The Proving Trail: A Novel

by Louis L'Amour

Overview

They tried to tell him that his father had killed himself, but Kearney McRaven knew better. No matter what life had dealt him, his father would go down fighting. And as he delved deeper into the mystery, he learned that just before his father died, the elder McRaven had experienced a remarkable run of luck: he’d won nearly ten thousand dollars and the deed to a cattle ranch.

Not yet eighteen, Kearney was determined enough to track down his father’s murderer and claim what was rightfully his. Now, followed every step of the way by a shadowy figure, Kearney must solve the mystery of his father’s hidden past—a past that concealed a cold-blooded killer who would stop at nothing to keep a chilling secret.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780553253047
Publisher:	Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:	05/01/1985
Edition description:	Reissue
Pages:	304
Sales rank:	128,304
Product dimensions:	4.19(w) x 6.86(h) x 0.79(d)

About the Author

Our foremost storyteller of the American West, Louis L’Amour has thrilled a nation by chronicling the adventures of the brave men and woman who settled the frontier. There are more than three hundred million copies of his books in print around the world.

Date of Birth:

March 22, 1908

Date of Death:

June 10, 1988

Place of Birth:

Jamestown, North Dakota

Education:

Self-educated

Website:

http://www.louislamour.com/

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One


All winter long I held them cattle up on the plateau whilst pa collected my wages down to town. Come first grass I taken them cattle down to Dingleberry’s and I told old Ding what he could do with them, that I had my fill of playin’ nursemaid to a bunch of cows.

He made quite a fuss, sayin’ as how pa had hired me out to him and I’d no choice, bein’ a boy not yet eighteen.

So I told him if he figured I’d no choice, just to watch the tail end of my horse because I was fetchin’ out of there. I knew pa was down to town gamblin’, workin’ with my money as his base, but pa was a no-account gambler, generally speakin’, and couldn’t seem to put a winnin’ hand together.

Nonetheless he might have enough put by to give me a road stake, and I could make do with five dollars, if he had it.

Only when I rode into town pa was dead. He was not only dead, he was buried, and they’d put a marker on his grave.

It taken the wind out of me. I just sort of backed off an’ set down. Pa, he was no more than forty, seemed like, and a man in fair health for somebody who spent most of his time over a card table.

There was a lot of strangers in town, but one man who knowed me and who’d knowed pa, too, he told me, “Was I you I’d git straddle of that bronc an’ light a shuck. Ain’t nothin’ around town for you no more, with your pa dead.”

“How’d he die? It don’t make no sense — him dyin’ right off, like that.”

“That’s the way folks usually die, son. Everybody knows he’s goin’ to die sometime, but nobody really expects to. You light out, son. I hear tell they’re hirin’ men for work in the mines out in the western part of the Territory.”

“How’d he die?” I persisted.

“Well, seems like he killed hisself. I never did see the body, mind. But Judge Blazer, he seen it. He shot hisself. Lost money, I reckon. You know he was always gamblin’.”

“Hell,” I said, disgusted, “he’d not kill himself for that! He’d done been losin’ money all his life! That man could lose more money than you’d ever see.”

“You take my advice, boy, an’ you light out. There’s some mighty rough folks in this town an’ they won’t take to no wet-eared boy nosin’ around.”

That couldn’t make no sense to me, because I’d been around rough folks all my life. We never had nothin’, our family didn’t, scrabblin’ around for whatever it was we could find after ma died an’ Pistol — that’s my brother — taken off. It just left me an’ pa, an’ we’d gone from one cow camp or minin’ camp to another. Now pa was dead an’ I was alone.

Pa wasn’t much account, I guess, as men went, but he was pa, and a kindly man most of the time. We’d never had much to say to one another but hello or good-bye or how much money was I holdin’? Nonetheless, he was pa an’ I loved him, although that was a word we’d have been shamed to use.

Pistol, he was my half brother, ten year older’n me, an’ he’d taken off a long time back, six or seven years back. Pa kind of hinted that Pistol had taken off along the outlaw trail but I never did think so. Pistol always seemed the kind to ride them straight up the middle.

The Bon Ton was down the street, and I was surely hard up for grub. I’d been so long without eatin’, my belly was beginning to think my throat was cut, so I bellied up to a table in the Bon Ton and ordered, thankin’ my stars a body could still get him a good meal for two bits.

