Milo Talon

by Louis L'Amour

  She untied her apron and put it across the back of a chair and opened an inner door. Through it came sounds of an instrument and a woman’s voice singing “The Golden Vanity.”

  The door closed and we waited. Molly was frightened. “Milo? If she won’t let us have horses, what will we do?”

  With the door closed we heard no noise from the town, yet even now they might have missed us and begun searching. If they were smart they’d proceed carefully because the people of a western town would tolerate only so much, and so far as I knew there was no law officer in the town. Folks are apt to handle their own affairs in such cases and they could be almighty impatient with evildoers.

  It was pleasant, waiting there. The room was filled with the warmth and smells of baking bread and of coffee. The kitchen was spotlessly clean.

  Suddenly the outer door opened and the big Indian came in. And he was big. Now I’m tall, and said to be mighty strong, but this Indian would make two of me. Old he might be, but his hands were huge and what I could see of his forearms showed no signs of age.

  “I am Milo Talon,” I said.

  He stared at me for what seemed a long time, then he said, “I know you.” He paused, then added, “Sometime you ride spotted horse.”

  Now I hadn’t ridden that Appaloosa in several years, and it was far from here.

  Before I could ask him where he’d seen me on a spotted horse, the woman opened the inner door and beckoned.

  She led us along a hallway lined with bookshelves and then through what must be the living room and into the far wing. She rapped lightly, then opened a door, and waving us in, closed it behind us.

  Maggie sat in a huge chair on a dais, and at first I thought it was ego that had her poised upon what appeared to be a throne. Then I saw that by having her chair some eight inches above the rest of the floor she had a clear view of the town and the surrounding area.

  Her ranch was on a bench perhaps a hundred feet higher than the town itself and her view was superb, if one had a liking for one-street towns on a bald plain. Close beside the chair was a telescope on a tripod. Not only could she see the town but she could even pick out faces.

  She was a small woman, not over five-two, but quite plump. Moreover, she was pretty. Her hair was dark, streaked with gray, and her skin remarkably young for what her years must have been. I noticed, with appreciation, that fastened to the right side of her chair was a permanent holster containing a .44 Colt pistol.

  For several minutes she said absolutely nothing, just studying us, then she indicated a couple of chairs. “Please be seated.”

  She looked up and said, “Edith? Will you bring us some coffee? Yes, for me, too.”

  Then she looked at me. “You will be Milo Talon. I have heard quite a bit about you, young man.”

  Without waiting for any acknowledgment from me, she turned to Molly. “And you’ve been a great help. You are just what we needed. You’re young and you’re very pretty, and those cowboys will ride fifty miles just to look at a girl like you, and ride another fifty without touching the ground if you smile at them.

  “As far as that goes, I’ve seen the time when I would ride fifty miles just to have a man smile at me.”

  “You will forgive me,” I said, “but I don’t believe that would ever be necessary.”

  She looked at me, her eyes twinkling a little. “Yes, you’re a Talon, all right.”

  “You’ve known some Talons?”

  She ignored the question, but added, “There’s a good many who know about the Talon hoards, all the loot your ancestor left buried or hidden here and there around the world. I’d think you would know where they are.”

  “I know nothing,” I said. “If the stories are true they are as much of a mystery to me as anyone. He was an old devil, by all accounts, and he did not believe anybody should have anything for nothing. Whatever he hid, if he hid anything at all, is well hidden.”

  Molly was obviously puzzled so I said, “I had an ancestor, the first of our name, who was a corsair. That’s the polite name for a pirate. The story is that he came across the Pacific from India with several ships loaded with treasure and by the time he reached the West Coast his vessels were eaten by worms and in bad shape, so he buried treasure, in several places.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Who knows? He was an old rascal, by all accounts. He might have started those stories just to tantalize people.”

  “Yet he did have quite a lot of money,” Maggie said, “and he lived well.” She glanced at Molly. “He went around the Horn into the Atlantic and finally settled in the Gaspé Peninsula of Quebec.”

