Galloway was sitting easy. Nobody ever did fluster that boy. He was a soft-talking man, but he was tough, and so rough he wore out his clothes from the inside first. There were Fetchens ready to fire, but Galloway wasn't worried so's a body could see, and I was half a mind to leave it all to him. It would serve them right.
(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)
Bat Masterson was sheriff of Ford County, and we went next to see him. He was a right handsome young man about twenty-four or -five years old, wearing a dark suit and black derby hat. You had to be quite a man to wear a hard hat in those days; it was such a temptation for some half-drunk cowpoke to try to shoot it off your head. Bat's didn't carry any bullet marks that I could see.
(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)
Not that we minded a fight. We Sacketts never had much time for anything else. If we weren't fighting for our country we were fighting men who still believed in rule by the gun, and no Sackett I ever heard of had ever drawn on a man except in self-defense, or in defense of his cpuntry or his honor.
Right then I was glad Galloway stood beside me. Nobody ever needed an army when they had Galloway, and maybe one other Sackett - it didn't make much difference which one.
(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)
No, this [Revolutionary] War would be different from any other that had come before it. Of that Washington felt sure. It would not be a fight to the death, nor could it be simply a clash of armies. If the Americans wanted to emerge victorious from this conflict, they would not try to overpower their enemy; they would simply refise to back down or go away. They didn't need to be conquering heroes - they just needed to survive.
(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)
So James Black Fetchen rode out of town with all that rowdy gang of his, and we stood with our rifles and watched them go.
"Looks like we made us some enemies, Flagan," Galloway said.
"Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof," I commented, liking the mood, "Just don't you mind. We've had enemies before this."
(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)
Lying on the veranda at the corner of the house, Flint thought how quickly a man takes on the qualities of darkness! Men who live by night, the soldier, the thief, the traveler by night, the vagabond - theirs is a different way of thinking, and they do not fear the dark now what may come upon them by night because they themelves are of the night, a part of it.
(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)
"He's waiting on me," Flint said roughly. "You take your turn."
"The young man turned like a cat. "Why, you - !"
The sentence was never completed. Jim Flint, far from the marts of capital and bonds, struck viciously. The young man had started to move in, and the punch caught him flush on his completely unprotected chin. He hit the floor on his face, as if struck with a mallet.
Jim Flint looked across the fallen man at the three who were with him. "He was hunting trouble. He found it. There's more if you want to buy."
The other youngster started to speak, but the older, neatly dressed man interrupted. "You're quick," he said, "and you hit hard. How are you with a gun?"
Flint looked across the room and said coolly, "As you see, I am wearing one. If you wish to know how good I am with it, you will have to pay to learn."
(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)
A sharp pain struck him suddenly and he stopped abruptly, bending far over and retching violently. He dropped to his knees, caught by a sudden weakness, and remained there, frightened at the agony. He had never known physical pain - although often hunger - and anything that robbed him of strength left him shaken, for his strength was all he had. Now, here at the end, he needed it desperately.
(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)
It was clear that there was a sense of growing excitement that this wild, untested experiment in personal freedom and individual rights just might prove more powerful than the most disciplined and well-equipped fighting force on earth.
(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)
"Too simple," Pam North said. "The too-perfect murder."
"As you said," Bill agreed. "But you see - you don't have to be right, Pam. I do, in the end. That's the catch. I can't just say 'too perfect' and close my eyes." He nodded, slowly. "Nine to one," he said, "It was Peggy Mott. Only - "
"Only the one," Pam said. "Your trouble is, you're honest." She looked at Dorian. "Isn't he?" Dorian said, lightly, "An inconvenience, sometimes."
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
Bill wondered if he were creating difficulties where there were none: if a tired mind were inventing phantoms. Nine times out of ten, perhaps ninety-nine out of a hundred, the obvious was the true. O'Malley had had a long and reasonably successful career merely by playing on those odds. You could not very well miss, granted you were bright enough to see the obvious. Justice might miscarry here and there, but justice would in any case. Not for the first time, Bill Weigand wished he could adjust his behavior to this evident logic. But it was no good.
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
A problem had been presented and, almost simultaneously, a solution which appeared to be in all respects neat and adequate. Under such circumstances it was desirable, as always, to keep an open mind, but it was very difficult. The digging you would do, the police machine would do, was still done, but almost unavoidably in perfunctory fashion. The machine had its answer, the machine's heart was not in further research. The machine was, after all, humanly susceptible.
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
"Amateurs are hard to catch, Loot," Mullins said. "A couple of pros, now, you'd know where to look. Amateurs'll go anywhere." He was mildly resentful. "With pros you know where you are," Mullins said.
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
"Can you prove you didn't?"
"I can say I didn't," Peggy said. She looked for a long moment at Pam Noth. "Is it any good?"
What remarkable eyes she has, Pam thought. They must be inches long.
"Yes," Pam said. She was surprised, momentarily, at hearing herself speak the word. "You know why?" she then said, and now she included all of them. "Because nobody could be as guilty as she looks."
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
Bill Weigand lifted his head and looked at the wall opposite, and did not see it, and the fingers of his right hand tapped on his desk. Wrapped up, finished off. Was it, after all? He got Mullins in, told him to sit on it.
"O.K., Loot," Mullins said. He looked at Weigand and nodded. "Shuteye," he said. "That's what you need, all right. No use killing yourself, Loot."
But Weigand shook his head.
"There's a guy I want to talk to," he said. "A guy named Leonard. Remember Leonard?"
Mullins looked momentarily puzzled. Then he nodded, and said, "O.K."
"Just the same," he said, reasonably, "you gotta sleep sometime, Loot. You know that."
Bill Weigand said, "Right," but there was no conviction in the word."
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
Jerry heard the oven door open; heard Pam North say "Oh!" Then she came to the kitchen door, shaking her head.
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe we can eat a little of the insides. Of course, I could make pancakes, I suppose. Only with Mr. Foster coming so soon - ?" She ended, her voice enquiring. They ate the insides of the biscuits, and bacon and boiled eggs. The cats, shouldering one another only slightly, finished the egg remaining in the cups. Pam watched them, considering.
"After all," she said, "I guess they're as sanitary as we are, really. Unless you don't like cats."
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
"Lies," [Lieutenant] Weigand said. "More lies. Prove it. Who were you with? Who can - " He saw her face. "You see," he said, "it's no go. You see that."
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
No, Lieutenant. She doesn't have to prove anything. YOU are the one who has to prove that she is guilty. You are just hoping that she will give in and confess and do your work for you.
She had eaten nothing, or almost nothing. He had watched her not eating, watched her pushing food around her plate, sometimes trying to eat. Her mouth would be dry inside; she would be chewing food and it would be turning to dry flavorlessness, to something you would choke on if you swallowed. It could be that way when you were afraid, and there was nothing much you could do about it. There was always some time when you were afraid, and this was her time. You couldn't swallow the first time, if that was the way it hit you.
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
Cecily Breakwell, the advance guard of the hat-check girls, was sitting down. She stood up and said, "Good morning, sir," as she had at about this hour each day for the past two weeks. Andre looked at her and said, "Good morning, my dear," as he had each day except the first, when he had said, "What is your name, my dear?" and had not, so far as she could tell, listened at all to her reply.
(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)