Until I set down there, I’d had no chance to give much thought to pa. We’d sort of taken one another for granted, or so it had seemed to me. Now all of a sudden he was gone and there was a great big hole in my life and an emptiness inside me.

Nothing had ever seemed to go right for pa. A couple of times we had ourselves a little two-by-twice outfit, but the first time it was get run off or fight, an’ ma didn’t want us to fight so we pulled out. Then the Comanches run us off the next place, stealin’ our horses and cows an’ leavin’ us with a burned-up wagon and no stock. Next time pa was about to make out, ma took sick, and it needed all pa had just for doctor’s bills and such. After that pa took to gamblin’ reg’lar and it was all bad cards and slow horses.

Man at the next table was talkin’. “Never seen such a thing,” he was sayin’, “not in all my born days. When they raised him that last time, he taken out a six-shooter an’ there for a minute nobody knew what was going to happen. Then he put that gun down in the middle of the table. ‘Ought to be worth twenty dollars,’ he says, ‘and I raise you twenty.’

“Two of them stayed, and when the showdown came he was holdin’ a full house. Well, sir, that started it! You never seen the like! The cards began runnin’ his way and it seemed he couldn’t do anything wrong! If they could have gotten the governor into the game, he’d have owned the Territory! I tell you, he must have won eight, maybe ten thousand dollars!”

The waitress brought me beef and beans and filled my coffee cup. She was a pretty redhead with freckles, and when she leaned over to pour my coffee, I looked up at her and she whispered, “You be careful! You be real careful!”

“What’s that mean?” I said. “I never said a word.”

“I don’t mean that. Was I you, I’d fork that roan of yours and ride right out of town and never even look back. If’n I was you, they’d never see me for the dust.”

“Why? What have I done? I ain’t been to town for months, and no sooner do I ride in than folks start tellin’ me I should leave.”

“You better,” she warned, and walked away.

Well, I drank some coffee and it tasted mighty good. Then I went to work on the beef and beans, half-hearin’ the talk at the next table about that card game. “It was that six-shooter did it. He’d been losin’ steady until he staked that six-shooter with the pearl handle and the little red birds inlaid into the pearl. I declare, I — “

Well, I just stopped chewin’. I set there for a full minute before I leaned over to that man and said, “Sounds real pretty. Did you say red birds in a pearl handle?”

“That’s right! Talk about lucky! That gun worked a charm! Soon’s he put up that gun his luck changed an’ there was no stoppin’ him.”

“Medium-sized man, with a mustache?”

“Had him a mustache, all right, but he was a tall, thin galoot. Wore one of those Prince Albert coats, a black frock coat, y’know.” He peered at me. “D’you know him?”

“The gun sounds familiar. I got an eye for guns, and a man wouldn’t be likely to forget anything like that.”

“He sure was lucky! Won him maybe nine, ten thousand dollars! More’n that, he won the deed to some big cattle outfit up north. He seemed to make all the wrong moves, yet he kept pullin’ down the high cards.”

The other man at the table looked around. “Only reason he didn’t win all the money in the world was because those other fellers didn’t have it. He just won all they did have. I seen it.”

They went back to talkin’ amongst themselves, and I finished what was before me. Meanwhile I did some thinkin’. Now, I’m not quick to think. I act fast but I consider slow. I like to contemplate a subject, turnin’ it on the spit of my mind until I have seen all sides of it. This here shaped up like plain, old-fashioned trouble.

I was right sorry for pa. I’d be sorrier later on, for things never hit me all of a sudden. Yet maybe I shouldn’t be sorry for him, because pa died right at the peak of the greatest run of luck he’d ever had.

He died winners, and not many gamblers could say that. Certainly nobody expected pa to beat the game, but he had. If he had come off that run of luck alive, he’d have lost it all had he continued to gamble. So he passed out a winner.

Shot through the skull, though. Now how come that?

Whose was the bullet? What finger squeezed off that shot?

Now I could see why folks were suggesting I get away while I could. They didn’t want too many bodies clutterin’ up the town, and me bein’ his son and all ...

I walked across the street to Judge Blazer’s. He was not only a judge but the coroner as well.

