleep with the lamp still burning, but sometime during the night I had obviously awakened and blown it out, too sleepy to actually recall the action. The room was completely dark and the man opposite could not see in, although he might detect movement.

  From deep inside the room I could still see the roof opposite, and the man with the rifle was on one knee, half-behind the chimney. Watching, I pulled on my pants and shirt and strapped on my gun belt. Shucking my watch from the watch-pocket of my pants, I tried to make out the time, but it was too dark and I daren’t strike a match. Judging by how quiet the town was, I had an idea it was long after midnight.

 
Whoever the man opposite was, I was positive it would not be the Arkansawyer. Baggott was too shrewd to take a chance on being trapped on a roof. This had to be somebody else.

  Yet that was the building Baggott was living in, and unless I overrated the man, Baggott, if in his room, had heard that movement on the roof.

  What would he do? Nothing, probably, but he’d be irritated. If there was any shooting it would attract attention and that was the one thing Baggott avoided.

  Had Molly returned to her room? Was she in there now, sleeping?

  Or was the man on the roof waiting for a shot into the restaurant? German was an early riser, always on the job before daylight, and unless my guess was wrong the man on the roof had a perfect shot for anybody in the window of Maggie’s or on the walk, and German always swept the walk early in the morning.

  My window was open as I was a man used to lots of fresh air, sleeping out more than half the time. At the side of the window, on one knee, I waited.

  Whatever he was planning he had better be at it. Already the light was better, and in a short time others besides me would be seeing him. Just as I thought that, he lifted the rifle.

  Who he was going to shoot I did not know, but he was aiming right at Maggie’s. He was no more than sixty feet away, and as the rifle came to his shoulder I said, in a tone just loud enough, “I wouldn’t do that.”

  My six-shooter was in my hand when I said it. I had no desire to kill him, so I continued talking. “You can walk off that roof or fall off.”

  He lowered his rifle and straightened up, then he turned sharply and fired.

  He wasn’t as good as he thought he was. His bullet hit the window frame a foot above my head, and my return shot, so quick the two sounded as one, seemed to hit the action of his rifle. He dropped it like it was red-hot and went off the roof in the back like a scared rabbit.

  Quickly, I closed the window, slipped a cartridge into my pistol, and pocketed the empty shell. Then I sat down on the bed and started to pull on a boot.

  Running feet came along the hall, excited questions, then pounding on my door. Boot in hand, I pulled the chair from under the knob and opened it.