Borden Chantry (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures): A Novel

Borden Chantry (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures): A Novel

As part of the Louis L’Amour’s Lost Treasures series, this edition contains exclusive bonus materials! The marshal’s name was Borden Chantry. Young, lean, rugged, he’s buried a few men in this two-bit cow town—every single one killed in a fair fight. Then, one dark, grim day a mysterious gunman shot a man in cold blood. Five grisly murders later, Chantey was faced with the roughest assignment of his life—find that savage, trigger-happy hard case before he blasts apart every man in town . . . one by bloody one. Louis L’Amour’s Lost Treasures is a project created to release some of the author’s more unconventional manuscripts from the family archives.   In Louis L’Amour’s Lost Treasures: Volumes 1 and 2, Beau L’Amour takes the reader on a guided tour through many of the finished and unfinished short stories, novels, and treatments that his father was never able to publish during his lifetime. L’Amour’s never-before-seen first novel, No Traveller Returns, faithfully completed for this program, is a voyage into danger and violence on the high seas. Additionally, many beloved classics are being rereleased with an exclusive Lost Treasures postscript featuring previously unpublished material, including outlines, plot notes, and alternate drafts. These postscripts tell the story behind the stories that millions of readers have come to know and cherish. 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. Chapter 1 Dawn came like a ghost to the silent street, a gray, dusty street lined with boardwalks, hitching rails and several short lengths of water trough. False-­fronted buildings alternated with others of brick or stone, some with windows showing goods for sale, some blank and empty. A door slammed, a well pump came to life, complaining in rusty accents, then a rooster crowed . . . answered by another from across the town. Into the end of the street rode a lone cowboy on a crow-­bait horse. He saw the sign of the Bon-­Ton Restaurant, and turned toward it, then his horse shied and he saw the body of a man lying beside the walk. He glanced at it, dismounted, then tied his horse at the rail. He tried the restaurant door and had started to turn away when the sound of footsteps drew him back. The door opened and a pleasant voice said, “Come in. There’s coffee, breakfast ready in a few minutes.” “I ain’t in no hurry.” The cowboy straddled a chair, accepting the coffee. “Dead man out in the street.” “Again? Third this week. You just wait until Saturday. Saturday night’s when they let the wolves howl. You stick around.” “I seen it here and yonder. Ain’t figurin’ on it. I’m ridin’ over to Carson an’ the steam cars.” He jerked his head toward the street. “You seen him?” “No . . . don’t aim to. I seen a dead man. I seen two dozen of them, time to time. Ain’t nothin’ about bein’ dead pleases me. Some drunken fight, no doubt. Happens all the time.” A woman came along the street, her heels clicking on the boardwalk. She passed the dead man, glanced back, then turned her head away and walked on to the post office. A man crossing the street turned aside and bending over the dead man took the head by the hair and turned the face around. “Him? Prob’ly had it comin’,” he said, and walked on. Down the street another door slammed and somebody sang, off-­key, of the streets of Laredo. Another pump started to squeak. Finally the woman emerged from the post office, glanced at the body, then went to the door of the marshal’s office and rapped vigorously. “Borden? Borden? Are you in there?” A tall, young man came to the door, slipping a suspender over his shoulder. “What’s the matter, Prissy? You outa stamps?” “There’s a dead man lying in the street, Borden Chantry, and it’s a disgrace. It . . . why, you should be ashamed! And you call yourself a marshal!” “Wasn’t even here last night, ma’am. I was clean over on the Picketwire. Prob’ly just some drunken shootin’.” “No matter what it was, Borden Chantry, you get that body out of the street! What’s this town coming to, anyway? Dead bodies lying around, shootings and stabbings every night. You call yourself a marshal!” “No, ma’am, I don’t. The city council does. I only figured to be a rancher until that norther came along. Why, I was fixin’ to be a rich man come spring!” “You an’ how many others? You get that body up, Borden, or I’ll have the committee on you.” Borden Chantry chuckled. “Now, now, Prissy, you wouldn’t do that, would you? Why, those old biddies—­” “Hush your mouth, Borden! If they heard you speak of them like that, why—­!” She turned around and went back to the post office. A tall, handsome man with sandy hair stopped on the walk across the street. “What’s the matter, Bord? You in trouble?” “Seems like. There’s a body in the street an’ our