Captain Tempany! And with him four men!
Suddenly there was a break for the door, and desperate fighting there. Leaping across a body I raced up the steps to the door through which Genester had gone.
I shoved the door slowly inward and a pistol coughed hoarsely in the small confines of the room. Leaping through the door, sword in hand, I saw Rupert Genester just beyond.
The Earl—at least I supposed him to be—sat up in bed, a woman standing near him, her face pale and angry. Genester threw the now empty pistol at my head and then ran around the end of the bed to come at me.
He was facing me, a desperate man. His face was pale, his eyes very bright and hard. There was no coward in the man, for all I disliked him. His blade was up and he was ready.
Though I had out-maneuvered him often, Genester faced me squarely. “Even if you live to tell it,” he said, “they’ll not believe you. I will declare that you killed the Earl.”
“But he is not dead!” I said. “I—”
His sword was down by his side in his right hand. Suddenly his left held a dagger, and he lifted it to stab down at the old man who lay beside him. His left fist gripping the dagger swung up and back.
I lunged.
The point of my blade took him at mid-chest and thrust toward his left side.
His arm was caught in movement, and my blade sank deep. He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes wide, lips bloodless. “Damn you!” he gasped. “I should have—”
I lowered my point and he slid off it to the floor, blood all about him, his fingers loosening on the dagger. The dagger clattered to the floor.
“Your pardon, Excellency,” I said, “forgive this intrusion, but … my name is Barnabas Sackett.”
“I know who you are,” the old man’s voice rumbled like a far off thunder in the small room. “And you are your father’s son.
“By the Lord,” he said, sitting a little straighter, “as neat a bit of action as ever I saw!”
Suddenly, I realized that Nick Bardle was gone … I’d forgotten him.
Gone! I started after him but the old man lifted a hand. “Let him go,” he said, “and open the door before they burst it.”
The door opened again. Jublain was the first through, sword in hand, then Jeremy Ring and Sakim. Following was Captain Tempany.
Tempany went to him quickly. “How are you, Sir Robert? You’re unhurt?”
“I am not hurt,” Sir Robert said flatly, “but I’ve been damnably ill, and if it had not been for Gerta here, who would not be left behind, I’d be dead. Dead and gone. Now get me out of here.”
“We’ve only horses,” Tempany protested.
“I’ve a boat,” I said. “Sakim? Can we make Sir Robert comfortable?”
“Of course.”
Sir Robert glared at him. “Moor, aren’t you? Well, I’ve crossed swords with a few of your kind.”
Sakim smiled, showing his white, even teeth. “I am glad it was not with me, Sir Robert.”
The Earl glared, then chuckled. “So am I, so am I. Make a litter, Tempany, and get me out of here. I despise the place.”
Chapter 21
Sir Robert sat propped with pillows in the great bed in his town house. Scarce two weeks had passed since the affair in the manor, but the time for decision had come.
Captain Brian Tempany was there, with Abigail. She sat demurely, her hands in her lap.
“I have talked to him, talked like a Dutch uncle, but he will not listen.”
Sir Robert eyed me coldly. “His father was a pigheaded man, too.” He said, and then added, “Thank God for it. He never knew when he was whipped … So he never was.”
“It is not that I do not appreciate the offer,” I assured him, “but I was born to action. It is not my way to sit contemplating the deeds of others, nor to fatten on wealth not gained by my own hands. There’s a vast land yonder, and my destiny lies there. My own destiny, and that of my family.”
“This family you speak of,” Sir Robert asked gruffly, “is something of which I have not heard. You are a wedded man?”
“I am not.”
“Then you have no family?”
“I do not. I have only the knowledge that someday I will and that I want them in a land where they may have elbow room. I want my sons to grow tall in freedom, to grow where they may stretch and move and go as far and do as much as their talents and strength will permit. I do not want them hamstrung by privilege nor class.”
“You disapprove of England?”
“I do not. Opportunity here is great if a man has energy, but there are restrictions, and I chafe under restriction.”
“You must go to America?”
“I must. It is a vast land, every inch of it rich with opportunity. I would go there and build my own place, my own life.”
“I will speak to Sir Walter.”
“No, Sir Robert. I do not wish that restriction, either. I will go alone … Or with those few who would go with me.”
Sir Robert glared at me, then glanced at Abigail. “This family you speak of? Where will you find a woman who will leave England for such a wild place? No fine clothes? No dancing, no fine homes? No luxuries? Are there any such?”
“I have reason to believe there are,” I said hesitantly. “But first I wish to prepare a place … a home. I can do it there.”
Abigail looked up. “And in the meantime, Barnabas?”
I flushed. “Well, I—”
She looked at me coolly, directly—the look she had given me that first night when she invited me in. “If you know such a girl, I would suggest that you permit her to choose where her home will be. If you find such a girl at all, I imagine she would prefer to be at your side.”
“There are savages.”
“I presume.”
“There are no houses, only caves, and bark shelters.”
“I expect that is so.”
