Brad felt of the walls and top of the hole he was in. At the back it slanted down and around. But feeling at the top in back, he felt earth and roots. It was probably not more than two feet to the surface there, or very little more.
Where was Cornish? The question was answered when he heard the man shout another question at Schaum. He was probably at least thirty feet away.
Removing a spur, Brad Murphy dug at the earth. He worked carefully, avoiding sound. He dug at the soft earth, letting it fall to the bottom of the hole. Much of it fell on his own legs, cushioning the little sound. He had worked but a few minutes when taking a small root, he pulled down, a tiny hole appeared, and earth cascaded around him. Pistol ready, he waited for an instant to see if Cornish had heard him. There was no sound or movement, and he tugged at another root. More dirt cascaded around him. That time there was a muffled gasp and he heard pounding feet.
His gun was ready and it was all that saved him. Dave Cornish, his eyes wide and frightened, was staring down into the hole at him, gun in hand.
The man was petrified by astonishment. The man they thought had burned in the cabin below was coming up through the earth. Before Cornish could realize what was truly happening, Brad acted. The gun was ready. He shoved it up, and even as Cornish started from his shock, the six-gun bellowed.
The close confines of the hole made a terrific blast, and acrid fumes cut at Murphy’s nostrils. Cornish fell forward, and bracing his shoulders against the earth atop the hole, Brad shoved himself through. He scrambled out, rolling over flat.
* * *
ONE LOOK AT Dave Cornish was enough. The man was dead. He had been shot right through the heart. Excited shouts came from below. The shot, muffled by the earth, had reached them but dimly. Yet they were alarmed.
“Butcher!” Murphy yelled.
Schaum was walking toward the smoldering cabin, Moffitt a few feet behind him.
Butcher Schaum froze, terror had turned his face to an ugly mask as he raised his eyes.
He dropped a hand for a gun, and Brad Murphy whipped up his own. Shots stabbed into the hot still air, something struck his shoulder, and he staggered one step, then fired. Schaum swayed drunkenly, tried to get a gun up, and then Brad fired again.
Behind him, Asa Moffitt swept up a pistol and emptied it in a terror-stricken blast of fire. Then he turned and ran for the gully.
Remorselessly, Brad Murphy waited an instant, then fired. Once, twice! The outlaw and murderer fell, rolled over, and lay sprawled out on the lip of the gully.
Calmly, Brad Murphy reloaded. He found the paint horse standing not far away, and mounting, rode down to the smoldering ruins.
A few minutes of search and he found his gold. The bag had hit and slid down the bank. It was lying there covered partially by dirt, visible but not likely to attract attention.
Shaking his head, he swung into the saddle and turned the horse toward town.
“Horse,” he said, “you’re takin’ me home. I got to buy me a ranch for Ruth and my boy.…I reckon,” he added, “they’ll be right glad to see me.”
He turned the horse down the trail. The nearest town was thirty miles away. Behind him the smoke lifted slowly toward the sky where a buzzard circled lazily in the wavering heat. Gravel rattled, and the horse felt good between Brad’s legs, and he liked the heavy feeling of the gold.
Afterword by Beau L’Amour
* * *
LAST YEAR AT this time I thought that With These Hands would be our last collection of short fiction. I knew that there were a few stragglers, but as we did a careful inventory of what had been published we discovered more and more stories. Finally, we realized there were enough for one more collection. So here they are, both Louis’s first and last short stories, “Anything for a Pal” and “The Moon of the Trees Broken by Snow,” as well as a pair of WWII adventures, four westerns, a couple of football stories, and two crime tales. As far as I can tell, “From the Listening Hills,” and my favorite, “Sand Trap,” have never before been published.
I write this afterword with a strange mixture of feelings. We’ve brought you a great many new, hard to find, and sometimes fragmentary stories in the fifteen years since Louis’s death. In many ways I’ve enjoyed the process, yet at the same time I’m glad that it is nearing an end.
Is this the last new Louis L’Amour book? I don’t know. Are there more things we could publish? Yes, but I don’t know if, or exactly how, we should. The future will decide these and other questions.
There is always more to be found at our web site, louis lamour.com, where we offer a world of information, discussion forums, and photographs. For more of Louis’s writings, you can take a look at louislamourslost treasures.com. At the Lost Treasures site we are collecting articles, story outlines, incomplete short stories and novels, letters, journals, and notes covering everything from the innermost details of his most popular stories to his most outlandish and unmarketable ideas. Whenever possible I have added notes to bring this wide array of material into perspective. Also, our series of radio dramas can be heard on XM Satellite Radio, Armed Forces Radio, Cable Network Radio, and a selection of local stations that are posted on louislamour.com.
I want to take this final opportunity in print to thank some of the people who have helped us bring all of these stories to you and have helped me so much in sorting out the material for the Louis L’Amour Biography Project. First would be Paul O’Dell, who has assisted with everything from helping out after my father’s death to running our website and editing our radio shows; Jeanne Brown, who keeps the biography project from dissolving into chaos; Daphne Ashbrook, who just joined us in information processing; Howard Gale, our recording engineer; and Charles Van Eman, who has written audio adaptations and been our ace bloodhound on the biography. Of course, we never could have done any of it without my mother, Katherine L’Amour, and her assistant, Sonndra May.
Earlier generations of helpers include my sister, Angelique, Katherine and Gavin Doughtie, Mara Purl, Helen Swart, Trish Mahoney, Paula Bayers, John Barrymore III, Cathy Sandrich, Jordan Ladd, and Lynn Adams.
The team at Bantam Books has been a powerfully creative force behind Louis’s books since his death. We would like to thank everyone who has worked at Bantam for their continuing vision and hard work. Chief Executive Officers: Peter Olson, Erik Engstrom, Jack Hoeft, Alberto Vitale, Lou Wolfe, Oscar Dystel. Publishers: Irwyn Applebaum, Linda Grey, Marc Jaffe. Editors: Andrea Nicolay, Mike Shohl, Pat LoBrutto, Tom Dupree, Stuart Applebaum, Irwyn Applebaum, Marc Jaffe, Saul David. Art Directors: Jim Plumeri, Yook Louie, Len Leone. Publicity: Stuart Applebaum, Barb Burg, Chris Artis. Sales: Don Weisberg, George Fisher, Cynthia Lasky. Audio: Jenny Frost, Robert Allen, Orli Moscowitz, Christine McNamara, Helena Terbush, David Rapkin, Charles Potter. Corporate Development and New Media: Richard Sarnoff. Marketing: Betsy Hulsebosch. Royalties: Pauline James. Inventory Management: Ken Graff. Subsidiary Rights: Amanda Mecke, Sharon Swados. Legal Counsel: Heather Florence, Harriette Dorsen, Matthew Martin, Paula Brian, David Sanford. Continuity: Lisa Faith Phillips, Vladimir Damianov. Remainders: Kathy Garcia. Special Sales: Pam Romano, Anne Somlyo, Maureen Cosgrove.
Thank you all; readers, and workers in research and publishing both.
Beau L’Amour