  She turned her attention to me. “What is it you want?”

  “Two horses. Two of your best. I’ve got to get Molly out of here before she’s killed.”

  “I never lend horses to anyone. My horses are my own. They are pets. They are splendid animals.”

  “So I understood.”

  “Who are you trying to escape,” she asked, “Jefferson Henry or Pride Hovey?”

  She knew about them? How much else did she know? Suddenly, I became wary. Had we walked into a trap?

  “From both, I expect. Perhaps from neither. We’ve had trouble, and we’d like to avoid more. It is simple as that.”

  She sat looking out the window for several minutes tapping her fingers on the padded arm of her chair.

  She was plump and pretty for her years, but what else? Very, very shrewd, I decided. And why did she live here, all alone and away from town? Why did she watch the street so closely? Was it mere curiosity? Or was she expecting visitors of which she wished to be forewarned?

  How much did she know about what was going on?

  Glancing at Molly, I saw her eyes were wide, her face whiter than usual. What had she seen? Or what did she suspect?

  My eyes strayed around the room, hoping for a clue, for some hint, some—

  Red velvet drapes, plush furniture, some framed photographs of vaguely familiar actors and actresses, all of them signed. I was not close enough to see the inscriptions. Had she been an actress? I did not know.

  “We are taking too much of your time,” I said. “I had hoped we could leave within the hour, within minutes, in fact.”

  “They won’t come up here looking for you,” she said. “They are not fools.”

  “But when we leave?”

  “I do not lend my horses,” she repeated.

  I arose. “Thank you. We will be going.”

  “Sit down,” she replied, and there was an edge to her voice.

  Suddenly she turned her head and looked right straight at me. “You visited Jefferson Henry in his car? Why?”

  “He hired me to find a girl.”

  “Her?” Maggie indicated Molly.

  “Another girl, the daughter of Nathan Albro.”

  “Have you found her?”

  “I know where she is. Or where she was, at least.”

  “And you have reported that to him?”

  “Not yet. However, I suspect he knows by this time. I was not the only person he had looking for her.”

  “And now you want to escape. To run away.”

  The expression did not please me. “To leave, yes. Molly should be away from this before she is killed.”

  “And you?”

  “I want to get away before I have to kill someone.”

  She drummed with her plump fingers, loaded with rings, then she said, “I will give you a horse, and I will let you go.” She indicated Molly with a plump finger. “She stays.”

  CHAPTER 20

  THERE ARE TIMES to talk, and there are times to act.

  With one quick step forward, and before she could grasp my intent, I whipped the gun from the holster on her chair. “Stay where you are, Maggie. I’ve never shot a woman, but don’t push me.”

  Quickly, I stepped back to cover both her and the door. “Molly, we’re leaving. Let’s get out of here.”

  “You’re a fool,” Maggie said.


  “Many of us are,” I said. “I don’t know what you want from this, Maggie, but you’ve bought cards in the wrong game.”

  “Have I?” She spoke bitterly. “Have I, indeed? Do you suppose I like living in this place? I live here because it is what I can afford. I live off the income from my share of that two-bit restaurant and the hotel.

  “She—” pointing a bejeweled finger at Molly, “knows where there’s five million in gold. Or knows where the key to it can be found.

  “You leave her with me and I’ll see she gets a share of it. You take her away from here and she’ll be killed. I know Pride Hovey and I know Henry. One’s no better than the other.

  “For that matter, what’s your stake in this? You’re in it for what you can get, just like the rest of us.” She turned her blue eyes on Molly. “And if you trust him, you’re a fool.”

  “Molly? Shall we go?”

  She led the way down the passage into the kitchen. The woman at the stove turned to look, she saw the gun in my hand but said nothing, and we stepped outside.

  The big Indian was waiting. I held the gun easy in my hand but not pointed at him. “Saddle two horses,” I said, “one with a sidesaddle. I am taking Molly where she will be safe.”

