{"product_id":"fallonisbn-9781524783198","title":"Fallon","description":"Macon Fallon had never needed more than a deck of cards, a fast horse, and a ready  gun; he was counting on those things now as he led an unsuspecting group of settlers  to an abandoned mining town. But while Fallon prepared to pass the ghost town off  as a gold mine in the making, a funny thing happened: a real-life community started  to take shape in the town he’d christened Red Horse. So when a band of vicious outlaws  and a kid who fancied himself a gunslinger threatened to rip Red Horse apart, Fallon  found himself caught in one predicament he’d never gambled on. He had come to Red  Horse to make a quick fortune, but now he might have to pick up a gun and risk his  life for a place he never wanted to call home.…LOUIS L'AMOUR was truly America's favorite storyteller. He was the first fiction writer ever to receive the Congressional Gold Medal from the United States Congress in honor of his life's work, and was also awarded the Medal of Freedom. There are over 3 million copies of L'Amour programs in print from Random House Audio.\u003ci\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    MACON FALLON WAS a stranger to the town of Seven Pines, and   fortunately for him he was a stranger with a fast horse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In the course of an eventful life, Macon Fallon had become a   connoisseur of western hospitality, and knew when a limit had been   reached.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Hence, when an escorting party, complete with rope, arranged to   conduct him to the vicinity of a large cottonwood where the evening's   festivities would be concluded, he wasted no time on formalities, but   promptly departed the premises.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The moment chosen was, of course, appropriate to the situation. The   self-appointed posse were as confident as a few drinks could make   them, but were totally unaware of the quality of the man they   escorted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    One of the riders had lagged a little, and at that moment they came   abreast of an opening in the brush that walled the trail. Fallon rode   an excellent cutting horse that could turn on a dime.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The black horse went through the opening with a bound and, sensing   the urgency of its rider, took off on a dead run.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    No horse Fallon had ever seen could catch that black of his in under   half a mile, and by the time that distance lay behind, Fallon was   prepared to resort to evasive tactics. The black had staying quality   as well as an initial burst of speed; and the posse, less superbly   mounted, fell rapidly behind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Unfortunately, by the time the opportunity for escape was offered,   only one direction remained to Fallon . . . and westward lay a   waterless waste . . . or one that was relatively so.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The nearest water hole was thirty miles off, but on Fallon's one   previous visit the water there had been plentiful and good. With a   safe lead, and some tracks purposely left to indicate that he had   circled the town, he settled down for a long ride.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    At thirty miles, with his throat parched for a drink, the water hole   proved to be a bed of dried, cracked mud.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    At forty-two miles, with his horse stumbling, the creek was a dusty   trough, and Macon Fallon was a man in trouble.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Somewhere behind was a posse of irate citizens who had by this time   found his trail. They would be coming along with filled canteens and   could afford to ignore the water holes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    To the best of his knowledge, which admittedly was not thorough, the   next seventy miles offered no water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dust sifted over him, and sweat etched a fine pattern of lines upon   his lean, ruggedly handsome if somewhat saturnine features. He   dismounted, talked to the horse to reassure it, then walked on,   leading the horse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He was a man naturally considerate of horses, but he also knew that   in this country if his horse should die, his own death was only a   matter of time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    THE TROUBLE IN Seven Pines had been none of his own making. It has   been written that while Man proposes, God disposes; but when Macon   Fallon joined that poker game he had no idea he was sitting in on an   invitation to death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He had money, a good horse, and time for a leisurely ride south. The   poker game was merely a means to endure a dull evening in a strange   town; whether he won or lost was unimportant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His mood was pleasant, his prospects excellent, and the future looked   good indeed, yet when he drew back that chair at the poker table, he   sat down to trouble.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The game began innocently enough. He won a small pot, lost two. . . .   As the evening progressed he drew no very interesting cards. By   midnight he was winner to the tune of six silver dollars, and was   ready to turn in. At that moment, destiny took a hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Now, Fallon was a man who could do things with cards. He could, while   shuffling, run up a top stock or a bottom stock; he could shift the   cut, deal from the top or the bottom, or second-deal; and he knew all   about slick aces, marked or trimmed cards, shiners, mirrors in   pipe-bowls or match boxes, and the tiny pricks on finger rings for   the purpose of marking cards.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Sleeve and belt holdouts were no mystery to him, and he knew all   about the man who brings drinks or sandwiches to the table with a   cold deck held underneath the tray ready for a switch. In short,   Macon Fallon was a professional; and although usually honest, he was   not above cheating the cheaters if they invited it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    On this night he was playing a fair game, and was not especially   interested in winning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Suddenly he was dealt an ace, another ace, and a third one. He   discarded two indifferent cards, and was rewarded with two queens.   