Reilly's Luck (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  Suddenly Val was afraid. He was afraid for Will, and he was afraid for those others who did not know Will Reilly as well as he did.

  CHAPTER 5

  VAL HAD WALKED out very early in the morning to see if the gray horses were in the barn, and when he returned he strolled along to the café where he was to meet Will.

  He loved the quaint old town which had been a trading post, which had been founded in the twelfth century, or before. He loved standing on the bank of the swift-flowing Inn River, and watching the water. He loved the mountains that loomed so close to the city, and the picturesque buildings of a bygone time. Sometimes he thought he never wanted to leave Innsbruck, but he knew the wishing was useless, for they never remained long in one place.

  In Innsbruck Will had done no gambling. Here he thought only of Louise, and Val liked her himself. He had met Louise twice, and they had talked for a long time on both occasions. The first time was at the Munding, and she had bought him a pastry. That was when she had merely met Will Reilly when riding, and had not really known him at all. She had been very curious, but Val was used to that; women were always curious about Will Reilly.

  Val never said that Will was a gambler. He was a mining man, a story in which there was some truth, for Will did have a mining claim in Nevada, and he owned shares in several mining ventures.

  Val walked along the Maria-Theresien-Strasse to where it became the narrow Herzog-Friedrich-Strasse, and went on until he came to a little café where Will told him Goethe used to come to sip wine. He went inside and found a table near a window where he could watch the street.

  A man came walking briskly along the street, but when he was opposite the café he stopped and loitered idly.

  Val was curious. For more than five years Will Reilly had been training him always to observe anything that seemed unusual or out of place, and this man had been hurrying as if he was afraid of being late, and then had stopped and merely loafed. The hour was early, the café had just opened, and there was no one else about.

  Then another man strolled up the street and, without paying any attention to the one who waited outside, he entered the café and seated himself at a table facing that of Val, with the doorway between them.

  A couple of minutes later two men came up the street and stopped outside to talk.

  Val had eaten breakfast at that café for several consecutive mornings, and had never seen any of these men there before. Suddenly, he was frightened, and he remembered what Luigi, the Italian hostler, had told him.

  He started to get up, but the man facing him lifted a hand. “Stay where you are, boy. You will not be hurt.”

  “I am going because I do not wish you to be hurt,” Val said.

  The man seemed amused. “Us? Hurt?” he said, and added, “I am sorry you have to see this, boy, but your uncle must be taught a lesson, and it will do you no harm. You may learn from it.”

  “My uncle has learned a great many lessons.”

  “But evidently not the essential one. Ah, here he comes.”

  Will Reilly strolled up the street with that casual elegance that was so much a part of him. As he opened the door Val started to cry out, but a rough hand was placed across his mouth, stifling his shout.

  Will stepped through the door and the two men on the street pivoted sharply about and stepped in after him, seizing both his arms from behind.

  Will did not struggle, but merely glanced at the man at the table, who was obviously directing the operation. “Where is the Prince? I am sure he would want to witness this.”

  They were somewhat taken aback by his calmness, but Val was not. He had seen Will Reilly face such situations before, although not for the same reason.

  No one else had appeared in the café, nor was there anyone on the street. They were taken outside to a carriage that appeared from nowhere driven by the man who had arrived first. Inside the carriage were four men, one of whom held a pistol. Will and Val were put in the carriage and the two men who had held Will got up behind the carriage and the leader mounted the box beside the driver.

  Val sat very stiff beside Will, trying not to show his fear. Yet in spite of his fear he found himself a little contemptuous of these men. Obviously hired for the job, they were so inept that they had not even searched Will Reilly, and they were utterly unaware of the kind of man they dealt with.

  How could they know? He seemed merely a handsome, well-set-up young man, well-dressed and poised. How could they know what lay behind him?

  Their destination was only a short distance beyond the limits of the town. Val glanced out of the coach window and across the fields. Just over there, not half a mile away, was the deserted barn with their two horses. The coach came to a sudden halt beside a small grove, where two saddle horses were tied.

  Val saw Will give them a quick glance, and knew what he was seeing. One of the horses was the one Louise rode. Was she to be here?

  They walked through the trees to a small clearing, perhaps half an acre in extent. Across the clearing, in riding clothes, stood Louise and a tall young man. She wore a gray riding habit, and looked lovely, but her eyes were wide and frightened.

  The young man wore a beautiful fur-trimmed coat, which he now removed and dropped over a rock.

  Louise spoke, “Pavel…please!”

  “No, my cousin, we are going to teach this American some manners. I hope you will also profit by the lesson.”

  “Pavel—”

  “Remove his coat, if you please,” he said to the men holding Will. They stripped off his coat, and he made no resistance. The soft material of his white shirt was ruffled by the breeze. He was smiling.

  Val, unnoticed by the others, had edged nearer.

  “Now, peasant, you are going to get a whipping. The kind of whipping we reserve for such as you.”

  “This is rather absurd, don’t you think?” Will asked. “If you wish to call the whole thing off, Prince Pavel, I will accept your apology.”

