Last Stand at Papago Wells (1957) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Louis L'amour
this," he said, "we might as well let him do it."
She made no reply. The moon, in these last hours of night, had turned the cholla into torches of captured moonlight. She listened. Somewhere a pebble rattled on the rocks up ahead of them where Lonnie had gone, and a low wind stirred the desert, causing the greasewood beside them to hum faintly. It was beautiful ... but so lonely, so empty. After the cities, the parties, the gaiety, the lights ... no, this was not for her, despite the stillness, despite the beauty.
She had hated the loneliness of the ranch without women of her own kind, she detested her father's brusque good nature and his clumsy efforts to be affectionate. She hated the gun he was never without, and the memory of the gay, laughing boy it had destroyed.
The desert, she told herself, was not for women. It dried them out and burned them up, and she was glad she was getting out of it, and fortunate to have met a man like Grant Kimbrough at such a time. He was so obviously a gentleman. He had breeding ...
Lonnie Foreman appeared in the vague light. "It's all right. Nobody around, and plenty of water. Down in the lower wash there's feed for the horses."
The feeble lemon light over the eastern mountains widened with the hours and crimson began to tint the far-off hills. Here and there the red dripped over and ran down a ridge into the desert. Tired as she was, Jennifer led her horse to the lower pool and stood by while he drank deep of the cool water. It was a lesson learned from her father, learned long ago.
"We'll have to rest," Kimbrough said reluctantly. "Our horses are in bad shape."
"It's a place to fight from." Foreman squatted on his heels. "We could do much worse."
Kimbrough's thoroughbred was showing the rough travel. He looked gaunt and hollow-eyed from the unaccustomed heat and dryness. Jennifer was shocked at its appearance, for her own horse, while very tired, was standing up well.
Above the pool among the lava rocks a head lifted slowly and eyes looked down upon them. It was a ragged-looking black head, and the eyes were black, Indian, curious. The watcher studied each of them in turn, remaining longer on Jennifer. To his right another head lifted and Jim Beaupre joined Lugo in sizing up the arrivals. His shrewd eyes noted with approval that the boy had not put down his rifle.
Neither man looked like the law, but there was no reason why they should be here, at this lonely place. "All right," Beaupre whispered, "we'll filter in on 'em, but take it easy. That youngster looks like he'd shoot first and ask his questions of the corpse."
Foreman got to his feet. "I've some coffee, ma'am, and I reckon we could trust a fire if we keep it small and down in the hollow. I figure to make one that won't show smoke."
"Would you, Lonnie?" Her smile was quick and friendly, and he grinned in reply. "You make the fire and I'll make the coffee."
He was returning with his arms full of wood when he saw the two men. Lonnie stopped where he was, his eyes going from one to the other, and then to his rifle, a good ten paces away. His six-shooter was in his belt but he would have to drop the wood first and he was no hand with a short gun.
"No call to get stirred up," Beaupre said, "we're travelin' east, an' just stopped the night."
Kimbrough turned at the sound of the voice and Lonnie saw how his coat was drawn back and that he wore his coat for a fast draw. Lonnie glanced at him sharply, finding something surprising in the gun. He had taken Kimbrough for a man just out from the East ... he was not brown enough for a Westerner, but he wore his gun like a man who knew how to use it. Lonnie walked to where the fire would be and dropped his armful of wood.
"You better think again before you go east," Lonnie advised. " 'Paches killed my two partners at Bates Well."
"We'll wait, then." Beaupre grinned at the boy. "If they come thisaway we can stand 'em off."
"They'll come."
They built the fire under an overhang of
She made no reply. The moon, in these last hours of night, had turned the cholla into torches of captured moonlight. She listened. Somewhere a pebble rattled on the rocks up ahead of them where Lonnie had gone, and a low wind stirred the desert, causing the greasewood beside them to hum faintly. It was beautiful ... but so lonely, so empty. After the cities, the parties, the gaiety, the lights ... no, this was not for her, despite the stillness, despite the beauty.
She had hated the loneliness of the ranch without women of her own kind, she detested her father's brusque good nature and his clumsy efforts to be affectionate. She hated the gun he was never without, and the memory of the gay, laughing boy it had destroyed.
The desert, she told herself, was not for women. It dried them out and burned them up, and she was glad she was getting out of it, and fortunate to have met a man like Grant Kimbrough at such a time. He was so obviously a gentleman. He had breeding ...
Lonnie Foreman appeared in the vague light. "It's all right. Nobody around, and plenty of water. Down in the lower wash there's feed for the horses."
The feeble lemon light over the eastern mountains widened with the hours and crimson began to tint the far-off hills. Here and there the red dripped over and ran down a ridge into the desert. Tired as she was, Jennifer led her horse to the lower pool and stood by while he drank deep of the cool water. It was a lesson learned from her father, learned long ago.
"We'll have to rest," Kimbrough said reluctantly. "Our horses are in bad shape."
"It's a place to fight from." Foreman squatted on his heels. "We could do much worse."
Kimbrough's thoroughbred was showing the rough travel. He looked gaunt and hollow-eyed from the unaccustomed heat and dryness. Jennifer was shocked at its appearance, for her own horse, while very tired, was standing up well.
Above the pool among the lava rocks a head lifted slowly and eyes looked down upon them. It was a ragged-looking black head, and the eyes were black, Indian, curious. The watcher studied each of them in turn, remaining longer on Jennifer. To his right another head lifted and Jim Beaupre joined Lugo in sizing up the arrivals. His shrewd eyes noted with approval that the boy had not put down his rifle.
Neither man looked like the law, but there was no reason why they should be here, at this lonely place. "All right," Beaupre whispered, "we'll filter in on 'em, but take it easy. That youngster looks like he'd shoot first and ask his questions of the corpse."
Foreman got to his feet. "I've some coffee, ma'am, and I reckon we could trust a fire if we keep it small and down in the hollow. I figure to make one that won't show smoke."
"Would you, Lonnie?" Her smile was quick and friendly, and he grinned in reply. "You make the fire and I'll make the coffee."
He was returning with his arms full of wood when he saw the two men. Lonnie stopped where he was, his eyes going from one to the other, and then to his rifle, a good ten paces away. His six-shooter was in his belt but he would have to drop the wood first and he was no hand with a short gun.
"No call to get stirred up," Beaupre said, "we're travelin' east, an' just stopped the night."
Kimbrough turned at the sound of the voice and Lonnie saw how his coat was drawn back and that he wore his coat for a fast draw. Lonnie glanced at him sharply, finding something surprising in the gun. He had taken Kimbrough for a man just out from the East ... he was not brown enough for a Westerner, but he wore his gun like a man who knew how to use it. Lonnie walked to where the fire would be and dropped his armful of wood.
"You better think again before you go east," Lonnie advised. " 'Paches killed my two partners at Bates Well."
"We'll wait, then." Beaupre grinned at the boy. "If they come thisaway we can stand 'em off."
"They'll come."
They built the fire under an overhang of
Readers choose
Eliza DeGaulle
Emily Hendrickson
Johan Theorin
Carol Colbert
Tama Janowitz
Gail Carriger
Lexy Timms
Fiona Wright
Robin Robertson