Read Online Novel 1966 - The Broken Gun (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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be because what strength I possessed would be directed by the mind.
So I sat quietly, listening. The taint and turmoil of cities were gone from me. Minute by minute I had been reverting to the life of the mountains and the wilderness—back, if you will, to savagery. I was here in a savage land, and to survive I must be savage, even more so than they who hunted me.
Again my thoughts returned to the Alvarez brothers. They were part Apache, and undoubtedly their forebears were somewhere about when the Toomeys drove their cattle into the valley of the Verde. Little could have happened at that time without their knowledge.
I moved to the lip of the precipice and looked down. Even with rope and pitons descent would be next to impossible. And the way I had come was now even more impossible.
Upon the ledge where I stood there was a little sand trapped by the unevenness of the rock, and I examined this. There are few places in the mountains that are not visited by wild animals, and often their tracks can lead a man to water, to shelter, or even, as in such a case as mine, to escape.
But I was not to be so lucky. Nowhere on the ledge could I find any tracks, or any droppings that would indicate an animal had been here.
There was a little driftwood, which I gathered. It was enough, if used with care, for a small fire for one or perhaps two nights, and I knew these mountains well enough to know that when darkness came it would be cold. The place where I was caught was about a mile above sea level, and when the sun goes down it is not warm in that altitude, even in the middle of summer. I would build my fire near the rock, which would act as a reflector.
All this time there had been no shots. I had kept my thoughts away from Belle Dawson, who had gotten off at a dead run. She knew this country, and I told myself she must have found a hiding place. She had grown up here, and children often know the odd corners and hiding places better than adults do. There would be places where she had gone to be alone, places she had found when following animals, places she had come upon quite by chance. One of these places might be a hiding place for her. Yet even as I told myself this, I worried.
And then I thought of something else. Floyd Reese would not rest, simply knowing I was trapped. I had hurt him, hurt him physically and in his ego, and he would not be one to forgive. He had taken a beating from me, and he would want to inflict pain on me, to see me suffer, to gloat. He was that sort of man.
Floyd Reese would be coming here.
Shadows gathered in the canyon below, while gold rimmed the ridges above me. Carefully I put my fire together, and was about to sit down beside it when I had a new thought. It was impossible to go down, impossible to go back up, but what about going
out?
I got up from the ground quickly. In three steps I was at the rim of the cliff and looking at the smooth walls that stretched away before me.
The idea of working along those cliffs that walled the canyon on both sides had not occurred to me before. Now as I looked I could see nothing to give me hope—no crevice, no place where I could grasp a hold with hands or feet. Yet I would not accept the idea that I was finished. There had to be a way; if there was not, I would make one.
If I could find a way to work along the face of the rock, out from the ledge on which I stood, I might in time find some way either up or down.
Nobody needed to tell me how foolish it was to try such a thing alone. From time to time I had done a bit of rock climbing and knew the way of it, but here I had neither helpers nor equipment. I stood there until darkness came to the cleft in the rock, trying with every bit of my mind and memory to work out a way to do it.
It didn’t matter that it was impossible—there was no other way. I might have tried to wait until a search party came, but I knew my hunch about Reese was right. He would leave me here, all right, but with a bullet in
So I sat quietly, listening. The taint and turmoil of cities were gone from me. Minute by minute I had been reverting to the life of the mountains and the wilderness—back, if you will, to savagery. I was here in a savage land, and to survive I must be savage, even more so than they who hunted me.
Again my thoughts returned to the Alvarez brothers. They were part Apache, and undoubtedly their forebears were somewhere about when the Toomeys drove their cattle into the valley of the Verde. Little could have happened at that time without their knowledge.
I moved to the lip of the precipice and looked down. Even with rope and pitons descent would be next to impossible. And the way I had come was now even more impossible.
Upon the ledge where I stood there was a little sand trapped by the unevenness of the rock, and I examined this. There are few places in the mountains that are not visited by wild animals, and often their tracks can lead a man to water, to shelter, or even, as in such a case as mine, to escape.
But I was not to be so lucky. Nowhere on the ledge could I find any tracks, or any droppings that would indicate an animal had been here.
There was a little driftwood, which I gathered. It was enough, if used with care, for a small fire for one or perhaps two nights, and I knew these mountains well enough to know that when darkness came it would be cold. The place where I was caught was about a mile above sea level, and when the sun goes down it is not warm in that altitude, even in the middle of summer. I would build my fire near the rock, which would act as a reflector.
All this time there had been no shots. I had kept my thoughts away from Belle Dawson, who had gotten off at a dead run. She knew this country, and I told myself she must have found a hiding place. She had grown up here, and children often know the odd corners and hiding places better than adults do. There would be places where she had gone to be alone, places she had found when following animals, places she had come upon quite by chance. One of these places might be a hiding place for her. Yet even as I told myself this, I worried.
And then I thought of something else. Floyd Reese would not rest, simply knowing I was trapped. I had hurt him, hurt him physically and in his ego, and he would not be one to forgive. He had taken a beating from me, and he would want to inflict pain on me, to see me suffer, to gloat. He was that sort of man.
Floyd Reese would be coming here.
Shadows gathered in the canyon below, while gold rimmed the ridges above me. Carefully I put my fire together, and was about to sit down beside it when I had a new thought. It was impossible to go down, impossible to go back up, but what about going
out?
I got up from the ground quickly. In three steps I was at the rim of the cliff and looking at the smooth walls that stretched away before me.
The idea of working along those cliffs that walled the canyon on both sides had not occurred to me before. Now as I looked I could see nothing to give me hope—no crevice, no place where I could grasp a hold with hands or feet. Yet I would not accept the idea that I was finished. There had to be a way; if there was not, I would make one.
If I could find a way to work along the face of the rock, out from the ledge on which I stood, I might in time find some way either up or down.
Nobody needed to tell me how foolish it was to try such a thing alone. From time to time I had done a bit of rock climbing and knew the way of it, but here I had neither helpers nor equipment. I stood there until darkness came to the cleft in the rock, trying with every bit of my mind and memory to work out a way to do it.
It didn’t matter that it was impossible—there was no other way. I might have tried to wait until a search party came, but I knew my hunch about Reese was right. He would leave me here, all right, but with a bullet in
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