{"product_id":"the-tall-stranger-isbn-9780553281026","title":"The Tall Stranger","description":"Wagon trains heading west were forced to defend themselves against Indians, cope  with injuries and illness, and struggle to find food. The group of easterners Rock  Bannon was scouting for faced another problem. They were being deceived. When he  warned them to remain on the Humboldt Trail, Sharon Crockett and the others refused  to listen. Mort Harper, a stranger riding a beautiful black mare, had dazzled them  with his charm and good looks. The southern route was the best way to go, Harper  told them. But best for whom? Bannon wondered. That route led straight to the Salt  Lake Desert. The conditions would be brutal. And if Harper wasn’t steering them toward  those deadly alkali flats, where \u003ci\u003ewere\u003c\/i\u003e they headed? And what would happen once they  got there?Our foremost storyteller of the American West, \u003cb\u003eLouis L’Amour \u003c\/b\u003ehas 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.\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    With slow, ponderously rhythmical steps the oxen moved, each step a   pause and an effort, each movement a deadening drag. Fine white dust   hung in a sifting cloud above the wagon train, caking the nostrils of   animals and men, blanketing the sides of oxen and horses, dusting a   thin film over men and women. And the miles stretched on before them, endless and timeless.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRed-rimmed and bloodshot eyes stared with dazed weariness into that limitless distance before them, seeing nothing to grip the eye orhold the attention. Long since all had been forgotten but the heat, the dust and the aching muscles. Each step lifted a powdery dust, stifling and irritating. It lay a foot deep on the plain, drowning the sparse grass and sage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRock Bannon, riding away from the train alone, drew in his steel-dust stallion and turned in the saddle, glancing back at the covered wagons, sixteen of them in the long line with some led horses and a few outriders, yet none who rode so far out as himself, and none who appreciated their problems as thoroughly as he did himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom where he sat he could not see their faces, but in the days just   past he had seen them many times, and the expression of each was engraved in his mind. Haggard, worn, hungry for rest and cool water, he knew that in the heart of each there was a longing to stop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe vision was in them yet, the golden promise of the distant hills, offering a land of milk and honey, the fair and flowering land sought   by all wandering peoples of whatever time or place. No hardship could   seem too great, no trail too long, no mountain impassable when the   vision was upon them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was always and forever the same when men saw the future opening beyond the hills where the sun slept, yet this time the vision must hold meaning; this time the end of the trail must bring   realization—for they had brought their women and children along.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll but Rock Bannon. He had neither woman nor child, nor anyone anywhere. He had a horse and a saddle, a ready gun and a mind filled with lore of the trail, and eyes ever fixed on something he wanted, something faint and indistinct in outline, ever distant, yet ever real. Only of late, as he rode alone on the far flank of the wagon train, had that something begun to take shape and outline, and the shape was that of Sharon Crockett.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis somber green eyes slanted back now to the last wagon but one, where the red-gold hair of Sharon on the driver's seat was a flame no dust could dim. In the back of that heavily loaded wagon was Tom Crockett, her father, restless with fever and hurt, nursing a bullet wound in his thigh, a memento of the battle with Buffalo Hide's warriors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the head of the train came a long, melodious halloo. Cap   Mulholland swung his arm in a great circle, and the lead oxen turned   ponderously to swing in the beginning of the circle. Rock touched the   gray with his heels and rode slowly toward the wagon train. He was never sure these days as to his reception.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCap's beard was white with dust as he looked up. Weariness and worry showed in his face. \"Rock,\" he said, \"we could sure use a little   fresh meat. We're all a mite short on rations, and you seem to be the best hunter among us.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"All right,\" Rock said. \"I'll see what I can do after I get Crockett's wagon in place.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMulholland's head turned sharply. \"Bannon, I'd let that girl alone if   I were you. No offense intended, but she ain't your kind. I ain't   denyin' you've been a sight of help to us. In fact, I don't know what   we'd have done without you, and we're glad you came along. But Sharon Crockett's another story. Her pa's bedded down now, and in no shape to speak.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBannon turned the steel-dust sharply. His face was grim and his jaw hard. \"Did he ask you to speak to me? Or did she?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Well, no—not exactly,\" Mulholland said uncomfortably. \"But I'm   headin' this train.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then I'll thank you to mind your own business. Headin' this wagon train is job enough for any man. Any time the Crocketts ask me to stay away, I'll stay, but that's their affair.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMulholland's face flushed and his eyes darkened with anger. \"She ain't your kind,\" he persisted, \"you bein' a killer, and all.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRock Bannon stared at him. \"You didn't seem to mind my killing Indians!\" he said sarcastically. \"In fact, you killed a few yourself!