Riders Of the Dawn (1980) Read online

  Riders Of The Dawn Louis L’amour *

  Chapter 1

  I Rode Down From The High Blue Hills And Across The Brush Flats Into Hattan’s Point , A Raw Bit Of Spawning Hell, Scattered Hit Or Miss along the rocky slope of a rust-topped mesa.

  Ah, it’s a grand feeling to be young and tough with a heart full of hell, strong muscles, and quick, flexible hands!

  And the feeling that somewhere in town there’s a man wh o would like to tear down your meat house with hands or gun.

  It was like that, Hattan’s Point was, when I swung dow n from my buckskin and gave him a word to wait with. A ne w town, a new challenge, and if there were those who wished t o take me on, let them come and be damned.

  I knew the whiskey of this town would be the ra w whiskey of the last town and of the towns behind it, but I shoved through the batwing doors and downed a shot of ry e and looked around, measuring the men along the bar and a t the tables. None of these men did I know, yet I had see n them all before in a dozen towns. There was the big, harde yed rancher with the iron-gray hair who thought he was th e bull of the woods, and the knifelike man beside him with th e careful eyes who would be gunslick and fast as a strikin g snake.

  The big man turned his head toward m e, as a grea t brown bear turns to look at something he could squeeze t o nothing if he wished. “Who sent for you?”

  There was harsh challenge in the words, the cold demand of a conqueror. I laughed within me. “Nobody sent fo r m e. I ride where I want and stop when I want.”

  He was a man grown used to smaller men who spok e softly to him, and my answer was irritating. “Then ride on,” h e said, “for you’re not wanted in Hattan’s Point.-

  “Sorry, friend,” I said. “I like it here. I’m staying, an d maybe in whatever game you’re playing, I’ll buy chips. I d on’t like being ordered around by big frogs in such smal l puddles.”

  His big face flamed crimson, but before he could answer , another man spoke up, a tall young man with white hair.

  -What he means is that there’s trouble here, and men ar e taking F sides. Those who stand upon neither side are everybody ‘s enemy in Hattan Point.”

  ‘So?” I smiled at them all, but my eyes held to the big bul l of the woods. “Then maybe I’ll choose a side. I always di d like a fight.”

  “Then be sure you choose the right one”—this was fro m the knifelike man beside the bull—and talk to me before yo u decide.

  “I’ll talk to you,” I said, “or any man. I’m reasonabl e enough. But get this, the side I choose will be the right one!”

  The sun was bright on the street, and I walked outside , feeling the warm of it, feeling the cold from my muscles.

  Within me I chuckled, because I knew what they were sayin g back there. I’d thrown my challenge at them for pure fun; I d idn’t care about anyone … and then suddenly I did.

  She stood on the boardwalk straight before me, slim , tall, with a softly curved body and magnificent eyes and hai r of deepest black. Her skin was lightly tanned, her eyes a n amazing green, her lips full and rich.

  My black leather chaps were dusty, and my gray shir t was sweat stained from the road. My jaws were lean an d unshaven, and under my black, flat-crowned hat, my hair wa s black and rumpled. I was in no shape to meet a girl like that , but there she was, the woman I wanted, my woman.

  In two steps I was beside her. “I realize,” I said, as sh e turned to face me, “the time is inopportune. My presenc e scarcely inspires interest, let alone affection and love, but thi s seemed the best time for you to meet the man you are t o marry. The name is Mathieu Sabre.

  “Furthermore—I might as well tell you now—I am o f Irish and French extraction, have no money, and have n o property but a horse and the guns I wear, but I have bee n looking for you for years, and I could not wait to tell you tha t I was here, your future mate and husband.” I bowed, hat i n hand.

  She stared, startled, amazed, and then angry. -Well, o f all the egotistical—”

  “Ah!” My expression was one of relief. “Those are kin d words, darling, wonderful words! More true romances hav e begun with those words than any other! And now, if you’l l excuse me?”

  Taking one step back, I turned, vaulted over the hitching rail, and untied my buckskin. Swinging into the saddle, I l ooked back. She was standing there, staring at me, her eye s wide, and the anger was leaving them. “Good afternoon,” I s aid, bowing again. “I’ll call upon you later!”

