to Tame a Land (1955)

To
Tame A Land Louis
L'amour *

MY NAME IS RYAN TYLER
. . .

... And People Say
I Killed Twenty-Seven Men.
Th e Fact Is, I killed just ten, every man jack of them i n a stand-up, fair fight. And that goes for Indians a s well, though nobody counted Indians in those days.

Some people say I was all bad. That I killed without reason. That I was an outlaw. They say that n o man has a right to kill another man. That's why I'
m writing this all down so you can judge for yourself.

Nowadays, the know-it-alls say it wasn't reall y wild back in the years when I grew up. Well, record s show one hundred and two murders around Alde r Gulch before vigilantes hanged the outlaw killers.

Feuds in Texas, New Mexico and Arizona killed a t least five hundred more. There were a hundred an d ten killings in a small town named Alta. The record s go on and on.

My feeling is my guns and some other guns mad e it easier for those who came later. The cattle roa m fat and lazy now, people sleep well at night. Th e guns are hung up and I think they've got peopl e like me to thank for it.

Chapter
1

IT WAS INDIAN COUNTRY, and when our wheel busted , none of them would stop. They just rolled on by and lef t us setting there, my pap and me.

Me, I was pushing a tall twelve by then and could cus s 'most as good as Pap, and we both done some cussin' then.

Bagley, the one Pap helped down to Ash Hollow tha t time, he got mighty red around the ears, but he kept hi s wagon rollin'.

Most folks, those days, were mighty helpful, but thi s outfit sort of set their way by the captain. He was Bi g Jack McGarry.

When the wheel busted, somebody called out and w e swung back. Big Jack had no liking for Pap because Pa p never took nothing off him, and because Pap had th e first look-in with Mary Tatum, which Big Jack couldn'
t abide.

He swung that fine black horse of his back and he se t there looking at us. We had turned to and were gettin g the wheel off, fixing to get it repaired if we could.

"Sorry, Tyler. You know what I said. This is India n country. Goin' through here, we keep rollin' no matte r what. We'll wait a spell at the springs, though. You ca n catch us there."

Then he turned his horse and rode off, and nobod y else in the wagons said by word or look that they eve n seen us setting there.

Pap, he didn't waste no more time. He looked afte r them, his face kind of drawn down and gray like, and the n he turned to me and he said, "Son, I don't mind for myself.

It's you I'm thinkin' of. But maybe it'll be all right. Yo u take that there gun, and you set up high and watc h sharp."

So that was the way it was, and Pap aworking to fi x that wheel so we could go on. He was a good man at suc h things, and he had built many a wagon in his day, an d had done some fine cabinetwork, too.

He worked steady and I kept my eyes open, but ther e was mighty little to see. It was a long rolling grass plai n wherever a body looked. Here and there was draws, but I c ouldn't see into them. The wind stirred that tall grass , bending it over in long rolls, the way the sea must look , and it was green-gray and then silver in the changing ligh t and wind. Overhead the sky was wide and pale blue, wit h just a few lazy clouds adrifting.

We had us a good Conestoga wagon and six head of cattle, good big oxen, to haul it. We had two horses an d two saddles, and inside the wagon was Pap's tools, ou r grub, bedding, and a few odds and ends like Ma's picture , which Pap kept by him, no matter what.

Pap had swapped for a couple of Joslyn breech-loadin g carbines before we left Kansas, and we each had us a handgun, Shawk & McLanahan six-shooters, caliber .36
, and good guns, too.

Like McGarry said, this was Indian country. Not tw o weeks ago the Indians had hit a wagon train, smaller tha n ours, killing four men and a woman. They hit it again a few miles west, and they killed two more men.

Ours was a big train, well armed and all, but Big Jack , I seen the look in his eyes when he sat there watching Pa p aworking. He was just figuring to himself that he wouldn'
t have to worry any more about Pap, and by the time th e wagons got to Califomy he'd be married up with Mar y Tatum. Her and all that silver her old man carried in th e big box under his wagon.

