Sackett's Land: A Novel
Louis L'Amour
Language: English
Pages: 208
ISBN: 0553276867
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
After discovering six gold Roman coins buried in the mud of the Devil’s Dyke, Barnabas Sackett enthusiastically invests in goods that he will offer for trade in America. But Sackett has a powerful enemy: Rupert Genester, nephew of an earl, wants him dead. A battlefield promise made to Sackett’s father threatens Genester’s inheritance. So on the eve of his departure for America, Sackett is attacked and thrown into the hold of a pirate ship. Genester’s orders are for him to disappear into the waters of the Atlantic. But after managing to escape, Sackett makes his way to the Carolina coast. He sees in the raw, abundant land the promise of a bright future. But before that dream can be realized, he must first return to England and discover the secret of his father’s legacy.
The Buntline Special (Weird West Tales, Book 1)
The Daybreakers (The Sacketts, Book 6)
Spirit of the Mountain Man (Mountain Man, Book 16)
It had the shine of death. Nobody would be traveling any trail in the mountains until that ice was gone. Those eyebrow trails … those brink-of-the-precipice trails, those rocky crossings, those sheets of rock—all would be sheets of ice now, where no horse could maintain its footing, where even a man in moccasins would scarcely dare to move. The thought of the trail into the valley where Ange had been made my hair stand on end. If the sun came out it would melt fast enough. But it was late in.
Willing to accept what my ears had heard. A shot … here! It had come from the canyon below. Someone was down there! Someone was at or near Ange’s cave. Here? In this place? CHAPTER 13 The sudden crack of ice … the breaking of a tree branch laden with snow?… No. This had been a shot, clear, sharp, unmistakable. Tell, I said, you ain’t … aren’t … alone. Who knew of the cave below? Or of the valley? Only Ange, so far as I knew. Cap knew what I’d told him, but Cap couldn’t have made it up there.
Quiet. If we get out at all, you’ll be with us, but don’t get your hopes up. Our chances are mighty poor.” For several minutes, while I wove some rawhide around the crosspieces, Kid Newton had nothing to say. Finally, he eased his leg a mite. “Sackett, you and that girl better take out. I mean, I’m no account. Why, I was fixin’ to kill you back along the trail.” “Kid, you’d never have cleared leather. I wasn’t hunting trouble, but I cut my teeth on a six-shooter.” “You can make it, you two.
Ever hearing of a ha’nt with a taste for trout. We Welsh, like the Irish and the Bretons, have our stories of the Little People, all of which we love to yarn about, but we do not really believe in such things. But in America a man heard other tales. Not often, for Indians did not like to talk of them, and never spoke of them except among themselves. But I’d talked to white men who took squaws to wife, and they lived among Indians, and heard the tales. Up in Wyoming I rode by to look at the.
I was keeping three Rebel guns out of action, picking off gunners like a ’possum picking hazelnuts, and he stood by, a-watching. “Sackett,” he said finally, “how does it happen that a boy from Tennessee is fighting for the Union?” “Well, sir,” I said, “my country is a thing to love, and I set store by being an American. My great-grandpa was one of Dearborn’s riflemen at the second battle of Saratoga, and Grandpa sailed the seas with Decatur and Bainbridge. “Grandpa was one of the boatmen who.