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and fell, and lay on the leaves in a patch of golden sunshine. It reminded him
of the spring where they used to go for water back on the claim inArkansas .
He used to lie in the sun like this, smelling the grass, listening to the
water.
He could do with a drink, but he no longer wanted to get up ... or hadn't the
strength. They'd be along soon, and they'd find him ... ma would find him. She
always had. She'd know what to do....
Ruble Noon was in the aspens. The slim trunks of the trees stood so close
together and there were so many of them that there was not one chance in a
hundred of a bullet hitting him even if they saw him. There was no clear line
of fire from any direction.
He got to his feet and ran, ducking and dodging, worming his way through the
trees, intent only on getting away. Behind him somebody fired, and he heard
the smack as a bullet bit a tree.
He got through the trees, saw a narrow game trail, and hit it running. He was
bleeding, and he had no idea how far he could go. But if he stopped only death
awaited him.
He ran down the trail, ducked through another patch of aspen, and suddenly
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saw a steep, rocky cleft leading up toward the crest of the ridge.
Could he make it? Could he make it in time, before they reached him?
He went into the cleft and began scrambling up. The movement hurt like the
very devil, and the top of the cleft was still about forty feet up. He climbed
on up, and the rocks rolled back under his feet.
From below him there came a shout, then a shot. Rock fragments stung his
cheek. He reached the top, rolled safely over the edge, and saw a boulder
poised on the brink. Lying on his back, he put the soles of his moccasins
against the boulder and shoved hard. The rock moved, teetered, and then went
crashing down.
A yell of alarm sounded from below, then a scream. Other rocks cascaded after
the first one. He pushed himself to his feet.
He was in a high valley, not unlike the neighboring valley in which the cabin
stood. The valley floor was covered with grass, with a little snow along the
sides in areas sheltered from the sun, and some snow lay beneath the trees.
The cabin valley was over the low ridge to the north.
He started to run, wanting to get among the trees before his pursuers came
into this valley. He was bleeding from the shoulder wound, and after a few
running steps he slowed down and began to walk. Crossing the meadow on a
diagonal line, he entered the trees at a spot where there was no snow.
Glancing back, he could see no trail behind him, but he knew he must have
left one. He worked his way up toward the crest of the ridge, which was
several hundred feet higher than the meadow.
When he had climbed almost halfway he stopped to get his breath. He was high
up, and the altitude as well as his wound was getting him. Crouching close to
a deadfall where he could watch the way he hadclimbed, he got out his
handkerchief and plugged the wound as best he could. It was not serious in
itself, but the loss of blood frightened him.
As he waited he saw the first man appear ... with great caution. Laying his
rifle down, he hitchedhimself into a sitting position, then lifted the rifle
again and, bracing his elbow, took careful aim. He took a deep breath, let a
little of it go, and eased back on the trigger. The man below had climbed a
little higher for a better view. Catching him in the V of his sight, Ruble
Noon tightened ever so gently on the trigger. The rifle leaped in his hands
and the man spun around and dropped, scrambled up, and fell again.
Using the rifle to help himself up, Ruble Noon got to his feet and, without
even looking back, continued on. He must be at an altitude of at least eleven
thousand feet now, and he had taken only a few steps when he had to pause
again to get his wind. He looked back, but saw nothing.
He went on, and was nearly at the top of the ridge before he looked back. He
could see a number of figures moving over the meadow toward him.
Again he sat down, steadying the rifle and wishing for a sling to hold it
still. He took aim at one of the figures. They were now six or seven hundred
yards behind him; and at such a range, even with perfect conditions, he might
be several inches off in his shots, enough to make every one a miss, and the
men below were fairly close together-he could put every one of his shots into
a twenty-foot square. Seated and well braced, he squeezed off five quick
shots. The men in the meadow scattered like quail. One of them stumbled and
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fell, then stood up again.
Ruble Noon got up slowly, reloading his rifle as he did so. He had done
better shooting, and he thought of Billy Dixon at Adobe Walls, who had knocked
an Indian from his horse at just underamDe ... but that was with a Sharps
buffalo gun, a big .50.
He climbed on to the crest of the ridge, which was half bare at this point.
Looking across the cabin, valley, he could see the location of the cabin, but
could not actually see the cabin itself, which was hidden in the shoulder of
the rock.
He was very tired from the climb and the altitude. He sat down, breathing
deeply of the cold, clear air. They would come after him, he knew, but they
would come cautiously, not knowing when he might shoot again.
The best thing for him now would be to get to the cabin, get Fan, and with
her work their way to the ranch. Miguel should be there now, and with Arch and
Hen to help, they should be able to handle whatever came ... if they could get
back.
In spite of his tiredness, he had to go down the ridge and across that other
meadow. Would there be somebody watching the ranch house? Or had they already
captured the place? Did they already have Fan?
He started to rise, but his knees gave way and he satdT$wn abruptly. For a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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