  Without a word he went to the barn and led out two of the finest looking horses I’d seen and saddled them quickly. I watched him and the house, making sure he did not leave me with a loose cinch.

  He saddled them, then went to the step where I had dropped the sack of food prepared by German Schafer and which I had forgotten. He tied it on back of the saddle of my horse, then went to the barn and led out a third horse.

  Glancing toward the town, I saw some riders bunching in the street. They would be coming this way.

  “Better mount up, Molly,” I said, stepping into the saddle, all my attention on the house.

  “She got a shotgun,” the Indian said. “She come soon. You go. I go too.”

  “You’re leaving her?”

  “She no like me now.” He paused, considering it. “She no like me any time.”

  Molly was already moving away and I swung into the saddle just as the door slammed open. Maggie had a shotgun and she threw it up to fire, but the returning door banged her arm and the shotgun went off, blasting into the air over the barn.

  The instant she appeared I had turned my horse down the back side of the house and out of range. She hustled around the corner and gave me the other barrel, but by that time I was around the other end of the house and streaking after Molly. Glancing back, I saw the Indian was nowhere in sight.

  Molly slowed down for me to catch up. As I drew abreast she said, “And now we’re horse thieves.”

  “We’ll turn them loose when we can get others.” I looked back. The horsemen I saw at the town’s edge were nearing Maggie’s, but a couple of them had seen us and turned off in our direction.

  The land before us seemed fairly flat but actually was rising toward the distant mountains. We were riding west toward the lowlying Hooker Hills. “They won’t catch us,” I commented, “we’ve too much of a lead and our horses are too good.”

  “What about the Indian? Do you suppose he’ll come with us?”

  There was no sign of him. I’d heard no more shots but I was far more worried than I was letting on. The Indian could have been a help as he knew the mountains better than I did, but he might never catch up now. That, however, was the least of my worries. The men from the town, whoever they were, would soon be on our trail. Probably they were Rolon Taylor’s men who would know the country. They’d probably ridden over it for years.

  Maggie had mentioned Pride Hovey and he was somewhere around. Though I didn’t know how he was involved Hovey was sure to want Molly alive and me dead, just as Jefferson Henry no doubt did. Hovey was a shrewd, dangerous man and he would be thinking, estimating our speed, our possible destination, and his chances of heading us off.

  Our only chance was to outguess him.

  We rode behind the Hooker Hills and into a draw that led off to the south. There was a little water running in the creek and we walked our horses into it, although I doubted if the water would wash away our tracks before our pursuers came up to this place. Yet it was a chance.

  We rode into the Huerfano River bottom, such as it was, and followed it toward some broken country to the west and south.

  Our horses were in fine shape and we had a start. We could make the hills but what then? They weren’t going to let us get away, not with the stakes possibly being five million in gold and whatever that railroad property was worth. Me, I didn’t want the five million. Probably I was crazy and maybe when I grew older I’d be smarter, but right now all I wanted was a horse between my knees and a lot of wide open country.

  To my way of thinking there was nothing finer than to top out on a lonely ridge and sit my saddle with the wind bringing the smell of pines up from the valley below and the sun glinting off the snow of distant peaks. There was an urge to drink from all the hidden springs, catch my fish in the lonely creeks, and leave my tracks on all that far, beautiful country.

  We didn’t talk much, Molly and me, not when out on the trail. I never did like to talk at such a time and she must have sensed it or felt the same way. In the first place, with folks chattering a body can’t hear. The trail was narrow and we’d no chance to ride abreast, so we rode watching the hills turn purple before us and the canyons gathering their cloak of shadows.

  Nobody knew better than me that mountains can be a trap. There are rarely more than a few passes, not too many trails, and in this case Rolon Taylor’s men would be likely to know them better than me. Also, I knew that getting off the trail in the mountains can be risky. A trail takes you somewhere and usually if there’s no trail there’s nowhere to go. You may walk miles of rough country only to find yourself up against a cliff that drops away a thousand feet or more and you have to walk all the way back.