  “My apology!” Pavel’s features went taut with anger.

  “I must have heard about you, Prince Pavel. I have heard you do not pay your gambling debts, and that you will marry your cousin to this wealthy man so he will pay them for you.”

  “Stand back,” Pavel said to the others, “and give me the whip.”

  It was a long whip, not unlike the western black-snake or bull whip.

  Val was amazed, not so much that they should plan to whip his uncle, but that they were so sure they could.

  “Let me do it, sir.” The man who stepped forward was a husky brute, and Val saw Will glance at him, marking him for future attention. “I have some skill at such things.”

  “Of course not,” Pavel replied shortly. “I reserve the pleasure for myself.” He coiled the whip, drawing the lash almost lovingly through his fingers.

  During his early years Will Reilly had made a trip over the Santa Fe Trail, working as a teamster. He had used just such a whip, and he had seen and participated in the brutal whip battles fought by teamsters, who could flick a fly from the shoulder of a bull without touching the skin.

  He knew the tactics well, and when Pavel swung the whip and shot the lash at him, Will stepped an easy pace forward, blocked the whip with his forearm, and the lash coiled about it. Instantly his hand dropped, grasped the whip, and gave a tremendous jerk.

  Prince Pavel was jerked off balance, the whip flying from his hand as he went to his knees on the turf.

  One of the men lunged toward Reilly, but Val promptly tripped him. Will reversed the whip and snapped it viciously at Pavel. The tip of the whip snapped at the young Russian, ripping his shirt and starting blood from his shoulder.

  Pavel screamed and, moving lightly as a dancer moves, Will Reilly stepped about quickly. The husky man who had begged for the chance at the whip was next, and the lash whipped his shoulders, snapped
at his belly, laid open his cheek.

  The action had been so swift that the others had been caught off guard. They were not fighting men, as such, just strong bullies hired for a job. Will moved, now a deadly dancer, his whip a darting snake that drew blood wherever it landed. It struck Pavel’s cheek, ripping the flesh, and the Prince screamed again, clapping his hands to his face. The lash popped again, and this time the end dug into his forehead.

  Suddenly the man who had been the leader of the group, the one who had sat opposite Val in the restaurant, dug a hand into his coat pocket and came up with a pistol.

  Will stepped back closer to Val. “Now!” he said, and from under his coat Val took the pistol he had carried for Will, and tossed it to him. Deftly, he caught it with his left hand even as he moved.

  The man had leveled his gun to fire, and Will Reilly fired, almost casually. The man rose on his tiptoes, his gun went off into the turf, and he fell forward on his face in the grass.

  At the sound of the shot, its report echoing against the mountainsides, there came a silence. It was no longer a few men giving a whipping to a man for a price. It was death.

  Prince Pavel was on his knees, blood streaking his face and neck, his shirt soaked with it. He was staring at Will, stunned horror in his eyes. “Don’t…don’t kill me!”

  The other men were backing away, looking for a chance to run. “You’ll pay for this!” one of them shouted. “You will never leave the country alive!”

  Will Reilly dropped the whip, and walked over to where his coat lay. He put it on, shifting the gun from hand to hand as he did so.

  Only then did he look at Louise, who stood shocked and white, unable to believe her eyes.

  “I am sorry, Louise, that this happened in your presence,” Will Reilly said. “I am not a man to accept a whipping for any reason—least of all, for loving you.”

  “You have killed him.”

  “He would have killed me. He was armed, and he was intending to shoot. I had no choice.”

  He glanced at Pavel. “Had he challenged me, I would have fought him. Or we might have met together and talked of this. Instead, he chose this method.”

  “I fight only with gentlemen!” Pavel was on his feet, shaken, but with a show of confidence returning.

  “Judging by the company you keep,” Reilly said coolly, “you need have no fears.”

  He turned to Louise. “Will you come with me now? I shall return to my own country.”

  She seemed to hesitate, and stared at him.

  “No!” Pavel shouted. “You can not!” He grasped her arm. “He is a murderer! He will be hunted down and thrown into prison, then executed! You would ruin us all!”

  Will Reilly stood quietly, while Val shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to be away. Some of the men were already away through the trees, and it was no more than thirty minutes of fast walking to the edge of the city. And these men would be running.

  “Louise?”

  “No…I can not.”

  One long moment he looked at her. “Good-bye, Louise.” He had thrown in his hand, and Val knew it.

  “Come, Val.” He turned, thrusting the gun into his waistband. He stumbled once, and glancing up, Val saw Will’s face was drawn and pale.

  Val caught his hand. “We must hurry, Uncle Will. Those men will have almost reached Innsbruck, and people there may have heard the shot.”

  With Val leading the way, they turned abruptly from the road and went down a path that led across the fields, partly concealed by a line of trees.

  “Wait a minute.” Will stopped. “We’ve got to get horses—”

  “They’re waiting in the barn over there.” Val pointed. “I had Luigi put them there. I paid for them,” he added, “out of your anchor money.”

  That anchor money had been a joke between them. It was a little money Will Reilly always kept for a road stake in the event he had to move swiftly. He had once jokingly referred to it as his up-anchor money, but the phrase had somehow been trimmed over the years.

