Filled with action, adventure, mystery, and historical detail, the Sackett saga is an unforgettable achievement by one of America's greatest storytellers. In Galloway, two brothers must struggle to survive in a wild and beautiful land to build themselves a ranch and a future.A desperate stand. . .Trouble was following Flagan Sackett with a vengeance. Captured and tortured by a band of Apaches, he had escaped into the rugged San Juan country, where he would try to stay alive until his brother Galloway could find him.But the brothers were about to find worse trouble ahead. Their plan to establish a ranch angered the Dunn clan, who had decided that the vast range would be theirs alone. Now Galloway and Flagan would face an enemy who killed for sport -- but as long as other Sacketts lived, they would not fight alone. . .
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December 31, 1969
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Excerpt from Galloway by Louis L'Amour
THE OLD ELK walked up the knoll where the long wind blew. The wolves followed.
The elk realized what was happening, but he didn't know it was only a part of something that had been going on since life began.
He didn't know that it was because of these wolves or their kindred that he had been strong, brave, and free-running all his past years. For it was the wolves who kept the elk herds in shape by weeding out the weak, the old, and the inept.
Now his time had come, and the wolves were there. He no longer had the speed to outrun them nor the get-about to outfight them, and there were four wolves working as a team, not one of them weighing less than a hundred pounds and two of them nearly twice that.
All he had going for him was his wisdom, and so far he was making a fair country try in getting himself to a place where he could make a stand. You could see, plain as the snow on the mountains yonder, that he was heading for the rocks where he could get his back to the wall.
His trouble was that wolves, like Indians, are patient. They had hunted elk before, had seen all of this happen many times, and they knew they were going to get that elk.
They didn't know about me. Coming up as I had, they'd caught no wind of me, nor could they guess it was my work they were doing. For I was figuring on having most of that elk myself.
When a man has been on the run and hasn't had a bite in three days, he's ready to eat an elk -- head, hoofs, and horns -- all by himself. Trouble was, I'd no way of killing an elk... or anything else, really, and if those wolves got the idea I was as bad off as I was they might take right in after me.
A lobo is too smart to harry a man unless he's down and well-nigh helpless. They don't like the man smell, which always means trouble, but a wolf is born with a keen sense of something ready for the kill... which I was. Up to a point, I was.
My feet were raw and bloody, the flesh churned into a bloody mess by running over the broken rock, gravel, and stubble of the desert. My body was worn with hunger, thirst, and exhaustion to a point where I could scarcely walk. But there was that inside me, whatever it was that made me a man, that was a whole long way from being whipped.
The wolves could smell blood, they could smell a festering wound, but could they smell the heart of a man The nerve that was in him
That elk sprinted for the rocks and the wolves taken in after him, wary of his hoofs, shy of the vicious drive of those forefeet that could stab and cut a wolf to a cripple. The horns didn't worry them too much, but a wolf is a shrewd hunter and wants to lose no hide for his meal.