Novel 1963 - Fallon (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF Page A

slaves too, and he did not hold with slavery, so he freed them all. Without slaves the plantation could not be worked, and he soon discovered that in freeing slaves he had not only given up a large part of his wealth but the friendship of his neighbors as well. They were slaveholders, and resented his act. Not one of them would make an offer for his land, and when it was finally sold it brought a tenth of its value.
    His father had known a lot about land, but nothing about the management of money, and the small farm in Missouri had scarcely paid for itself.
    Macon’s brother Patrick had been killed by night riders when Macon was twelve, but Macon put a bullet through the skull of one of them as they rode off. With young Patrick dead, the heart went out of his father. Locusts got the crop one year, frost the next. And then one night Colonel Patrick Fallon heard a man boast that it was he who had killed young Patrick. The Colonel named him for a skulking murderer and a coward, and died with the man’s bullet in him.
    Three nights later the killer of two Fallons met the third—by that time a gangling boy of fifteen whose hands were born with a deftness beyond that of most men. It showed in his handling of cards, and in his use of guns as well.
    On that dark road Macon Fallon gave the killer his chance and left him dead, gun in hand, bullet through his belly. And then young Macon Fallon had ridden on to Independence and joined a wagon train for Santa Fe.
    Throughout the years that followed, he never lost his interest in land and crops, for it lay deep within his nature. He was Irish first and a farmer second, and both had a love for the land.
    He was thinking over this past of his as he neared the wagon. His horse was walking in sand, and he could hear the voices before he came within sight of the men. He heard more than one rough voice, and then a cry of pain.
    He drew rein and listened.
    â€œThere’s women’s fixin’s in that wagon, so there’s got to be women about.” It was a surly, drunken voice. “And I’ll take oath there was another wagon here when I first seen you from the bluff yonder.”
    Another man spoke up. “You tell us what we want to know an’ we’ll turn you loose.”
    Fallon walked his horse a few steps further, going up slope until his eyes could see over the slight knoll that hid the wagon.
    Four men stood around the fire, and young Jim Blane had his hands tied behind him. There was a trickle of blood from his lip.
    â€œI’m alone,” Jim insisted. “The women’s clothes belong to ma. We’re taking them to her in California. There was another wagon, but it went on. When they get to water they’ll be coming back for me.”
    â€œDon’t lie to me, boy. You speak up, or we’ll have your boots off and see how much fire your toes will stand.”
    Macon Fallon slid the Winchester from its scabbard. These were Bellows’ men, he knew, and there was no mercy in them.
    â€œGet his boots off, Deke. He’ll talk fast enough.”
    Macon Fallon lifted the Winchester, and when he cocked it the sound was loud in the night. Where there had been voices and movement, there was a sudden silence where nothing stirred.
    â€œGet on your horses, and ride out of here,” he said. His tone was conversational, yet all the more deadly for that.
    The man standing beside Jim Blane started to lift his rifle, and Fallon shot him through the knee. The man staggered, grasped at his knee, and fell. As one man the others scrambled for their horses.
    â€œYou!” Fallon ordered the wounded man. “Get on your horse and get out!”
    â€œHe’s badly hurt!” Jim Blane protested. “He’s bleeding!”
    â€œBack up over here. I’ll free your hands.”
    The outlaw on the ground was groaning and cursing. He was too concerned with his own wound to notice much, but Fallon had no idea where the others