  No doubt they wished to kill me, but certainly they wished to kill Molly. If I could just get her away to some place where she would be safe, then I could find a way to straighten things out. Moreover, my job was done. I’d found Nancy Henry or Albro or whatever and she was the same girl I once knew as Anne. Now I certainly didn’t feel protective about that Anne anymore. Both she and Jefferson Henry wanted their fingers in the same honeypot and they deserved one another.

  Molly could be a threat because of what she knew about Anne’s past. But if Molly knew something about Nathan Albro’s fortune she was marked for death by more than Anne. Pablo had told me of an old, dim trail that skirted St. Charles Peak, one on which I could swing around toward the head of Ophir Creek and go along the back side of Deer Peak.

  Dead tired, we made camp near Ophir Creek, west of the Deer.

  When I’d made coffee I dowsed the fire and we rode on for about a mile. Watering the horses, I picketed them on a small meadow among the trees. Only living thing we saw was a camp robber jay who hopped around picking up bits of food we dropped or threw away.

  Neither of us was sleepy. Tired, yes, but not sleepy.

  “Milo? I’m scared.”

  “That’s a mean bunch, back yonder.”

  “But Maggie! Somehow I thought—”

  “When there’s honey in the pot there’s bees to come for it. Maggie was no different than the others. She doesn’t have enough to live where and how she wishes, so she’ll get it if she can. They’re thinking about five million in gold, and whatever else there is. When you’re talking that kind of money I’d trust nobody.”

  “Even you?”

  Me, I looked it over a minute before I answered, and then I said, “You can trust me because I haven’t got sense enough to be hungry for money. Maybe my time will come. Right now I’m happy just to look at the country over the ears of my horse. When people start crowding up the valleys then maybe I’ll begin to take stock.”

  “What do you want, Milo?”

  “When I’ve covered some more country I’ll find myself a ra
nch the way Pa did. I’ll round up some unsuspecting girl who doesn’t know when she’s well off and get married. I’ll raise kids and flowers and horses and the hay and beef to feed them.

  “Some folks want the lights of cities, the admiration of women, and the fame that comes with success. Me, I just want the trail unwinding ahead of me, the view from the top of the ridge, and the smell of a wood-smoke fire.”

  “You’re easily content.”

  “Maybe. Sometimes folks try for too much. That’s easy to understand. My brother now, he wants success. He wants to achieve, and he will. It’s just that some of us don’t ask so much of life. I’m for the simple pleasures.”

  “Do you think they will follow us?”

  “Uh-huh. You just bet they will. They’ll try to guess where we’re headed and then try to head us off. That’s where we have to outguess them. We’ve got to build an idea in their minds so they’ll believe they know where we’re going, then go somewhere else.”

  “I could come to hate them!”

  “Don’t. Isn’t worth it, Molly. I don’t hate anybody and never have. A man does what he has to do, and sometimes it’s not what I believe he should do. There’s no reason to use up energy hating him for it. Shoot him if you have to, but don’t hate him.”

  “You’re a strange man.”

  “Not really. I’m just a kind of simple one, that’s all. If a man comes at me, I defend myself. If he hunts me, I figure I can hunt some myself.

  “Now we’re going to rest some. Before daybreak we will ride out of here and head due north. We’ll ride west of Gobbler’s Knob and on up past Hardscrabble Mountain. I don’t know these mountains that well, but there’s a trail runs down Oak Creek. That’s where we’re headed.”

  We’re headed that way, I told myself, but we aren’t going that way.

  We bedded down on pine needles and grass, and nobody had to worry about us sleeping. We did a good job of it for the time we had, but before daybreak we were on our way.

  It was cold and dark when we arose. Brushing off the pine needles and leaving Molly to herself, I went off to the small meadow and pulled the picket-pins, then led the horses to water. While they drank I stood shivering in the morning cold and looking at the last reluctant stars.