Read Online The Road Out of Hell by Anthony Flacco - Free Book Online

figured that even for a reader who did not yet know how great she was, her name alone should have been a clue. It meant that this story was written by that famous western writer known only as “An Old Scout.” Sanford felt a burst of joy. “An Old Scout” was one of his favorites, this mysterious figure who had spent years and years penning an entire western series, just the way that he knew the West to be. Sanford loved them all. What a writer! He sat you down at his fireside and kept you there, rapt with wonder.
    “An Old Scout.” Sanford said the magical name out loud, whispering even though he didn’t need to. It felt as if he were invoking the name of a spiritual friend. Perhaps by entering An Old Scout’s world, he could pull in a bit of the mystical power that he had acquired during his years on the prairie. Sanford gently turned the book in his hands to admire the artwork on the cover. It was a vivid depiction of the Old West in all its glory. Where did they get artists who could create something like this for a book cover? Why, with only six or seven colors, a sprawling outdoor scene was rendered with such skill that Sanford felt certain it should be hanging in a museum. Maybe there were classes in school about “An Old Scout” in the higher grades that he hadn’t reached. He hoped so.
    In the cover scene’s foreground, two guys in bright red shirts hovered at the edge of a short cliff, getting ready to drop a large rock onto a group of bad guys camped below. In the background, Arietta herself was hiding behind a boulder and directing the men’s ambush. They were there to save the hero, “Young Wild West,” because he was tied to a stake in the bad guys’ camp. Sanford personally understood that scene so clearly that he might as well have been inside the picture himself, listening to his mother tell those guys what to do.
    There was a date printed across the cover. He read it out loud: “January 29, 1909.” It struck him that this story was already seventeen years old! Here he was, holding a book in his hands that had been printed before he was born, with a story that took place a century before that. The very idea felt as if it had a power of its own. He decided to read this one as slowly as he could, just to draw it out. “An Old Scout” always told stories that were well worth the effort, but they were never long enough.
    A flash of light caught the corner of his eye at the same time he heard the engine of Uncle Stewart’s car, followed by the crunch of gravel while it turned in from the road. Sanford sighed while he listened to it pulling down the bare dirt drive. The magical feeling dissipated with every sound from the car: pulling to a stop, killing the engine, the door opening, the door closing. The sound of footsteps approached across the newly cleared ground, drawing closer to the tent where Sanford waited, resigned. A moment later, the flap lifted and Uncle Stewart poked his head in. He was covered in sweat and reeking with body odor. He face wore a grin of pure delight. “Sanford! I’m glad you’re still up! It’s a beautiful night! Too lovely for sleep, don’t you think? Come on out for a while! We’ll sit under the stars and talk!”
    “Well, I was just gonna—”
    “What’s that you’re reading?” Uncle Stewart leaned closer to get a look at the book. “Oh, Jesus Christ! Another one of those westerns?” He snatched the book and tossed it over next to Sanford’s bag, then grabbed Sanford under the arm, ushered him out of the tent, and dropped him on the ground. Sanford tensed for blows that did not come. When he risked a glance upward, he saw Uncle Stewart standing with his hands on his hips, staring up at the night sky and taking deep breaths of the night air. “Ah! Just look at all those stars! Never got a night like this back up North, eh?”
    “It’s pretty good back home.”
    “Not like this, it isn’t. Just look at all those stars up there! I wonder that they