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't get me wrong!\" Cap persisted. \"I ain't denyin' you helped us! Without you I don't know whether we could have beat off those Indians or not, but killin' Indians and killin' white men's a different thing!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're new to the West, Cap.\" Bannon's voice was rough. \"In a short time you'll find there's white men out here that need killin' a sight worse than Indians. In fact, I'm not so sure those Indians jumped us without help!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What do you mean?\" Mulholland demanded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I mean,\" Bannon said, \"that Morton Harper told you there'd be no hostile Indians on this route! I warned you of Buffalo Hide then, but he told you he ranged further north. You took his advice on this trail, not mine!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePagones and Pike Purcell were coming up to join them. Pike heard the   last remark and his lean, lantern-jawed face flushed with anger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You ridin' Harper again?\" he harshly demanded of Bannon. \"He said   this was a better trail, and it is. We ain't had no high passes, and   we had six days of the best travel we've had since we left Council   Bluffs, with plenty of water and plenty of grass. Now we get a few   bad days and a brush with Indians, but that ain't too much!\" He   glared at Rock. \"I'm sick of your whinin' about this trail and   Harper! I figure he's a darned good man. He was sure a help to me   when I needed it. Out of supplies and no medicine for the wife, and   he staked me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I wasn't talking to you,\" Rock replied shortly, \"and I don't like   your tone. As far as your loan from Harper, remember that you haven't   heard from him on it yet. I've a hunch he'll collect, and plenty!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I don't need no killer to tell me my business!\" Pike snapped,   reining his horse around to face Rock. \"And I ain't afraid of a   reputation for killin', neither. You don't bluff me none.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Here, here!\" Cap protested. \"We can't afford to have trouble in   camp. You'll have to admit, Pike, that we'd have been in bad shape a   couple of times in that fight, if it hadn't been for Bannon. He's   been a help. I don't agree with him on Mort Harper, either, but every   man to his own idea.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRock swung the gray and cantered off toward the hills. Inwardly, he   was seething. He was a fool to stay on with the wagon train-he   understood that perfectly well. Not a man here liked him, not a man   here talked to him except on business. He was not even a member of   their train, except by accident.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey had found him at the crossing of the Platte. Riding, half dead,   with two bullet wounds in his body, his horse ready to drop with   fatigue, he had run upon the wagon train. Sharon Crockett had bedded   him down in her wagon and cared for him, and he had ridden on in the   same place where her father rode now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe had offered no explanation of his wounds, and had talked but   little. A grim and lonely man, gentle words came hard and he could   only look up into Sharon's face and wonder at her beauty, tongue-tied   and helpless. Yet his hard, tough, trail-battered body was too used   to pain to remain helpless for long. He recovered rapidly, and after   that he had ridden along with the wagons, hunting for fresh meat and   helping when he could.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was not a man who made friends easily, yet gradually the ice was   melting, and the clannishness of the wagon train was breaking down.   Twice he had even talked with Sharon, riding beside her wagon,   speaking of the mountains and his own wild and lonely life. All that   ended abruptly that night beside the campfire at the fort.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey had been seated around the fire eating supper, listening to the   bustle of life around the fort, when a tall, handsome man rode up on   a beautiful black mare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePerfectly groomed, his wide white hat topping coal-black hair that   hung to his shoulders, a drooping black mustache and a black   broadcloth suit, the trousers tucked into hand-tooled boots, Morton   Harper had been a picture to take any eye.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSwinging down, he had walked up to the fire. \"Howdy, folks!\" His   voice was genial, his manner warm and pleasant. In an instant his   personality and voice had done what Rock Bannon's could not do in two   weeks. He had broken down their reserve and become one of the group.   \"Headin' for California?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Reckon we are,\" Mulholland had agreed. \"We ain't rightly decided   whether to stay on the Humboldt Trail or to swing north and go to   Oregon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Why go either way?\" Harper asked. \"There's a southern route I could   recommend that would be much easier going for your womenfolks.\" His   alert eyes had already found and appraised Sharon Crockett. \"More   water, plenty of grass, and no high mountain passes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  Cap Mulholland looked up with interest. \"We ain't heard of no such   pass, nor no such trail,\" he admitted. \"How does she go?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Man named Hastings scouted some of it, and I scouted the rest   myself. It is a more southerly route, and within another few months   all the travel will be going that way. Right now,\" he winked, \"the   trains that go that way are going to have a mighty fine trip of it.   Very little dust except in one stretch, fine grass, lots of water.   