  It was time to get out and away, but I felt good about it.

  Had I attempted to advance the acquaintance I should hav e gotten nowhere, but my quick leaving would arouse her curiosity. There is no trait women possess more fortunate fo r men than their curiosity.

  The livery stable at Hattan’s Point was a huge and rambling structure that sprawled lazily over a corner at th e beginning of the town. From a bin I got a scoop of corn, an d while the buckskin absorbed this warning against hard days t o come, I curried him carefully. A jingle of spurs warned me , and when I looked around, a tall, very thin man was leanin g against the stall post watching me.

  When I straightened up, I was looking into a pair o f piercing dark eyes from under shaggy brows that seemed t o overhang the long hatchet face. He was shabby and unkempt , but he wore two guns, the only man in town whom I’d see n wearing two except for the knifelike man in the saloon. “Hea r you had a run-in with Bud Maclaren.”

  “Run-in? I’d not call it that. He suggested the countr y was crowded and that I move on. So I told him I liked i t here, and if the fight looked good I might choose a side.”

  “Good! Then I come right on time! Folks are talkie’ abou t you. They say Canaval offered you a job on Maclaren’s Ba r M. Well, I’m beatin’ him to it. I’m Jim Pinder, ramroddin’ t he CP outfit. I’ll pay warrior wages, seventy a month an’ f ound. All the ammunition you can use.”

  My eyes had strayed behind him to the two men lurkin g in a dark stall. They had, I was sure, come in with Pinder.

  The idea did not appeal to me. Shoving Pinder aside, I s prang into the middle of the open space between the rows o f stalls.

  -You two!” My voice rang in the echoing emptiness o f the building. “Get out in the open! Start now or start shootin’!”

  My hands were wide, fingers spread, and right then i t did not matter to me which way they came. There was that ol d jumping devil in me, and the fury was driving me as i t always did when action began to build up. Men who lurke d in dark stalls did not appeal to me, nor the men who hire d them.

  They came out slowly, hands wide. One of them was a big man with black hair and unshaven jowls. He looked surly.

  The other had a cruel, flat face and looked like an Apache.

  “Suppose I’d come shootin’?” the black-haired man sneered.

  “Then they’d be plantin’ you at sundown.” My eyes hel d him. If you don’t believe that, cut loose your wolf righ t now.”

  That stopped him. He didn’t like it, for they didn’t kno w me and I was too ready. Wise enough to see that I was n o half-baked gunfighter, they didn’t know how much of it I c ould back up and weren’t anxious to find out.

  “You move fast.” Pinder was staring at me with smal l eyes. “Suppose I had cut myself in with Blacky and th e Apache?”

  My chuckle angered him. “You? I had that pegged, Ji m Pinder. When my guns came out you would have died first.

  You’re faster than either of those two, so you’d take your s first. Then Blacky, and after him”— I nodded toward th e Apache—“him. He would be the hardest to kill.”

  Pinder didn’t like it, and he didn’t like me. “I made a n offer,” he said.

  “And you brought these coyotes to give m
e a rough tim e if I didn’t take it? Be damned to you, Pinder! You can tak e your CP outfit and go to blazes!”

  His lips thinned down and he stared at me. I’ve seldo m seen such hatred in a man’s eyes. “Then get out!” he said.

  “Get out fast! Join Maclaren, an’ you die!”

  “Then why wait? I’m not joining . Maclaren so far as I k now now, but I’m staying, Pinder. Anytime you want wha t I’ve got, come shooting. I’ll be ready.”

  “You swing a wide loop for a stranger. You started in th e wrong country. You won’t live long.”

  “No?” I gave it to him flat and face up on the table. “No?

  Well, I’ve a hunch I’ll handle the shovel that throws dirt o n your grave, and maybe trigger the gun that puts you there.

  I’m not asking for trouble, but I like it, so whenever you’r e ready, let me know.”

  With that I left them. Up the street, there was a sign: MOTHER O’HARA’S COOKING

  MEALS FOUR BITS

  With my gnawing appetite, that looked as likely a direction as any. It was early for supper, and there were few a t table: the young man with white hair and the girl I love d … and a few scattered others who ate sourly and in silence.

