Read Online the Lonesome Gods (1983) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Louis L'amour
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way I pay them respect.
"Sometimes, when crossing a pass in the mountains, one will see a pile of loose stones, even several piles. Foolish people have dug into them, thinking treasure is buried there. It is a stupid idea, to think a treasure would be marked so obviously.
"It is an old custom of these people to pick up a stone and toss it on the pile. Perhaps it is a symbolical lightening of the load they carry, perhaps a small offering to the gods of the trails. I never fail to toss a stone on the pile, Hannes. In my own way it is a small offering to those lonesome gods.
"A man once told me they do the same thing in Tibet, and some of our ancient people may have come from there, or near there. Regardless of that, I like to think those ancient gods are out there waiting, and that they are, because of my offerings, a little less lonely."
When I climbed into the wagon, Miss Nesselrode was sitting up, and Mrs. Weber was also. Fraser was lying half on his side, still trying to sleep. Fletcher seemed not to have moved from where he sat. He stared at me, then looked away irritably. He did not like me, but then, he did not seem to like anybody.
My father got into the wagon at the last and sat near the back.
Nobody talked. Some of us dozed. We were descending slowly, and we had been told it would be hot. The sun came up and the coolness disappeared. Fraser hesitated, then with a mumbled apology took off his coat. After a bit, Fletcher did likewise, and unbuttoned his vest.
"It's below sea level down there," Fraser said suddenly. "One of the hottest, driest places in North America." Nobody answered him. He mopped his face, and the n he said, "It used to be an old sea bottom, or maybe the bottom of a lake."
My father looked around at him. "When we get down a little further," he said, "you can see the old beach line along the edge of the mountains. There are seashells there, some of them thin as paper, and they almost crumble in your hands."
"But surely," Miss Nesselrode said, "that was a very long time ago?"
"A very long time," my father said, "yet the Indians have memories of it. They say the basin has filled up five times within their memory. There is even a rumor of a Spanish vessel that came in through a channel from the Gulf of California, a channel opened by a sudden break when the sea poured in. However, when the ship could find no way out, it returned, to find the channel blocked, and it was trapped."
"What happened?" Mrs. Weber asked.
"The crew were killed by Indians, the ship drifted, hung up somewhere, and was buried in the sand. At least, such is the story. Of course, according to the story, it was loaded with treasure."
"Nobody found it?" Fletcher asked.
"Not yet. At least there's been no report of it being found."
"There might be something to it," Miss Nesselrode suggested. "Did not the Spanish believe California was an island? The crew evidently hoped to sail around the other end."
"It is possible."
"Treasure?" Fletcher muttered. "A shipload of it?" "That could be," my father said, "but I doubt it. Some pearls, perhaps, as they had just come up the gulf, where there were pearls and pearl-fishing. I cannot think why they would be carrying treasure and going away from Mexico."
"Maybe they were stealin' it. Maybe they just wanted it for themselves," Fletcher suggested.
"In any event," my father said, "the area that was onc e underwater is very large. It would be there or along the shores somewhere."
"Betcha some of them Injuns know where it is," Fletcher commented. He turned his eyes on my father. "They tell me you know them Injuns. They might tell you where it is."
"They might," my father said. "Indians have their own ways of thinking, and many of the things important to us are not at all important to them. Also, they might not think it safe to tell another white man where Indians had killed white men."
"Scare 'em into tellin'," Fletcher suggested.
Fraser looked at him contemptuously. "From what I
"Sometimes, when crossing a pass in the mountains, one will see a pile of loose stones, even several piles. Foolish people have dug into them, thinking treasure is buried there. It is a stupid idea, to think a treasure would be marked so obviously.
"It is an old custom of these people to pick up a stone and toss it on the pile. Perhaps it is a symbolical lightening of the load they carry, perhaps a small offering to the gods of the trails. I never fail to toss a stone on the pile, Hannes. In my own way it is a small offering to those lonesome gods.
"A man once told me they do the same thing in Tibet, and some of our ancient people may have come from there, or near there. Regardless of that, I like to think those ancient gods are out there waiting, and that they are, because of my offerings, a little less lonely."
When I climbed into the wagon, Miss Nesselrode was sitting up, and Mrs. Weber was also. Fraser was lying half on his side, still trying to sleep. Fletcher seemed not to have moved from where he sat. He stared at me, then looked away irritably. He did not like me, but then, he did not seem to like anybody.
My father got into the wagon at the last and sat near the back.
Nobody talked. Some of us dozed. We were descending slowly, and we had been told it would be hot. The sun came up and the coolness disappeared. Fraser hesitated, then with a mumbled apology took off his coat. After a bit, Fletcher did likewise, and unbuttoned his vest.
"It's below sea level down there," Fraser said suddenly. "One of the hottest, driest places in North America." Nobody answered him. He mopped his face, and the n he said, "It used to be an old sea bottom, or maybe the bottom of a lake."
My father looked around at him. "When we get down a little further," he said, "you can see the old beach line along the edge of the mountains. There are seashells there, some of them thin as paper, and they almost crumble in your hands."
"But surely," Miss Nesselrode said, "that was a very long time ago?"
"A very long time," my father said, "yet the Indians have memories of it. They say the basin has filled up five times within their memory. There is even a rumor of a Spanish vessel that came in through a channel from the Gulf of California, a channel opened by a sudden break when the sea poured in. However, when the ship could find no way out, it returned, to find the channel blocked, and it was trapped."
"What happened?" Mrs. Weber asked.
"The crew were killed by Indians, the ship drifted, hung up somewhere, and was buried in the sand. At least, such is the story. Of course, according to the story, it was loaded with treasure."
"Nobody found it?" Fletcher asked.
"Not yet. At least there's been no report of it being found."
"There might be something to it," Miss Nesselrode suggested. "Did not the Spanish believe California was an island? The crew evidently hoped to sail around the other end."
"It is possible."
"Treasure?" Fletcher muttered. "A shipload of it?" "That could be," my father said, "but I doubt it. Some pearls, perhaps, as they had just come up the gulf, where there were pearls and pearl-fishing. I cannot think why they would be carrying treasure and going away from Mexico."
"Maybe they were stealin' it. Maybe they just wanted it for themselves," Fletcher suggested.
"In any event," my father said, "the area that was onc e underwater is very large. It would be there or along the shores somewhere."
"Betcha some of them Injuns know where it is," Fletcher commented. He turned his eyes on my father. "They tell me you know them Injuns. They might tell you where it is."
"They might," my father said. "Indians have their own ways of thinking, and many of the things important to us are not at all important to them. Also, they might not think it safe to tell another white man where Indians had killed white men."
"Scare 'em into tellin'," Fletcher suggested.
Fraser looked at him contemptuously. "From what I
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