“I could not ask any—”
“You assume such a girl would have less courage than you? Less fortitude? You do not understand my sex, Barnabas.”
“She would be much alone.”
“Not for long, I believe. She would have a family if you are half the man you seem to be, I suggest, Barnabas, that when you make your plans for the New World you speak to the lady. You will be gone for a year, and that is a very long time.”
“Well, I—”
She turned toward Sir Robert and curtsied. “If you will forgive me, Sir Robert. I must go now and leave the planning to you men. You seem to feel you are perfectly competent to plan for others as well as yourselves.”
When the door closed, Sir Robert chuckled. “That young lady knows her mind.”
“Her mother was just that way,” Brian Tempany said.
“I always said,” I commented, “that I wanted a woman to walk beside me, not behind me.”
“Have you said that to Abigail?” Tempany asked slyly.
“I haven’t, but—”
Sir Robert abruptly changed the subject. “You are determined then? You will sail for America?”
“Aye, when I find a ship.” I paused. “Sir Robert, against the western sky there were mountains, blue and distant mountains. I must pass through them. I must see what lies beyond.”
“Damme, Sackett, if I was a lad I’d go with you! I’d like myself to see what lies beyond those mountains.” He paused. “All right, I’ll provide the ship.” He looked at me from under fierce brows. “She has a fine cabin aft, a Dutch craft, seaworthy and strong. But a fine cabin, fit for a king—or a queen.”
“I will see what I can do.”
“Then be about it, lad, and leave the rest to us.” He shifted his position a bit. “I’ve talked to your man Tallis. A good man, Barnabas. He’s disposed of your cargo, and has bought well, by your orders.”
“Thank you.” I was fidgeting, wishing to go. If he saw it he showed it not. “Then, Sir Robert, I shall leave this in your hands, and those of Captain Tempany. I have things—”
&
nbsp; “Be off with you!”
She waited in the garden where there were white roses, and red. She waited by a small fountain, and I went to her across the grass. She turned to face me, very serious.
“I was too bold,” she said.
“No,” I said, “just bold enough to give me courage for boldness. I was afraid I assumed too much.”
“You will be gone a year, and that is a very long time. I have seen other girls and women whose men have gone away to sea or to the wars, and they did not come back again. I would not have that happen to me.”
“You truly wish to come?”
“Where you are, I would be.”
“Sir Robert said the cabin on the boat is a fine one, fit for a queen.”
“Hmm! Men know little of what is fit or not fit! I must go aboard at once.”
“I will arrange it.” I took her hands in mine and kissed her very gently. “And now there is much to do. I must go.”
Outside I awaited my carriage. The day had clouded over. And as the carriage came forward, the wheels made grating sounds on the cobbles and a few drops of rain fell.
I was for America again. Soon my own ship would be sailing across the western ocean, back to the land of vast green forests and mountains blue with distance and promise.
I settled back in the cushions, content. The feeling was upon me that in those mountains lay my destiny, whatever it was, however it came.
And Abigail would be with me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Louis L’Amour, born Louis Dearborn L’Amour of French-Irish stock, is a descendant of Francois Rene, Vicomote de Chateaubriand, noted French writer, statesman, and epicure. Although Mr. L’Amour claims his writing began as a “spur-of-the-moment thing” prompted by friends who relished his verbal tales of the West, he comes by his talent honestly. A frontiersman by heritage (his grandfather was scalped by the Sioux), and a universal man by experience, Louis L’Amour lives the life of his fictional heroes. Since leaving his native Jamestown, North Dakota, at the age of fifteen, he’s been a longshoreman, lumberjack, elephant handler, hay shocker, flume builder, fruit picker, and an officer on tank destroyers during World War II. And he’s written four hundred short stories and over fifty books (including a volume of poetry).
Mr. L’Amour has lectured widely, traveled the West thoroughly, studied archaeology, compiled biographies of over one thousand Western gunfighters, and read prodigiously (his library holds more than two thousand volumes). And he’s watched thirty-one of his westerns as movies. He’s circled the world on a freighter, mined in the West, sailed a dhow on the Red Sea, been shipwrecked in the West Indies, stranded in the Mojave Desert. He’s won fifty-one of fifty-nine fights as a professional boxer and pinch-hit for Dorothy Kilgallen when she was on vacation from her column. Since 1816, thirty-three members of his family have been writers. And, he says, “I could sit in the middle of Sunset Boulevard and write with my typewriter on my knees; temperamental I am not.”
Mr. L’Amour is recreating an 1865 Western town, christened Shalako, where the borders of Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado meet. Historically authentic from whistle to well, it will be a live, operating town, as well as a movie location and tourist attraction.
Mr. L’Amour now lives in Los Angeles with his wife Kathy, who helps with the enormous amount of research he does for his books. Soon, Mr. L’Amour hopes, the children will be helping too—Beau, and Angelique.
Mr. L’Amour presently lectures for the Bantam Lecture Bureau.
Sackett's Land (1974) Page 16
