Radigan (1958) by Louis L'amour Page A

mill and, as for Child, that breed was as tough as they came. He'd been around and over the country, and he'd be in there fighting when that bunch of flat-land punchers were hunting them selves a hole.
    Firelight danced with the shadows among the slender trunks of aspen. The leaves pattered daintily in the brief' wind, and Radigan huddled his second cup of' coffee in his hands and thought about what was coming, but when he thought of that he thought of Angelina Foley. What was the relationship there? Foster brother? Or something more?
    And why had they come here?
    True, she had a claim on this land, even if one that would hold water in no court, anywhere. But people who are doing well do not often leave the place where they are. She had an outfit of fighting men, and a foreman who was by all the signs a competent man, if 'a hard one. So then, why would they leave? An outfit with as mans' cattle as they had was in no trouble . . . unless they themselves had been driven off their range, or had other trouble.
    That might stand some looking into. But none of this need have happened if Deputy Sheriff Flynn had taken a strong stand at the beginning, but now that it had begun there was no telling when it would end. Many such a fight went on for years: like that Sutton-Taylor fight, in Texas; it was not over even now.
    When he had carefully put out their fire and smothered any coals remaining he did what could be done to wipe out any evidence of it, placing an old branch over the spot and holding up a handful of leaves to let them fall as they would over the ground below. It would stand no careful check by a tracker, but to the casual eye, if they came this way, it would offer nothing. Mounting up they rode on, pointing toward the dark bulk of Nacimiento Peak. They made camp just after daylight at the fork of Clear Creek back of Eureka Mesa.
    They had ridden nearly twenty miles describing a rough half-circle around the ranch area. At their camp they were a mere eight miles from the R-Bar ranch, but the trail they had left would be difficult to follow. For several miles they had ridden across bare rock, and Radigan had used several tricks, such as doubling back on their own trail, following creek beds and the like, and twice he had them separate and make separate trails, later meeting at a chosen rendezvous up ahead.
    Their camp was in a rocky gorge where water had hollowed caves from the canyon walls and then had cut lower into the rock leaving the cave levels well above any possible water. In one of these caves, screened by bushes and trees, they made their camp.
    "You think they'll trail us? Or just settle down and enjoy themselves?"
    "They won't enjoy themselves because we're going back. We're going to see what we can do to make them want to be some place else."
    Radigan got up and took his rifle. "I'll take first watch, John. And I'm going to scout around a mite."
    It was growing light. Radigan took his Winchester and walked down through the rocks to the mouth of the gorge. Ordinarily he would not have stopped in such a place, but the canyon looked like a good hideout, and there was a chance that before the night was over they would need the shelter the cave afforded. There was also an abundance of driftwood for fuel. And small chance of the place being found. The brush growing before the water-hollowed cave screened it so there could be no reflection on the opposite wall of the canyon. Once away from the cave, it could scarcely be seen.
    What about up the canyon? He glanced up thoughtfully, but took a way down the canyon to see how much of the country could be seen.
    The ranch was about eight miles due south and some of his cattle were not far from here on the Penas Negras. In this area he knew every bit of the country south, and much of it to the east. He remembered again some of the stories he had heard of those canyons to the north. There were outlaws there, and renegade Indians, bronco Utes mostly.
    How long would they be