When it was almost dark, Pap called to me. "Son, com e on down. You ride your horse, scout around a little. If th e wagons get to stop at the springs, we'll catch 'em."

But cattle don't make no speed with a heavy wagon.

Their feet spread wide on turf and they pull better, da y in, day out, than any mule or horse, but they can't be calle d fast.

Night came, and we set a course by the stars, and w e rolled on west all through the night. When the first gra y light was in the sky, we saw the gleam on the water. Least , I saw it. Pap, he was still too far back.

I seen the water where the pool was, and the cottonwood leaves, but no white wagon covers, no horses, an d no breakfast fires acooking.

When the wagon came up I saw Pap looking and looking like he couldn't believe it, and I seen his Adam'
s apple swallow, and I said, "Pap, they've gone on. The y left us."

"Yes," he said. "I reckon that's so."

We both knew we had to stop. Cattle can stand s o much, and these had a tough night and day behind them.

"We'll water up, son," Pap said. "Then we'll pull int o a draw and rest a while."

So that was how it was, only when we got to the spring s we saw the wagons had not stopped there. Big Jack McGarry had taken no chances. He pulled them right on by , and nobody to know he'd promised to wait for us there.

Nobody but him and us.

We watered up and then we pulled out. Maybe thre e miles farther on we found a draw with some brush an d we pulled into it for a rest. Pap unyoked the oxen and le t them eat buffalo grass. He taken his Joslyn up on the ridg e and bellied down in the grass.

Me, I went to sleep under the wagon, and maybe I'
d been asleep an hour when I felt someone nudge me, an d it was Pap.

"Here they come, boy. You get on your horse and tak e out." He was down on one knee near me. "Maybe if yo u hold to low ground you can make it safe."

"I ain't agoin' without you."

"Son, you go now. One can make it. Two can't. Yo u take Old Blue. He's the fastest."

"You come with me."

"No, this here is all we got, boy. I'll stay by it. Mayb e they'll take what sugar we got, and go."

"I'll stay, too."

"No!" Pap rarely spoke hard to me after Ma die d but he spoke sharp and stern now, and it wasn't in me to : d ispute him. So I loosed the reins and swung into the saddle.

Pap passed me up a sackful of cartridges and suc h then caught my arm. There were tears in his eyes. "Luck: b oy. Luck. Remember your ma."

Then he slapped Old Blue on the rump and Old Blu e went off up the draw. Me, I was in no mind to leave him , so when we rounded a little bend I put Blue up the ban k and circled back.

I heard a rifle shot and saw dust kick near the wagon , then a whole volley of shots. Along with the rest I hear d the sharp hard sound of Pap's Joslyn carbine.

Tying Blue among some brush in a low place, I grabbe d my Joslyn and went back, keeping low down.

Maybe a dozen Indians were out there, and Pap's on e shot had counted, for I saw a free horse running off. A s I looked the Indians began to circle, and Pap fired again.

An Indian grabbed at his horse's mane and almost slippe d off.

The sun was out and it was hot. I could smell the hot , dusty grass and feel the sun on my back, and my hand s were sweaty, but I waited.

Boy though I was, and Pap no Indian fighter, I kne w what I had to do. Night after night I'd sat by the fir e and heard talk of Indian fights and such-like from th e mountain men we met, and a couple of others who ha d been over this trail before us. I soaked it up, and I kne w there was a time for waiting and a time for shooting.

Pap was doing right good. He downed a horse and th e Indians pulled off and away. I lay quiet, having a goo d view of the whole shindig, me being no more than a hundred and fifty yards off.

Sudden-like, I saw the grass move. They were crawling up now. Did Pap see them?

No he couldn't see them from where he lay, but he ha d guessed that was what they would do, for I saw him wor m out from behind the wheel where he'd been shooting an d ease off into some rocks not far from the wagon. The y were coming on and right soon I could see four of th e Indians.

