Read Online Fire on the Mountain by Edward Abbey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward Abbey
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tired. In fact the saddle, as I lugged it to the corralfence, seemed to weigh approximately five hundred pounds.
“You can just turn old Blue loose, Billy,” Grandfather said. “He’ll stick close to Rocky. You might brush him down a little.”
Lee picketed his horse. We curried our animals with juniper twigs and then went into the cabin, following the scent of food. The inside of the cabin was neat and clean, was furnished with an iron cot, a table and chairs, a cupboard full of canned goods, a kerosene lamp, and other supplies, including a sack of grain suspended on baling wire from the rafters to make life more difficult for the mice and squirrels. A pot of coffee simmered on the stove.
“That smells good,” Lee said.
“Ain’t quite ready yet,” the old man said, stirring the corned beef with a fork. He handed me the empty water bucket. “Billy, would you mind filling that? We’ll be ready to eat as soon as you get back.”
“Yes sir.” I swallowed my disappointment, took the bucket, left the cabin and walked along the footpath toward the spring at the head of the ravine. The path led downward along the base of a cliff, winding among boulders big as boxcars and under tall stately yellow pines, until it reached a sort of glen or grotto in a deep fold of the mountainside. The air felt cool, the light was green and filtered down in there—I thought of the lion. I knelt by the sandy basin of the spring and drank from my cupped hands before filling the pail. The glen was very quiet; I could hear no breeze, no bird cries, no sound at all except the gentle purr of the water as it glided over moss-covered rocks and sank out of sight into the mud and weeds below the spring.
I returned to the cabin, the bucket of water pulling down my arm and shoulder. Grandfather was dishing out the food into tin plates and pouring the coffee. Lee stood near the corral, feeding grain to the horses.
“Come and get it!” Grandfather shouted. To me hesaid, “Put the water on the stove, Billy, and bring your plate outside. Too hot to eat in here.”
The three of us sat on the grass against the cabin wall, in the shade, and faced the sunlit world below. We were all silent for a while and too busy to admire the spectacular view, eating what I thought was probably the best meal I had ever had in my life. Later, after second helpings all around, full and comforted, we set our plates aside and began to talk and look at things again.
“How could I forget my cigars.”
“Have a tailormade,” Lee said, offering a cigarette to the old man.
Grandfather examined the cigarette. “They say women enjoy these things.”
“That’s right,” Lee said, “and I enjoy women.” He offered his pack to me. “Cigarette, Billy?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t allowed to smoke, of course. Besides, I preferred the corncob pipe I had hidden in my suitcase back at the ranch-house.
“Put them back,” Grandfather said. “Don’t give the boy one of those.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a filthy, evil, despicable habit, a disgrace to the human race.” Grandfather lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. “He’s too young. Put them back.”
They smoked. I pulled a stem of grass and chewed on it and looked. There was much to look at from where we sat. With the great mountain at our backs, we had a full and open view to the north, east and south—one-half the known world. I could see four different mountain systems, not counting the one holding me up, the lights of two cities, and about seven thousand square miles of the desert in between. I saw the San Andres Mountains rolling north, the Sacramento Mountains beyond Alamogordo, forty miles away to the northeast, the Guadalupe Mountains some eighty miles due east and the Oregon Mountains and the hazysmudge of El Paso far to the south, with the deserts of Chihuahua spreading toward infinity beyond.
The sun dropped lower. I saw the shadow of Thieves’ Peak creep across the plain toward Grandfather
“You can just turn old Blue loose, Billy,” Grandfather said. “He’ll stick close to Rocky. You might brush him down a little.”
Lee picketed his horse. We curried our animals with juniper twigs and then went into the cabin, following the scent of food. The inside of the cabin was neat and clean, was furnished with an iron cot, a table and chairs, a cupboard full of canned goods, a kerosene lamp, and other supplies, including a sack of grain suspended on baling wire from the rafters to make life more difficult for the mice and squirrels. A pot of coffee simmered on the stove.
“That smells good,” Lee said.
“Ain’t quite ready yet,” the old man said, stirring the corned beef with a fork. He handed me the empty water bucket. “Billy, would you mind filling that? We’ll be ready to eat as soon as you get back.”
“Yes sir.” I swallowed my disappointment, took the bucket, left the cabin and walked along the footpath toward the spring at the head of the ravine. The path led downward along the base of a cliff, winding among boulders big as boxcars and under tall stately yellow pines, until it reached a sort of glen or grotto in a deep fold of the mountainside. The air felt cool, the light was green and filtered down in there—I thought of the lion. I knelt by the sandy basin of the spring and drank from my cupped hands before filling the pail. The glen was very quiet; I could hear no breeze, no bird cries, no sound at all except the gentle purr of the water as it glided over moss-covered rocks and sank out of sight into the mud and weeds below the spring.
I returned to the cabin, the bucket of water pulling down my arm and shoulder. Grandfather was dishing out the food into tin plates and pouring the coffee. Lee stood near the corral, feeding grain to the horses.
“Come and get it!” Grandfather shouted. To me hesaid, “Put the water on the stove, Billy, and bring your plate outside. Too hot to eat in here.”
The three of us sat on the grass against the cabin wall, in the shade, and faced the sunlit world below. We were all silent for a while and too busy to admire the spectacular view, eating what I thought was probably the best meal I had ever had in my life. Later, after second helpings all around, full and comforted, we set our plates aside and began to talk and look at things again.
“How could I forget my cigars.”
“Have a tailormade,” Lee said, offering a cigarette to the old man.
Grandfather examined the cigarette. “They say women enjoy these things.”
“That’s right,” Lee said, “and I enjoy women.” He offered his pack to me. “Cigarette, Billy?”
I hesitated. I wasn’t allowed to smoke, of course. Besides, I preferred the corncob pipe I had hidden in my suitcase back at the ranch-house.
“Put them back,” Grandfather said. “Don’t give the boy one of those.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a filthy, evil, despicable habit, a disgrace to the human race.” Grandfather lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. “He’s too young. Put them back.”
They smoked. I pulled a stem of grass and chewed on it and looked. There was much to look at from where we sat. With the great mountain at our backs, we had a full and open view to the north, east and south—one-half the known world. I could see four different mountain systems, not counting the one holding me up, the lights of two cities, and about seven thousand square miles of the desert in between. I saw the San Andres Mountains rolling north, the Sacramento Mountains beyond Alamogordo, forty miles away to the northeast, the Guadalupe Mountains some eighty miles due east and the Oregon Mountains and the hazysmudge of El Paso far to the south, with the deserts of Chihuahua spreading toward infinity beyond.
The sun dropped lower. I saw the shadow of Thieves’ Peak creep across the plain toward Grandfather
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