  When I shoved the door open and stood there with m y hat shoved back on my head and a smile on my face, the gir l looked up, surprised, but ready for battle. I grinned at he r and bowed. “How do you do, the future Mrs. Sabre? Th e pleasure of seeing you again so soon is unexpected, but real!”

  The man with her looked surprised, and the buxo m woman of forty-five or so who came in from the kitche n looked quickly from one to the other of us.

  The girl ignored me, but the man with the white hai r nodded. “You’ve met Miss Maclaren, then?”

  So, Maclaren it was? I might have suspected as much.

  “No, not formally. But we met briefly on the street, and I’v e been dreaming of her for years. It gives me great wonder t o find her here, although when I see the food on the table, I d on’t doubt why she is so lovely if it is here she eats!”

  Mother O’Hara liked that. “Sure, an’ I smell the blarne y in that!” she said sharply. “But sit down, if you’d eat!”

  My hat came off, and I sat on the bench opposite m y girl, who looked at her plate in cold silence.

  “My name is Key Chapin.” The white-haired man extended his hand. “Yours, I take it, is Sabre?”

  “Matt Sabre,” I said.

  A grizzled man from the foot of the table looked up.

  “Matt Sabre from Dodge. Once marshal of Mobeetie, th e Mogollon gunfighter.-

  They all looked from him to me, and I accepted the cu p of coffee Mother O’Hara poured. “The gentleman know s me,” I said quietly. “I’ve been known in those places.”

  “You refused Maclaren’s offer?” Chapin asked.

  “Yes, and Pinder’s, too.”

  “Pinder?” Chapin’s eyes were wary. -Is he in town?”

  “Big as life.” I could feel the girl’s eyes on me. “Tell m e what this fight is about?”

  “What are most range wars about? Water, sheep, o r grass. This one is water. There’s a long valley east of her e called Cottonwood Wash, and running east out of it is a smaller valley or canyon called the Two Bar. On the Two Ba r is a stream of year-round water with volume enough to irrigate land or water thousands of cattle. Maclaren wants tha t water. The CP wants it.”

  “Who’s got it?”

  “A man named Ball. He’s no fighter and has no money t o hire fighters, but he hates Maclaren and refuses to do business with Pinder. So there they sit with the pot boiling an d the lid about to blow off.”

  “And our friend Ball is right smack in the middle.”

  “Right. Gamblers around town are offering odds he won’t last thirty days, even money that he’ll be dead within ten.”

  That was enough for now. My eyes turned to the daughter of Rud Maclaren. “You can be buying your trousseau , then,” I said, “for the time will not be long.”

  She looked at me coolly, but behind it there was a touc h of impudence. “I’ll not worry about it,” she said calmly.

  “There’s no weddings in Boot Hill.”

  They laughed at that, yet behind it I knew there was th e feeling that she was right, and yet the something in me tha t was me, told me no … it was not my time to go. Not by gu n or horse or rolling river … not yet.

  “You’ve put your tongue to prophecy, darlin’,” I said , “and I’ll not say that I’ll not end in Boot Hill, where man y another good man has gone, but I will say this, and you slee p on it, daughter of Maclaren, for it’s a bit of the truth. Before I s leep in Boot Hill, there’ll be sons and daughters of yours an d mine on this ground.

  “Yes, and believe me”—I got up to go—“when my tim e comes I’ll be carried there by six tall sons of ours, and there’l l be daughters of ours who’ll weep at my grave, and you wit h them, remembering the years we’ve had.”

  When the door slapped shut behind me, there was silence inside, and then through the thin walls I heard Mothe r O’Hara speak. “You’d better be buyin’ that trousseau, Olg a Maclaren, for there’s a lad as knows his mind!”

  This was the way of it then, and now I had planning t o do and my way to make in the world, for though I’d travelle d wide and far, in many lands not my own, I’d no money and n o home to take her to.

  Behind me were wars and struggles, hunger, thirst, an d cold, and the deep, splendid bitterness of fighting for a cause I s carcely understood, because there was in me the undyin g love of a lost cause and a world to win. And now I’d my ow n to win, and a threshold to find to carry her over.

