Collection 1983 - The Hills Of Homicide (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page A
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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against his cheek.
We broke free and lunged to our feet, but he caught me with a looping right that staggered me. I backed up, working away from him, fighting to get my breath. My mouth hung open and I was breathing in great gasps, and he came around the wreck of the table, coming for me.
The cut on his cheekbone was wider now and blood trickled from it, staining the whole side of his face and shoulder. His lips were puffed and bloody, and his nose looked out of line.
He came into me then, but I had my wind and I was set. I jabbed with a left and moved away. He pushed on in, bobbing his head to make my left miss, so I shortened it to a hook and stepped in with both hands. They caught him solidly, and he stopped dead in his tracks. I pulled the trigger on my hard one, and his knees crumpled. But he didn’t go down. He shook his head and started for me, his eyes glazed. My left hook came over with everything I had on it, and his cheek looked as if somebody had hit it with an axe.
He came on in, and I let go with my Sunday punch. Sunday punch, hell. He took it coming in and scarcely blinked, hurt as he was. For the first time in my life I was scared. I had hit this guy with everything but the desk and he was still coming. He was slower, but he was coming, and his wide face looked as if somebody had worked on it with a meat axe and a curry comb.
My knees were shaky and I knew that no matter how badly he was hurt, I was on my last legs. He came on in, and I threw a right into his stomach. He gasped and his face looked sick, but he came on. He struck at me, but the power was gone from his punches. I set myself and started to throw them. I threw them as if I was punching the heavy bag and the timekeeper had given me the ten-second signal. I must have thrown both hands into the air after he started to fall, but as he came down, with great presence of mind, I jerked my knee into his chin.
Jerry Loftus came into the room as I staggered back, staring down at Caronna. “I could have stopped it,” he said, “but I—”
“Why the hell didn’t you?” I gasped.
“What? Am I supposed to be off my trail?” He glared at me, but his eyes twinkled at the corners. “Best scrap I ever saw, an’ you ask me why I didn’t stop it!”
“You’d better get cuffs on that guy,” I said, disgusted. “If he gets up again I’m going right out that window!”
We found Karen in another room, tied up in a neat bundle, which, incidentally, she is at any time. When I turned her loose, she kissed me, and while I’d been looking forward to that, for the first time in my life I failed to appreciate a kiss from a pretty woman. Both my lips were split and swollen. She looked at my face with a kind of horror that I could appreciate, having seen Caronna.
----
H OURS LATER, SEATED in the café over coffee, Johnny Holben and Loftus came in to join us. Holben stared at me. Even with my face washed and patched up, I looked like something found dead in the water.
“All right,” Loftus said doubtfully, “this is your show. We’ve got Caronna no matter how this goes, due to an old killing back east. That’s what he was so worried about. Somebody started an investigation of an income-tax evasion and everybody started to talk, and before it was over, three old murders had been accounted for, and one of them was Caronna’s.
“However, while we don’t know now whether Castro will live or not with that rib through his lung, you say he was the one who killed Bitner.”
“That’s right,” I said. “He did kill him.”
“He never came up that trail past my place,” Holben said.
“But there isn’t any other way up, is there?” Karen asked.
“No, not a one,” Loftus said. “In the thirty years since I came west with a herd of cattle to settle in this country, I’ve been all over that mesa, every inch of it, and there’s no trail but the one past Holben’s cabin.”
“Your word is good enough for me,” I said, “but the fact
We broke free and lunged to our feet, but he caught me with a looping right that staggered me. I backed up, working away from him, fighting to get my breath. My mouth hung open and I was breathing in great gasps, and he came around the wreck of the table, coming for me.
The cut on his cheekbone was wider now and blood trickled from it, staining the whole side of his face and shoulder. His lips were puffed and bloody, and his nose looked out of line.
He came into me then, but I had my wind and I was set. I jabbed with a left and moved away. He pushed on in, bobbing his head to make my left miss, so I shortened it to a hook and stepped in with both hands. They caught him solidly, and he stopped dead in his tracks. I pulled the trigger on my hard one, and his knees crumpled. But he didn’t go down. He shook his head and started for me, his eyes glazed. My left hook came over with everything I had on it, and his cheek looked as if somebody had hit it with an axe.
He came on in, and I let go with my Sunday punch. Sunday punch, hell. He took it coming in and scarcely blinked, hurt as he was. For the first time in my life I was scared. I had hit this guy with everything but the desk and he was still coming. He was slower, but he was coming, and his wide face looked as if somebody had worked on it with a meat axe and a curry comb.
My knees were shaky and I knew that no matter how badly he was hurt, I was on my last legs. He came on in, and I threw a right into his stomach. He gasped and his face looked sick, but he came on. He struck at me, but the power was gone from his punches. I set myself and started to throw them. I threw them as if I was punching the heavy bag and the timekeeper had given me the ten-second signal. I must have thrown both hands into the air after he started to fall, but as he came down, with great presence of mind, I jerked my knee into his chin.
Jerry Loftus came into the room as I staggered back, staring down at Caronna. “I could have stopped it,” he said, “but I—”
“Why the hell didn’t you?” I gasped.
“What? Am I supposed to be off my trail?” He glared at me, but his eyes twinkled at the corners. “Best scrap I ever saw, an’ you ask me why I didn’t stop it!”
“You’d better get cuffs on that guy,” I said, disgusted. “If he gets up again I’m going right out that window!”
We found Karen in another room, tied up in a neat bundle, which, incidentally, she is at any time. When I turned her loose, she kissed me, and while I’d been looking forward to that, for the first time in my life I failed to appreciate a kiss from a pretty woman. Both my lips were split and swollen. She looked at my face with a kind of horror that I could appreciate, having seen Caronna.
----
H OURS LATER, SEATED in the café over coffee, Johnny Holben and Loftus came in to join us. Holben stared at me. Even with my face washed and patched up, I looked like something found dead in the water.
“All right,” Loftus said doubtfully, “this is your show. We’ve got Caronna no matter how this goes, due to an old killing back east. That’s what he was so worried about. Somebody started an investigation of an income-tax evasion and everybody started to talk, and before it was over, three old murders had been accounted for, and one of them was Caronna’s.
“However, while we don’t know now whether Castro will live or not with that rib through his lung, you say he was the one who killed Bitner.”
“That’s right,” I said. “He did kill him.”
“He never came up that trail past my place,” Holben said.
“But there isn’t any other way up, is there?” Karen asked.
“No, not a one,” Loftus said. “In the thirty years since I came west with a herd of cattle to settle in this country, I’ve been all over that mesa, every inch of it, and there’s no trail but the one past Holben’s cabin.”
“Your word is good enough for me,” I said, “but the fact
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