The pot was very satisfactory, and no comment was made.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The following hand he received two sevens and a pair of jacks, then   drew a third seven. Once more the pot was a pleasant one; and a   player named Collins, a popular man locally, gave him a long, careful   look and commented, \"You are lucky tonight.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"I think I'll turn in,\" Fallon said, stifling a yawn. \"I've a long   ride tomorrow.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Collins glanced at him. \"You have a good deal of our money. Better   give us a chance to win it back.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Two more hands then,\" Fallon agreed. \"I'm dead tired.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Instinct warned that he should get out while the getting was good,   but even as he spoke the deal was progressing. It was with relief   that he picked up two fours. He would lose this hand, then he would   quit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He contributed liberally to the pot, and on the draw he picked up the   other two fours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Four of a kind . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Recognizing his dismay, they misunderstood its reason. Promptly, they   began to raise, and Macon Fallon was not a man to look gift horses in   the teeth, nor will any gambler in his right mind betray his luck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Besides, there was a poem he recalled, a poem that went something like this:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    If he play, being young and unskillful,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    For shekels of silver and gold-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Take his money, my son, praising Allah,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The kid was ordained to be sold.*\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Unfortunately, that drawing of fours was followed by the drawing of   sixes, and Collins lost on that draw also. He started to take action,   and Fallon, forced to deal, placed two aces of lead, neatly spaced   over the heart of Collins, where they might have been covered by a   blue chip.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The shooting was fair, and nobody had seen anything wrong with the   play, but Collins had been a popular man and nobody wanted to see all   that money leave Seven Pines.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A self-appointed committee convened and it was decided to hang   Fallon, whereupon the committee repaired to the bar to drink to their   decision. Several drinks later Macon Fallon was led to his horse and   started along the road toward the selected cottonwood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Befuddled by too many toasts to the occasion, and exhilarated by the   prospect of excitement in town, they neglected to search Fallon's   saddlebags or even to remove the rifle from its scabbard. After all,   his hands were bound behind him and they had only half a mile to go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It could not be said that Macon Fallon was a man who missed   opportunities, or was laggard in putting time to use. No sooner was   he seated in the saddle than he began straining his fingers to reach   the knots that bound his wrists, a proceeding considerably   facilitated by the fact that he had taken the precaution of tensing   his muscles as they bound him, which permitted a little slack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He had, on a couple of previous occasions, been witness to hangings,   and the proceedings had filled him with distaste. The prospect of   being the central figure in such a ceremony attracted him not at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Yet dying of thirst was scarcely preferable, and that appeared to be   the alternative he had chosen. Walking and riding with these thoughts   in his mind, Fallon covered ten miles more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He was now devoid of any illusions as to the outcome. He simply was   not going to make it, and neither was his horse. The blazing sun had   taken its toll, as had the stifling dust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He might have tried to seek out shade and wait for the cooler hours,   but the posse was somewhere behind him and they would not lack for   water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Fallon remounted, and the black horse started gamely on. They would   be fortunate to last another three miles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    At that moment he saw the wagons. They were no mirage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Two covered wagons, two teams of six oxen each, two saddle horses, a   milk cow, and half a dozen people. One wagon was canted sharply over,   a condition he diagnosed as a broken wheel. Oxen and horses were   gaunt, the people drawn and tired.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Hastily, in the moment before they sighted him, Fallon beat the dust   from his clothing, straightened his tie, pulled his horse's head up,   and straightened up himself. He would approach them as a man of   means, a man of spirit, a man who could take command. Once people   felt pity for a man, he would never be able to have the upper hand.   The thing to do was take command and keep them moving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Macon Fallon was alive to opportunity, and opportunity was what he   needed now. Every bit of his cash except for a few dollars had been   left behind in Seven Pines. He needed not only a stake before going   on, but a chance for his horse and himself to recover strength.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And these were the people who would provide it. Did not the good Lord   send the lambs to be sheared?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Macon Fallon was a cynic, but every cynic is a sentimentalist under   the skin, and therein lay the chink in Fallon's armor of larceny. For   basically, no matter how much he might consider himself otherwise,   Macon Fallon was a gentleman in the best sense of the word.