Matagorda (1967) Read Online Free Page A

Matagorda (1967)
Book: Matagorda (1967) Read Online Free
Author: Louis L'amour
Pages:
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lovely, no question about it, and the figure that filled out the dress she wore was something to think about ... or for Tom Kittery to think about. She was his girl.
    Besides, Tap had a girl. Or he had one when he left Virginia.
    The Negro spoke. "Ma'am, I think it best we leave him alone. I've been watching his trail, and he's a cautious man. The way I see it, going into the brush to hunt for him might prove a chancey thing."
    "Caddo's right," Harry agreed.
    Caddo spoke to the horses and they moved out. Harry turned slightly in his saddle and glanced back at the pecan tree under which Duvarney was crouched. Had something given him away? Some bird, or perhaps a squirrel? Some movement he had not seen or felt?
    When their dust had settled he harnessed the horses and emerged from the copse where he had been hiding. At the point where he went back on the trail he got down and wiped out the tracks as best he could, then drove on. An Apache would have read the sign without slowing his pace, but these men might not be as good at reading sign.
    The air was fresh and clean, and the mustangs, rested after their morning grazing and rest, were prepared to go. They were tough, wild stock, bred to the plains, and only half-broken. Duvarney drove on with only an occasional backward glance, holding to the trail followed by Mady Coppinger.
    Somewhere to the south he would find Tom Kittery and whatever was left of his seven thousand dollars. He had already made up his mind about that. He would take whatever money was left and ride out, writing off the rest of it as a bad investment.
    He had no part in the Kittery-Munson feud, and he wanted none. No mention had been made of it when they had discussed the buying of cattle for a drive north.
    Having no knowledge of exactly where Tom Kittery might be, Duvarney decided just to drift south, scouting the country as he went. He had supplies and ammunition enough, and the terrain was easy for buckboard travel, being generally level or somewhat rolling, with good grass and clumps of trees. Along the rivers there were oaks and pecans, as well as dogwood, willow, and redbud.
    Taking a dim trail, Tap drove down toward Blackjack Point, following the shore of the peninsula whenever possible. On the third day after seeing Mady Coppinger, he was camped near some low brush within sight of the sea. He had made a small fire of driftwood and was brewing coffee when he heard a rustle behind him.
    He reached for the coffeepot with his left hand, drew his six-shooter with his right.
    Moving the coffee a little nearer the coals, he straightened up, then took a quick step back to his left, which put him into the deep shadow of a pecan tree, gun ready.
    There was a chuckle from the brush, and Tom Kittery stepped out, followed by two other men, "See? I told you," Kittery said. "Ain't no catchin' him off-guard. I never knew such a skittish hombre."
    Tom Kittery looked good, but he was thin. He was honed down by hiding out, worn by constant watching, but humor glinted from his eyes as he stepped forward, hand thrust out in greeting.

    Chapter Three.
    Man, you are a sight to behold! Look at him, boys. This here's the on'y man ever took me. Captured me alive an' on the hoof, and I'd never believed it could be done!
    And then he smuggled me right by some renegades that would have strung me up like a horse thief for being' a Johnny Reb. And him a Yank!"
    "Hello, Tom," Tap said. "It's been a while."
    Kittery grinned at him. There was genuine welcome in his eyes, and his hand clasp was firm and strong. "I've thought of you a good bit, Tap. I surely have."
    "Have we got a herd?"
    Some of the smile left Kittery's face. "Sort of. I've got to talk to you about that."
    He turned. "Tap Duvarney, this here's Johnny Lubec. And that's the Cajun ... a good man, right out of the Louisiana swamps."
    Lubec was a small, wiry man, scarcely more than a boy, but a boy with old eyes, a boy who had seen trouble. The Cajun was tall, thin, angular,
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