It was too bad, he reflected, that so much of a recruit's time was wasted on close-order drill, of use only for parade formations and in moving a command in an organized area. Such training was useless in combat; a recruit was taught everything except how to fight. The only way the army offered training in combat was by survival. If one survived in combat one was wiser and a better fighter next time.
(from Under the Sweetwater Rim, by Louis L'Amour)
He rode with guns now, many guns, but the guns no longer reminded him of their presence, for in these days they had become part of him, ready to his hand. Men in this land could own guns, not to threaten their neighbor, but to ensure themselves of liberty. The man who shaped this land were men who had lately fought a war for their freedom and they did not wish it to be lost, and so they must keep close to their hands the weapons with which they had won that freedom.
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
Fort Sanders was a frontier settlement, formerly known as Fort John Buford, established to protect the tie-cutters and grading crws working west of Cheyenne. A few squatters had appeared before the railroad, but by the time the rails reached the site there were several hundred buildings, shacks and cabins of logs, sod, canvas, railroad ties and old wagon boxes, near the fort, and within hours Laramie, as it now called itself, was a booming town.
Crispin Mayo and Reppato Pratt stood on the narrow platform at what passed for the station. "Seen towns like this before," Rep said; "if'n you got money you can git yourself trouble. Without it you cain't git the time of day."
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
He looked over at Chris. "You done pretty good with that weapon. You used it much?"
"No, never. I just shoot where I look."
"Ain't no better way. You point your finger at something an' you're pointin' right at it. You been doin' it for years. It's the same with a six-gun. You just point an' shoot. The more you study on it, the more likely you are to miss."
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
That was the trouble with being poor: a man could not make a move without thinking of the consequences. A man who had another suit or more than one extra pair of pants need only go to the closet or the wardrobe and pick and choose; but a man who had no more than he owned now could never cease from worry that he'd be left without any. This eternal riding was playing hob with his pants, and soon he'd be out at the knees and seat, with only one extra pair to his name and them maybe lost or stolen at the end of track.
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
Barda after a long time said, despairingly, "Will we ever find them?"
"We will. I just hope it isn't too late."
"What can we do?"
"You just let that be, until we find them What we do will be depending on the situation." That was one of the things his uncle used to say. It all depended on the situation. You learned that in the Army.
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
She swung her mare away and he went up into the saddle and down the ramp with a thunder of hoofs that brought a shout from the guard. She was off across the dark prairie and he after her, and behind him more shouts and much fearful swearing. He would pray for their souls, in good time; they were likely lads but they certainly knew a lot of the King's English of the back-alley kind.
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
He walked in, leaving the door standing, but nobody was there, the room was empty. It looked empty, it felt empty, it was empty. The second room, for sleeping: also empty. The bed was unmade. How his old grandmother would have gone on about that, the middle of the day and the bed not made! A shocking thing, not to be believed.
(from The Man From Skibbereen, by Louis L'Amour)
Hardy realized that he had learned some good things from Pa; one was to do one thing at a time; not to cross bridges until he came to them, but at the same time to try to imagine how he could cross them when the time came. Though he was scared now, he was scared less for himself than for Betty Sue, for it was always in his mind how helpless she would be if anything happened to him.
He knew she trusted in him, and believed in him completely. And that made him remember something else Pa had told him: that a body never knew how strong he could be until somebody expected it of him.
(from Down the Long Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
Scott Collins knew this land, and loved it, but he knew every danger it offered. He knew, too, the ways to avoid trouble and the ways to survive. You could not war against the wilderness; to live in it one must become a part of it, make oneself one with the trees and the wind, the streams and the plants, the cold and the heat, yielding a little always, but never too much.
(from Down the Long Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
Old Three-Paws weighed about nine hundred pounds. He was not quite as quick as he used to be, but he was still quick, and he could crush the skull of an ox with one blow of his good paw. He had lumbered past a mountain lion. It spat and snarled, then darted past him on the narrow trail, turning to snarl after him. Old Three-Paws ignored the cat as something beneath his notice.
(from Down the Long Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
He was trying to think. What was it his pa had said so often? "Remember, son, the only thing that makes a man able to get along in this world is his brain. A man doesn't have the claws a bear has, nor the strength of a bull. He doesn't have the nose of a wolf, nor the wings of a hawk, but he has a brain. You're going to get along in this world as long as you use it."
(from Down the Long Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
"They're out there somewhere, Bill. We've got to find them."
