Chancy: A Novel by Louis L'Amour

By Louis L'Amour

He used to be an orphan from the hills of Tennessee and he hadn’t eaten in 3 days. With front of his abdominal making acquaintances with the again, he was once in no place to allow a chance slip by means of omitted. And while Chancy defended his new herd of livestock with a shotgun, he didn’t omit. The lifeless guy left a pistol at the flooring. Chancy wanted a spare and, after stowing it in his bedroll, forgot approximately it. He had a livestock force to complete and a revenue to make.

But the gun had a heritage. one other killing had taken position and Chancy may by no means recognize the reality till it was once too overdue. Now, locked in a prison mobile with an offended, drunken mob outdoors and time operating out, he needs to in some way be able to turn out his innocence.

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Abilene was not far away. We were closing in on the town, and that also meant the day would soon be here when we must face up to our trouble. “You don’t have to take cards,” I said to Jim. ” “I can’t say that I do. I’ve got kinfolk around, but I never really met up with them. There’s a girl I cotton to, but she’s beyond me. That is, I’ve nothing to offer her. ” “Sure,” he answered. “A Moravian missionary taught me. ” Well, now. Somehow I’d never thought of an Indian reading, but then I recalled hearing that before Jackson and Van Buren moved them west the Cherokees even had their own newspapers, written in their own language, a language written out by Sequoyah.

Some of the people wore homespun, many wore jeans and chaps, but there were plenty of store-bought suits too, and some fine tailored clothes. Nobody liked his clothes creased in those days—that was the mark of the shelf, and the tailored suits were never creased. Gamblers, cattle buyers, and local businessmen dressed mighty well, but even the cowhands in off the range put on their best, whatever it was. Nobody wore range clothes to town if he had anything else, unless he was working. There were a few farmers in their wagons, usually with their wives and youngsters.

The night after we swam the Salt Fork in flood. Jim squatted over the fire and sipped his coffee until I’d finished eating. “I think we have great trouble, amigo. I think I know the track of one of the horses of those who follow the herd—the horse and the rider as well. He is what they call a Bald Knobber ... a bad man. ” The name meant nothing to me but I’d not spent much time in this part of the country. ” “No. He rides what the Mexicans call a grulla—the color of a mouse. ” This was pretty country seen at a sorry time.

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