  They walked swiftly. Will Reilly was no fool. He was a traveler with no local standing, and no influence, while Prince Pavel came from a powerful family with connections in many European countries. If Will Reilly was arrested now there would be small prospect of escape.

  “We’re going to be in trouble,” he said to Val. “I haven’t been gambling lately, and I’ve spent a good bit. I wish we dared go back and get that anchor money.”

  “We don’t need to,” Val replied, “I’ve got it here.”

  They dipped down through a stream bed, crossed a stone wall, and went up the grassy slope to the barn. Luigi got up from where he had been sitting. “The horses are saddled,” he said, “but you must hurry.”

  There were three horses, and Luigi said, “You would never get over the mountains without me, and if I take you over the mountains you might take me to America.”

  “That we will,” Reilly said, and swung into the saddle.

  They followed footpaths and cart roads to the village of Axams, then across country toward the Sellrainer.

  It was clear and cool. The wind from off the Alps was fresh, the horses lively, eager to go. The meadows were matted with wild flowers. The mountain slopes were dark forests of pine. Once a small blue butterfly lit for an instant on the mane of Val’s horse and then was gone.

  There was no sound but the beat of hoofs. How long before their route would be discovered? How long before pursuit could be organized? A man was dead, and another man of power and influence had been beaten with a whip. They would come, Val was sure of that.

  Will led the way Luigi had pointed, and Luigi fell back beside Val. “Tell me. What happened?”

  When Val had told him, his only comment was, “It is what I said, he is a man, that one!”

  “Where are you taking us?”

  He pointed at the vast wall of the Stubaier Alps. “Over that. On the other side is Italy; or if you wish we can go west, and there is Switzerland.”

  “But they will follow us.”

  He shrugged. “They will try all the roads first. It will give us time. Not many know the way we are going, although the mountaineers would guess. They will not know at first that we are mounted, and they will try to close the best-known roads. By the time they know what we have done, we shall, with luck, be lost back in the Alps.”

  When they reached the Sellrainer there was a good cart road that followed the stream as far as the village of Gries, where a footpath continued on up the gorge of the Melach. It was wild and picturesque. Somewhere near was the hunting lodge of the Emperor Maximilian I, but they had no time to think of such things. Soon they would leave the horses at the farm of a man known to Luigi, and from there on it was walk all the way.

  “We can get what we need from my friend,” Luigi said. “He has warm clothes, boots, packsacks…everything.”

  “I will want a good rifle,” Will said.

  Luigi shrugged. “That, I think, is impossible. We will have enough to carry without it.”

  They were climbing steadily. Around them the high fields were green, and there were many butterflies, mostly of the small blue variety, and many birds. Twice he saw what Luigi told him were golden eagles, and once the feared lammergeier, or bearded vulture.

  The farm of Luigi’s friend was a pleasant place when they came to it, a barn for the cows, sheepfold, and a rather larger than usual house with white walls and an overhanging roof. They rode into the yard and a short, stocky man appeared in the doorway, studied them carefully for a moment, and then came down the grassy slope to meet them.

  “Friends of mine,” Luigi said, “they are going over the mountain.”

  The man scarcely glanced at them. “Come in, then.” He turned his back to them, went back inside, and they followed him.

  Seated at a table cleanin
g a rifle was a young man with a buxom woman, and two equally buxom flaxen-haired girls. A fire was going, for the evening was chill at the altitude. “You will spend the night,” the man said. He glanced at Val. “The boy is too young. It is a hard climb.”

  “He is a strong boy,” Will said. “He is accustomed to mountains.”

  The man took his pipe from his mouth. “I have told you,” he said simply. He turned to his wife and spoke to her in Italian.

  “He is Tirolean,” Luigi explained, “but his wife is Italian…from Merano. They have many friends,” he added, “in Italy as well as in Switzerland. He knows everybody.”

  Luigi left the room with the Tirolean, returning after a short time. “He wants too much,” he said, “but he will accept the horses.”

  “I’ll bet he will,” Will said. “And everything else he can get.”

  “We can make a deal on the horses because I have threatened to take them back to Gries, where I know a man who will buy them.” He accepted a cup of coffee, and added, “There is no fooling him. Men do not come this far into the mountains at such an hour without a special reason.”

  “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “He does not wish to know. You come, he sells, he knows nothing…he does not suspect anything, you see? If the police ask he will tell them nothing important. He is a master at it.”

  They were silent then. Will Reilly sipped his coffee and stared into the fire, remembering. Val dozed, woke once, and dozed again.

  After a long time Luigi spoke again. “You know what lies ahead, do you not? The trail is narrow, part of it is all right, part is very steep, very rough. And there can be storms—and if you have not seen a sudden storm in the Alps, you have seen nothing.”

  Will shrugged. “Is there an alternative?”

  “No.”

  “Then…”

  CHAPTER 6

  IT WAS DARK and cold when Val woke up. Will Reilly was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressing. “Better get dressed, Val. We’ve got to be moving.”