Pap waited. I give him that. He was no Indian fighter , just a good wheelwright and cabinetmaker, but he wa s smart. Suddenly he came up with his carbine and fire d quick. I saw an Indian jerk back with a busted shoulder.

Then two of them ran forward. Pap fired and missed, an d fired again and hit.

And then I heard a whisper in the grass and saw fou r Indians walking their horses careful behind him. Behin d him and right below me. They weren't thirty yards of f from me, at point-blank range.

This here was what I'd waited tor. My mouth so dr y I couldn't spit or swallow, I ups with my Joslyn. I too k steady aim the way I'd been taught, drew a deep breat h and let it out easy, and then I squeezed her off. The rifl e jumped in my hands, and that first Indian let out a grun t and went off his horse and into the grass. I'd shot him righ t through the skull.

Pap turned quick, fired once, then swung back as I sho t again.

My second shot took an Indian right through the spine , and the other two went to hellin' away from there.

My shooting had caught them flat-footed, as the fello w says. They'd figured the man at the wagon was the onl y one, and now I'd killed me two Indians, and all in les s than a minute.

Another shot, and I turned quick.

Two Indians had rushed Pap and now they were fighting with him. At the same moment the two I'd run of f circled back. I shot and missed, too excited, and then I s aw Pap go down and saw a knife rise and fall, and I kne w it was too late to do anything for Pap.

I hustled for Old Blue, jumped into the saddle, an d rode out of there.

But I didn't head for no settlement, or try to catch u p with the train. That wagon was ours, and the stuff in i t was ours. I circled around, walked my horse a couple o f miles in a creek, then brought him out of the water ont o rock and cut back over the hills.

It was full dark when I got back there. All was quiet.

There was no fire, nothing.

I studied about it some, then decided those Indian s would never figure on me to come back, and once they'
d taken what they wanted from the wagon, they'd not sta y around. So I went down, taking it easy. Finally, when Ol d Blue began to get nervous, I tied him to a bush and wen t on alone.

When I got close I could smell the burned wood. Th e wagon had been set on fire, but it was still there.

I crawled up closer, and I found Pap. He'd been sho t through, then stabbed. And they'd scalped him.

Using a match, I hunted through the wagon. They'
d looted it, throwing stuff around, taking most of what the y could use. I knew where Pap had kept the forty dollar s in gold he had, and with my knife point I dug it out of a crack in the wood Pap had puttied over.

They'd set fire to the wagon, all right, but only th e cover had burned. The hoops were some charred, and th e sideboards, but most of the stuff was intact. Pap's too l chest had been busted open, and most of the sharp tool s were gone. The chisels and like that.

There was a few cents change in Pap's pocket, and I t ook it. He'd be wanting me to have it.

Then I got the shovel and dug out a grave for him o n the hill, and there I toted his body and buried him, cryin g all the time like a durned girl-baby. Me, who bragge d it up that I never shed no tears.

On the grave I piled some rocks and on a piece o f board I burned out Pap's name with a hot iron. Then I r ustled around amongst what was left to see what I coul d find.

There was little enough, but I found Ma's picture.

Miracle was, it hadn't burned. But it was stuck down i n the Bible and only the edges of the leaves had charred a mite, and the cover. I put Ma's picture in my pocket an d went back to Old Blue.

The cattle were gone. They'd drove them off and somewhere now they were eating real big.

Eating . .. eating too much and maybe sleeping. Eating too much and in their own country, and they wouldn'
t be keeping a guard, maybe.

The nearest water was where they would head for, an d the nearest water was the springs. I got up on Old Blu e and started walking him back.

Maybe I was just a fool kid, but those Indians ha d killed Pap and stolen our cattle. I was going to get me a n Indian.

One more, anyway.

Chapter
2

THE NIGHT SMELLED GOOD. There were a million star s in the sky, looked like, and I could feel the soft wind ove r the grass. And on that wind I smelled smoke; woo d smoke, with some smell of bBffalo chips, too.