By Louis L'Amour
Callaghen’s company is soldiering. For two decades he’d fought around the globe, from China to the deserts of California; now he’s a personal within the U.S. Cavalry, poorly paid, his enlistment approximately to expire. He’s able to stream on…until he comes throughout a startling discovery: a treasure map belonging to a lifeless lieutenant who would possibly not were all that he appeared. The map issues tips on how to an underground river of gold…or does it? to determine, Callaghen must struggle the hardest struggle of his existence: opposed to a fierce Indian warrior, a vindictive commanding officer, and a ruthless gang of outlaws who’ll flip what could be a river of gold right into a river of blood.
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Extra info for Callaghen
Example text
The skin on his hands looked wrinkled... like the hands of a very old man. An Indian out there moved, and Callaghen fired without looking at his piece; he looked only at the Indian. The Mohave stumbled and fell. That would put a scare into them. Indians were wise they saw no advantage in a victory bought with the death of their own warriors. They did not believe in losing men to gain ground, or losing a man for any reason if it could be avoided. They were not afraid to die, but they knew that a dead warrior kills no enemies.
I got a notion to stay right here," he said. " "You'll make it," Callaghen said cheerfully. " Walsh looked thoughtful as he saw the way Croker's eyes remained on Callaghen. Walsh was keenly sensitive to the strengths and weaknesses of other men. A coward himself, he had no envy for the brave, although in his own way he respected them, and he feared them as willing to do things he might hesitate to do. There was something in Croker's eyes now that puzzled him, some peculiar intentness that set him to wondering.
At last he sat back, hands hanging, and watched. Slowly, water began to seep into the hole. He dipped up a little, and touched his lips with it, letting a few drops fall on his tongue. A drop or two went down his throat, and he felt a delicious coolness go all through him. When he could get a few mouthfuls down his throat, he took up his rifle and walked out to where Croker sat. "Go on back for a while," he said. " Croker stared at him, incredulous. Then he scrambled to his feet, and fell. He got up slowly, and went back through the mesquite.