Also, the hostile Indians are all raiding far north of there along   the traveled routes\" But,\" he added, \"I can see you're well led, and you'll no doubt   learn about this trail yourselves. From the look of your teams I'd   say you were lucky in your choice of a leader.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLeaning against the hub of a wagon wheel, Rock Bannon ate in silence.   The even, smooth flow of the stranger's language had an enchanting   quality, but his own hard-grained, cynical character was impervious   to mere talk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the hours flowed by, Harper sat among them, pleasing the men with   subtle flattery, the women with smiles. The reserve of the group   thawed under his easy manner, and before long they began to discuss   his trail and its possibilities, considering themselves fortunate to   know of it first.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was some talk of putting it to a vote, but it was morning   before it came to that. Until then Rock was silent. \"You'd do   better,\" he interposed suddenly, \"to stick to the regular trail.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarper's head came up sharply and his eyes leveled at Bannon. \"Have   you ever been over the trail I suggest, my friend?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Part way,\" Rock replied. \"Only part of it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"And was that part easy going for oxen and horses? Was there a good   trail? Grass? Water?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes, I reckon it has all that, but I still wouldn't advise it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You say it is a better trail but you wouldn't advise it.\" Harper   glanced around at the others, smiling tolerantly. \"That doesn't make   much sense, does it? I've been over the entire trail and found it   very good going. Moreover, I can give you a map of the trail showing   the water holes, everything. Of course, it's nothing to me what route   you take, but if you want to avoid Indians-\" He shrugged.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What about Buffalo Hide?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMorton Harper's face tightened and his eyes strained to pry Rock   Bannon's face from the shadows in which he sat. \"He's a Blackfoot. He   ranges further north.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarper's eyes shifted to Mulholland. \"Who is this man? I'm surprised   he should ask about Buffalo Hide, as he isn't known to most white   men, other than renegades. I can't understand why he should try to   persuade you to neglect an easier route for a more dangerous one. Is   he one of your regular train?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePike Purcell was abrupt. From the first day he had disliked and been   suspicious of Bannon. \"No, he ain't none of our crowd, just a man who   tied up with us back yonder a ways. He ain't got no wagon, nothin'   but the horse he's ridin'.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I see.\" Morton Harper's face became grave with implied doubt. \"No   offense, friend, but would you mind telling me your name? I know most   of the men along this trail, and Colonel Warren was asking about some   of them only tonight. You'll admit it is safer to be careful, for   there are so many renegades who work with the Indians.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My name's Rock Bannon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMorton Harper's lips tightened and his eyes grew wary. For a moment   he seemed taken aback. Then, as he perceived where his own interests   lay, his eyes lighted with triumph.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ah? Bannon, eh? I've heard of you. Killed a man in Laramie a month   or so back, didn't you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He drew on me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRock was acutely conscious of the sudden chill in the atmosphere, and   he could see Sharon's shocked gaze directed at him. The people of the   wagon train were fresh from the East. Only Cap had been as far west   as the Platte before, and he only once. They were peace-loving men,   quiet, and asking no trouble.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMorton Harper was quick to sense his advantage. \"Sorry to have   brought it up, Bannon,\" he said smoothly, \"but when a man advises a   wagon train against their best interests, it is well to inquire the   source of the advice.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBannon got up. He was a tall man, lean-hipped and broad-shouldered,   his flat-brimmed hat shadowing his face, his eyes glowing with   piercing light as he spoke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I still say that route's a fool way to go. This ain't no country to   go wanderin' around in, and that route lies through Hardy Bishop's   country. You spoke of Hastings. He was the man who advised the Donner   Party.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs his footsteps died away in the darkness, the members of the wagon   train sat very still, their enthusiasm suddenly dampened by that   ill-fated name. They all knew the story. The horror of it still   blanketed the trail with its bloody shadow of the party caught by   snows in the high passes and starving until they resorted to   cannibalism as a way out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMorton Harper shrugged. \"Of course they started on Hastings's trail,   but left it too soon, and the route I suggest avoids all the higher   passes.\" His eyes swung around the group, gathering their attention   like the reins of a six-horse team, and he led them on with promises   and suggestions, an easy flow of calm, quiet talk, stilling their   fears, quieting their doubts, offering them grass and water instead   of dust and desert.","brand":"Bantam","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300412575973,"sku":"NP9780553281026","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553281026.jpg?v=1767741780","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-tall-stranger-isbn-9780553281026","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}