Read Online Novel 1966 - The Broken Gun (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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probable that they knew it.
There was water, of course, but there was no food; and as for the way I had come, in that direction were the men who hunted me.
I made haste to get under the overhang, where I turned a rock on its side to get a comfortable flat surface, and sat down. From above I would be invisible.
There was no need to worry about the sun, for it would shine into this narrow canyon for not over an hour a day. What troubled me, besides my own plight, was that there was nothing I could do to help Belle. Though she had gotten away into the hills, she might need help.
Something moved on the rock above me, and I held myself back, careful to make no sound. Dust and a few pebbles fell over the lip.
“Sheridan?” It was Colin’s voice. “You might as well answer. We know you’re down there.”
They suspected, with evidence enough, but they did not
know
, and what they did not know could hurt them. I held my silence, and waited.
Then suddenly, up there above me, I heard a hacking and pounding on the rock. Were they cutting footholds to come down? For a moment I was on the verge of looking out. The advantage was with me if anyone tried to come down that face, for while climbing down he would be helpless unless protected from above. Even in that case I might rush him as he reached the bottom and knock him over the edge. But even as I started to get up, I realized what they were doing.
They were chipping away at the footholds I had used in getting down. And they had only to knock off one or two and I was a prisoner right here, and could be left to starve to death. There would be no marks of violence on my body, and this was vastly preferable to a bullet wound that must be explained away.
“We aren’t going to worry about you anymore,” Colin said after a while. “And if there are any tapes of yours that are a danger to us, we will have them.”
My secretary, a trusting girl, would be alone. She would protect my property if she could—but against Floyd Reese or Jimbo Wells?
I could not wait. Somehow, some way, I had to get away from here.
Then above me I heard the grate of boots on rock, retreating footsteps…and then I was alone.
Chapter 6
T HE SUN WAS high, but it was cool within the walls of my prison. Above me was a narrow ribbon of blue, and straight before me the canyon, so narrow that in places one might almost have reached from side to side. Where I sat it was wider, but as it narrowed it took a slight bend, so that the curve of the wall closed off any glimpse of the outer world. That world, I knew, lay bright in the midday sun only a few hundred yards away.
For a long time I sat perfectly still. When one has lived in the wilderness one acquires a quality of stillness, and one learns to listen.
The sounds of the lonely places are subdued sounds. Once one becomes accustomed to those that prevail, such as the wind in the trees or in the grass, he soon begins to recognize those other, smaller sounds. He learns to know the sound of a bird rustling after food among the leaves, or the sounds made by small animals. He learns to distinguish between the sound of pebbles falling by some natural cause, and those disturbed by a step.
There is never complete silence. The wilderness is quiet, but there is always a faint, low rustle or murmur. Listening is an art to be cultivated; and the symphonies of the desert or the forest demand a finer ear than do the symphonies of the composers.
I knew that all that I possessed, all that I had tried to become, my very life, was at stake. This was no story I was writing, but reality itself, stark and terrible. Within the next few hours I must fight a battle to survive, a battle that would determine not only whether I would live or die, but also whether Belle would. And if we did die, an evil thing would remain in the world, destructive and unchecked.
Man has within himself the most powerful weapon ever developed—the human brain. If I were to survive now, it would
There was water, of course, but there was no food; and as for the way I had come, in that direction were the men who hunted me.
I made haste to get under the overhang, where I turned a rock on its side to get a comfortable flat surface, and sat down. From above I would be invisible.
There was no need to worry about the sun, for it would shine into this narrow canyon for not over an hour a day. What troubled me, besides my own plight, was that there was nothing I could do to help Belle. Though she had gotten away into the hills, she might need help.
Something moved on the rock above me, and I held myself back, careful to make no sound. Dust and a few pebbles fell over the lip.
“Sheridan?” It was Colin’s voice. “You might as well answer. We know you’re down there.”
They suspected, with evidence enough, but they did not
know
, and what they did not know could hurt them. I held my silence, and waited.
Then suddenly, up there above me, I heard a hacking and pounding on the rock. Were they cutting footholds to come down? For a moment I was on the verge of looking out. The advantage was with me if anyone tried to come down that face, for while climbing down he would be helpless unless protected from above. Even in that case I might rush him as he reached the bottom and knock him over the edge. But even as I started to get up, I realized what they were doing.
They were chipping away at the footholds I had used in getting down. And they had only to knock off one or two and I was a prisoner right here, and could be left to starve to death. There would be no marks of violence on my body, and this was vastly preferable to a bullet wound that must be explained away.
“We aren’t going to worry about you anymore,” Colin said after a while. “And if there are any tapes of yours that are a danger to us, we will have them.”
My secretary, a trusting girl, would be alone. She would protect my property if she could—but against Floyd Reese or Jimbo Wells?
I could not wait. Somehow, some way, I had to get away from here.
Then above me I heard the grate of boots on rock, retreating footsteps…and then I was alone.
Chapter 6
T HE SUN WAS high, but it was cool within the walls of my prison. Above me was a narrow ribbon of blue, and straight before me the canyon, so narrow that in places one might almost have reached from side to side. Where I sat it was wider, but as it narrowed it took a slight bend, so that the curve of the wall closed off any glimpse of the outer world. That world, I knew, lay bright in the midday sun only a few hundred yards away.
For a long time I sat perfectly still. When one has lived in the wilderness one acquires a quality of stillness, and one learns to listen.
The sounds of the lonely places are subdued sounds. Once one becomes accustomed to those that prevail, such as the wind in the trees or in the grass, he soon begins to recognize those other, smaller sounds. He learns to know the sound of a bird rustling after food among the leaves, or the sounds made by small animals. He learns to distinguish between the sound of pebbles falling by some natural cause, and those disturbed by a step.
There is never complete silence. The wilderness is quiet, but there is always a faint, low rustle or murmur. Listening is an art to be cultivated; and the symphonies of the desert or the forest demand a finer ear than do the symphonies of the composers.
I knew that all that I possessed, all that I had tried to become, my very life, was at stake. This was no story I was writing, but reality itself, stark and terrible. Within the next few hours I must fight a battle to survive, a battle that would determine not only whether I would live or die, but also whether Belle would. And if we did die, an evil thing would remain in the world, destructive and unchecked.
Man has within himself the most powerful weapon ever developed—the human brain. If I were to survive now, it would
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