Reilly's Luck (1970)

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Book: Read Reilly's Luck (1970) for Free Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
vest.
    "If they're riding, Val, you have to lead them a little. And if they're up in the rocks, aim a little high and watch your bullet strike. There's a tendency to shoot low."
    "Yes, sir. Do you think there will be a fight?"
    Will Reilly shrugged. He glanced at Sponseller, who had taken off his hat to run his fingers through his curly blond hair. "Do you still favor red shirts?" Reilly asked, and he walked to the stage.
    Sponseller swore softly, then grinned. "I'll be blowed," he said.
    "What did that mean?" Bridger asked.
    "He was the one," Sponseller said. "I was wearing a red shirt all the time in those days. I was one of the Larrikins. It was our chief that he whipped ... whipped him fairly, too."
    They mounted up. The driver glanced once at the station, touched the brim of his hat with his whipstock, and they left the station at a brisk trot.
    With the horses occasionally walking, then trotting, the stage moved toward Apache Pass. Val now sat by a window, with the words ringing in his ears: "If you see an Indian, or anybody else does, you get out of the way, and fast!"
    He liked looking at the desert and the mountains. A roadrunner kept pace with them for some distance, seemingly amused by racing along; sometimes it ran ahead of the stage, sometimes beside it.
    The air was cool; the dust stayed behind them. There was a faint smell of horse and leather, and the hot, baking smell one sometimes gets from old painted wood in the sunlight.
    Quail flew up ... a buzzard swung wide circles in the sky. The rocks of the pass began to take on detail. The trail dipped into a hollow, emerged suddenly, and wound among boulders and brush.
    "All right," Will said, "we'll change places." He had moved to sit by the window when the stage suddenly gave a lurch and they heard the driver's wild yell, "Hi-yah! Hi-yah!" And almost simultaneously the boom of a rifle sounded right over their heads.
    Crouched near the floor, Val could see nothing, but he could feel the grind of the wheels over gravel and stones, and hear the rattle and creak of the stage as the horses fled eastwards.
    Suddenly Bridger Downs fired, then fired again and again. Will was holding his fire, as was the miner. The drummer had drawn a pistol.
    All at once there came a ripping sound, and there was a bullet hole in the side of the stage right above Will's head. At almost the same moment the stage gave a leap as though it were taking off to fly, and then it came down with a grinding crash, a wheel splintered, the stage plunged forward, and slowly fell on its side.
    How he did it, Val never knew, but Will was suddenly outside. He had lost his grip on his rifle, but as the Apaches came charging down upon them he stood erect, and when Val scrambled through the door, now on the top side of the stage, he saw Will fire. An Indian, dashing toward them on horseback, was struck from his horse.
    The Indian fell, hit the dust and slid, and then, surprisingly, started to get up. Coolly, Will shot him again.
    The others in the stage were scrambling out. Will Reilly stepped over quickly and pushed Val to the ground among the rocks. "Stay there!" he said sternly.
    Pete was sprawled in the dirt half a dozen yards from the stage, and he lay still.
    Dobie and his mother were crouched close against the bottom of the overturned stage, and the boy's eyes were bright and hard. There was no fear in them, but rather curiosity and a sort of eagerness. Val wondered how he himself looked.
    Turning his head, he picked out the men. Bridger Downs had quickly found himself a spot, and kneeling on one knee, he was waiting for a good shot. Sponseller, who had jumped clear when the stage started to go, was about fifty feet away among the rocks, in a somewhat higher position.
    The miner, crouched near Val, was favoring an arm, and there was a slow staining of red on his coatsleeve, but he had his rifle in position, partly braced by the fork in a shrub.
    The drummer had crawled to the back of the stage and was

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