He was a-settin’ up there on the porch of that ho-tel, tipped back in a chair smokin’ a big seegar. He seen me comin’ and squinted his eyes to make me out.

I promise you I didn’t look like Sunday meetin’ time. I’d been all winter up in the mountains, and it was almighty cold up there. I was wearin’ all the clothes I owned, and I’d made a hole in a blanket for a poncho.

“Judge Blazer,” I said, “you buried my pa. I’ve come for his belongin’s.”

He just set there. Then he taken the seegar from his lips. “Now, now, son, you know your pa never had nothing. He was never much account at anything at all, and all he done for the past year was gamble. We done buried him our own selves, and he had just three dollars and six bits on him when he passed on. He had him a gold watch and his six-shooters. One was in his hand, the other was on the bureau.” He hitched himself around in his chair. “You’re welcome to ‘em.”

He got up and went through the door ahead of me. He was a big man, and fat, but folks said he was almighty strong, that little of what looked like fat was really fat. I never cottoned to him much, but had he known he’d not have cared. Who was I but a youngster still wet behind the ears? He thought.

In his office he waved at a table. There was a rolltop desk, a big iron safe, a brass spittoon, and there was this table. There lay one of pa’s guns in the holster with his gun belt. The other gun lay free on the table. Pa’s old black hat was there, too.

Judge Blazer taken three dollars and six bits from a drawer and put it down along with a gold watch. “There you be, boy. You he’p yourself an’ run along. I got business to attend to.”

Well, I taken up that gun belt an’ strapped her on. She settled down natural-like against my leg. Then I pocketed the watch and the money and swapped my beat-up old hat for pa’s black one. Then I spun the cylinder on that second gun, and it was fully loaded. Pa was always careful with his guns. He kept them first-rate.

She was working and she was ready.

“Judge?” I was holdin’ right to that six-shooter, kind of casual-like, but ready. “Seems to me you’re bein’ forgetful, I guess a man like you, with business and all, could forget.”

He turned around slow and he stared hard at me. He looked from me to the gun, then back at me. Maybe I was only seventeen, but pa an’ me had cut the mustard in a lot of mean places. He didn’t look no different than a lot of others we’d met.

“Forget what?” he asked.

“All that money. Pa had him some winnin’ hands that last night. He won a lot of cash money and he won property, and I don’t see any of it on that table.”

“Now, now, son! You’ve been misinformed. I think — “

“Mister Judge,” I said, keeping my voice quiet-like, “this here gun don’t have so much patience. Could get right hasty, in fact. Now, if you’d like, I can round up twenty, maybe thirty witnesses who saw that game. There’s a lot of strangers in town, Judge, and they ain’t afeered of you, an’ many of them seen what happened last night. The whole town’s talkin’. You hold out one penny on a poor orphant boy who’s just lost his pa an’ I think those boys would be huntin’ theirselves a rope. Now I can guess why ol’ Dingleberry was so upset about me pullin’ my freight. You’d likely told him to keep me busy up yonder until all this sort of blowed over.”

He didn’t like it. No man likes to give up that kind of money to what he figures is a no-account boy. That was probably more money than the judge hisself had seen all to one time, and he was in no mood to let loose of it. On the other hand, there I stood with a six-shooter and maybe I was trigger-happy.

“You pull that trigger, boy, an’ you’ll hang for sure.”

“I don’t know anybody got hung for shootin’ a thief,” I said.

His face flushed up red and angry. His eyes got real mean. “Now, you look here!”

Me, I just tilted that gun a mite. “All you got to do to prove me wrong is hand over that money and those deeds. If you want to go to court about it, we can arrange to hold it yonder in the saloon where pa won the money.”

He didn’t like any part of it, but he didn’t want to hear what a jury of rough-and-ready western men would say, either. They believed in fair play and most of them had seen the game.

Reluctantly he dropped to one knee in front of the safe, and I moved right behind him. Maybe I looked green, but not so green that I didn’t know some folks kept a six-shooter in their safe to watch the money.

Sure enough, I seen one. As he reached his hand for it, I said, “Judge, when your hand comes out of that safe, it better have nothing in it but money. You lay hold of that gun and you still have to turn around to shoot. I don’t.”