  And then, as a slow night wind moved upon my chee k and stirred the hair above my brow, I found an answer. I k new what I would do, and the very challenge of it sent m y blood leaping, and the laughter came from my lips as I s tepped into the street and started across.

  Then I stopped, for there was a man before me.

  He was a big man, towering above my six feet and tw o inches, broader and thicker than my two hundred pounds.

  He was a big-boned man and full of raw power, unbroken and b rutal. He stood there, wide-legged before me, his face wid e as my two hands, his big head topped by a mat of tight curls , his hat missing somewhere.

  “You’re Sabre?” he said.

  “Why, yes,” I said, and he hit me.

  Never did I see the blow start. Never even did I see th e balled fist of him, but it bludgeoned my jaw like an ax butt , and something seemed to slain me behind the knees, and I f elt myself going. He caught one again before I could fall an d then dropped astride of me and began to swing short, bruta l blows to my head with both big fists. All of two hundred an d sixty pounds he must have weighed, and none of it wasted b y fat. He was naked, raw, unbridled power.

  Groggy, bloody, beaten, I fought to get up, but he wa s astride me, and my arms were pinned to my sides by hi s great knees. His fists were slugging me with casual brutality.

  Then suddenly, he got up and stepped back and kicked me i n the ribs. “If you’re conscious,” he said, “hear me. I’m Morgan Park, and I’m the man who marries Olga Maclaren!”

  My lips were swollen and bloody. “You lie!” I said, an d he kicked me again. Then he stepped over me and walke d away, whistling.

  Somehow I got my arms under me. Somehow I dragge d myself against the stage station wall, and then I lay there, m y head throbbing like a great drum, the blood slowly drying o n my split lips and broken face. It had been a beating I’d taken , and the marvel of it was with me. I’d not been licked since I w as a lad, and never in all my days have I felt such blows a s these. His fists were like knots of oak, and the arms behin d them like the limbs of a tree.

  I had a broken rib, I thought, but one thing I knew. I t was time for me to travel. Never would I have the daughte r of Maclaren see me like this!

  My hands found the building corner, and I pulled mysel f to my feet. Staggering behind the buildings
, I got to th e corner of the livery stable. Entering, I got to my horse, an d somehow I got the saddle on him and led him out of th e door. And then I stepped for an instant, in the light.

  Across the way, on the stoop of Mother O’Hara’s, wa s Olga Maclaren!

  The light was on my face, swollen, bloody and broken.

  She stepped down off the porch and came over to me, looking up, her eyes wide with wonder. “So it’s you. He foun d you, then. He always hears, and this always happens. You see , it is not so simple a thing to marry Olga Maclaren!” Ther e seemed almost regret in her voice. “And now you’re leaving!”

  “Leaving? That I am, but I’ll be back!” The words fumbled through my swollen lips. “Have your trousseau ready , daughter of Maclaren! I mean what I say! Wait for me. I’ll b e coining again, darlin’, and when I do it will be first to tea r down Morgan Park’s great hulk, to rip him with my fists!”

  There was coolness in her voice, shaded with contempt.

  “You boast! All you have done is talk—and take a beating!”

  That made me grin, and the effort made me wince, but I l ooked down at her. “It’s a bad beginning, at that, isn’t it?

  But wait for me, darlin’, I’ll be coming back!”

  I could feel her watching me ride down the street.

  Chapter 2

  Throughout the night I rode into wilder and wilder country , always with the thought of what faced me. At daybreak I b edded down in a canyon tall with pines, resting there whil e my side began to mend. My thoughts returned again and agai n to the shocking power of those punches I had taken. It wa s true the man had slugged me unexpectedly, and once pinne d down I’d had no chance against his great weight. Nonetheles s I’d been whipped soundly. Within me there was a gnawin g eagerness to go back—and not with guns. This man I mus t whip with my hands.

  The Two Bar was the key to the situation. Could it b e had with a gun and some blarney? The beating I’d take n rankled, and the contempt of Olga Maclaren, and with it th e memory of the hatred of Jim Pinder and the coldness of Ru d Maclaren. On the morning of the third day I mounted th e buckskin and turned him toward the Two Bar.