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Aware of his deficiency, he avoided every contact that might betray   him into thoughtfulness, gallantry, or consideration. He kept to   himself, and when necessity demanded that he deal harshly, he   ruthlessly dealt so with those who were themselves so inclined.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    People, he told himself, were suckers. The fact that on several   occasions he had proved to be one himself only served to illustrate   the point.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Two assets belonged to Fallon besides a glib tongue and a gift for   handling the pasteboards. One was a keen sense of observation; the   other, an excellent memory and a mind filled to overflowing with an   enormous variety of usually useless information.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Long ago he had discovered that while all people look, there are few   who actually see. Rarely did people look with intelligence, or   recognize what they were seeing. If they walked in the forest they   saw only trees; or at best, merely certain varieties of trees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    But Macon Fallon saw much more. He saw where a bear had stood on his   hind legs and had left his mark to other bears as high as he could   reach upon the trunk; he saw where a deer had passed, and how long   since; where blight had touched a tree, or where lightning had   scarred one long ago. He saw these things, and much, much more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    So, when he glimpsed the wagons his mind was not so gripped by the   sight of them that he failed to see lying in the brush, almost   obliterated by the weather, a faded sign: BUELL'S BLUFF.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Buell's Bluff?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Startled, he drew up and looked again and immediately the sign, the   people of the wagons, and his own fertile imagination became the base   upon which he began to construct a plan. His thoughts leaped ahead.   If the plan worked he could, in a few weeks, at most in a few months,   ride into California completely solvent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He drew himself still straighter in the saddle, cocked his hat at a   still jauntier angle, and attempted to look as spruce as he did not   feel. The lambs awaited, and he held the shears. A question remained:   did the lambs have fleece?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    His lethargy was gone, his weariness fell away, even the heat and his   own parched throat and cracked lips were forgotten; for here was   opportunity, and no man had ever needed one more.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Even as he advanced, he could not but wonder if he did not look like   a dusty Don Quixote . . . if so, the black horse was, at least, no   Rosinante. Undoubtedly he was in worse shape than they, but he had   probably had more experience with adversity than they could possibly   have had.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There were two men, two women of mature years, a boy of sixteen, two   young girls, and three smaller children. There was also a young man   of perhaps nineteen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Sweeping off his hat as only he knew how, Fallon asked, \"May I be of service?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Wheel broke.\" The speaker was a man of about forty-five, with sandy   hair, a well-shaped head, and a strong face. \"We got the know-how,   but we ain't got the tools.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Macon Fallon stepped carefully from the saddle, trying not to   stagger. With that bulging water-sack hanging from the side of the   wagon, with that smell of bacon frying, absolutely nothing was going   to get him away from here. Yet he must seem prosperous; anything else   at this time would prove fatal to his plan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"You are going to the mines?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The worry in the sandy-haired man's face was apparent. \"Small chance   unless we leave our wagons and start off afoot.\" He indicated the   shimmering wasteland. \"We're kind of scared to tackle that, with the   womenfolks, and all.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Salvation lay here for Fallon, not only for the moment, but for the   future as well, if he could play these people in the right way. His   throat was raw with the need for water, and the smell of food made   his stomach growl with impatience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \"Rightly so.\" He gestured toward the barren country around them. \"A   man without a horse out there, and without water . . . he might keep   going two days if he was strong to begin with.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Fallon's glance fell on one of the girls . . . quickly he averted his   eyes. This was no time for sentiment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    These were good people, the sort he usually avoided, but he could not   think of that now. In any event, it was not them he planned to   victimize. They would be merely the window dressing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And anyway, what else could they do? Where could they go? With luck,   the men might make it through; the women and children never could.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Fallon opened his campaign with a wide, friendly smile. \"Believe me,   you are more fortunate than you realize. That wheel of yours must   have been inspired to break down here. You need go no farther.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He turned to the water barrel. \"May I?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dipping water into his hat with the drinking gourd, he held it for   his grateful horse. He took only the smallest sip himself, but it   sent an agonizing, unbelievable coolness throughout his body.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    When his horse had emptied the hat, Fallon hung up the gourd. His   eyes at that moment fell upon the sorrel horse tied to the tailgate   of the other wagon, and he seemed to consider for a moment. \"Have you   ever heard,\" he asked, \"of the town of Red Horse?\"","brand":"Random House Audio","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303995363557,"sku":"NP9781524783198","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781524783198.jpg?v=1730756014","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/fallonisbn-9781524783198","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}