"If they're alive, we'll find them."
The dancing fire brought no comfort, but the food was good, and the strong black coffee helped to lift their spirits a little.
"We'd better stand watch," Squires suggested. "Me and Frank will stand the first two. Get yourself some sleep."
And Scott Collins did sleep, and while he slept he dreamed of a great red stallion and two childen, who rode on and on through endless nights of cold.
(from Down the Long Hills, by Louis L'Amour)
"I'll holster my gun, an' then you can try, all three of you. Of course," Mooney smiled a pleasant Irish smile, "you get my first shot, right through the belly."
Don Pedro was no fool. It was obvious to him that even if they did kill the gringo that it would do nothing for Don Pedro, for the scion of an ancient house would be cold clay upon the Sonora desert. It was a most uncomfortable thought, for Don Pedro had a most high opinion of the necessity for Don Pedro's continued existence.
(from "Long Ride Home," by Louis L'Amour)
"Did Tollefson actually see those skeletons?"
"He sure did." Fulton's voice was dry, emotionless. "And from what he said, if that was Tandy Meadows who walked into that shack after the Alvarez boys, he's got nerve enough to crawl down a hole after a nest full of rattlers, believe me!"
(from "Ride or Start Shootin'," by Louis L'Amour)
"She was with them on the boat," the Kid explained. "She even got into the poker game when they tried to rook me. She's good, too," he added, "but she must have been the one who tipped them off. It had to be somebody who knew I'd be carrying the money. Who is she?"
"She's been working for me!" MacIntosh said angrily. "Working until just now. I never did put no truck in women folks workin' around offices but she convinced me she could help me and she didn't cost me no more'n a third what a man cost!"
"With a woman," the Cactus Kid said, "it ain't the original cost. It's the upkeep!"
(from "The Cactus Kid Pays a Debt," by Louis L'Amour)
On the Walking YY and in its vicinity the Kid was a living legend, and the only person in his home country who did not tremble at the Kid's step was Jenny Simms - or if she did, it was in another sense.
(from "The Cactus Kid Pays a Debt," by Louis L'Amour)
Mesquite Jenkins had long been a disciple of the idea that once the point of battle is reached, no good can result from continued conversation or argument. The guard had told him what to do. He turned on his heel with a shrug, but suddenly, as he turned, his right hand shot up, grasped the man's rifle by the middle, and shoved. The guard staggered, the bench caught him behind the knees, and his heels flew up, his head down. His head tunked dully on the butt end of a log, and the guard blanked out.
(from The Riders of High Rock, by Louis L'Amour)
He turned to Sue. "You're riding - were you going to look over the ground?"
"Yes. I don't want Frank to go. He'd keep on going and maybe get killed for his pains. After all, he's the only friend we have here now."
Bolt looked offended. "Now, Miss Sue, I don't take that kindly. I've always thought myself a friend of yours, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."
Sue was contrite. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
Gillespie turned away with disgust written in every line of him. He watched them ride off with narrowed eyes. Maybe, he reflected, he was a fool, but if Jack Bolt was an honest man, he was next in line to be Emperor of China!
(from The Riders of High Rock, by Louis L'Amour)
Jack Bolt rode on, following the winding trail towards the wide range of the 3TL. The farther he rode, the more he wondered if this was not the best way after all. He did not hesitate to admit the truth to himself. The gunfire and the hum of lead had done something to him. Four years or so of absence from gunfighting and killing had changed his thinking. Cowering on the floor, hearing the bullets punch through the walls of his cabin, knowing that any one of them could mean death had put something into him that had gone clear to the bottom of his mind and his stomach. He did not like being shot at. When he was younger he had been heedless. He had believed the bullet had not been made that would kill him. Death had seemed fantastically far away.
It was always that way when you were young. Well, he was older now and knew that death was no respecter of persons. There had to be an easier way.
(from The Riders of High Rock, by Louis L'Amour)
High on the slope of Copper Mountain, Red Connors was feeling better. Plenty to eat and drink, the high, pure air, and rest had done marvels for him. His wound was healing rapidly, and he was growing restless with inactivity. Somewhere down below, Hopalong was busy and might be needing him. There was still plenty of grub and his horse was in fine shape, but Red was growing restless. Moreover, he had been shot at too often without a chance to return the courtesy.
"That Hoppy!" he growled half-aloud. "He's stealin' all the fun!"
(from The Riders of High Rock, by Louis L'Amour)
