to Tame a Land (1955) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Louis L'amour
following the ol d Spanish Trail.
"We're going to California to see Mary Tatum," h e said, "and then maybe you can go to school. You're to o willing to use a gun."
"They stole the cows," I said.
"I know."
"And Ma's picture."
He glanced at me. "Oh, I see."
It was a wild and lonely land of great red walls an d massive buttes. There were canyons knifed deep in th e rocky crust of the earth, and cactus with red flowers , and there were Indians, but they seemed friendly enough , and we traveled on, me riding Old Blue.
The sun rose hot and high in the mornings, and sometimes we took all morning to get to the bottom of a canyon, then all afternoon climbing out. We crossed wide re d deserts and camped in lonely places by tiny water holes , and my face grew browner and leaner and I learned mor e of the country. And one morning I got up and looked ove r at Logan Pollard.
"Today I'm fourteen," I said.
"Fourteen. Too young to live like this," he said. "A m an needs the refining influences of feminine companionship."
He was a careful man. Careful of his walk, careful o f the way he dressed, careful when he handled guns, an d careful in the care of his horse. Every morning he brushe d the dust fiom his clothes, and every morning he combe d his hair.
And when we rode he talked to me about Shakespear e and the Bible, and some about Plutarch and Plato. Som e of it I didn't set much store by, but most of it made a kind of sense.
From Virginia, he'd come. Educated there, and the n he'd come west.
"Why?"
"There was a man killed. They thought I did it."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I shot him fair, in a duel."
We rode on for several miles. I liked watching th e shadows of the clouds on the desert. "I was to have marrie d his sister. He didn't want me to."
And in California I went to school.
Logan Pollard stayed around for a while, and then h e rode away. I did not believe Mary Tatum wanted him t o go.
Yet he was gone no more than a week before he cam e back, and when I came riding in on Old Blue I saw the m talking, serious-like, on the porch. "It has happened before," he was saying, "and it may happen again."
"Not here," she told him. "This is a quiet place."
"All right," he said finally. "I'll stay."
The winter passed and all summer long I worked, fellin g logs for a lumber mill and holding down a riding job o n a nearby ranch the rest of the time. In the fall and winte r I went to school and learned how to work problems an d something of history. Most of all, I liked to read Plutarch.
Logan Pollard rode out to see me one day. I was sittin g on a log, reading my nooning away.
"Third time," I said. "I read slow."
"This is a book to be read that way. Taste it, roll th e flavor on your tongue."
It was not only school and reading. I was growing, too , and some part of every day I went out into the woods an d practiced with the gun. I'd a natural gift for guns, an d my skill had increased rapidly. Pollard never mentione d guns to me now, and was no longer wearing his. Not i n sight, anyway..
These were good months. Work never worried me. I e njoyed using my muscles, liked feeling strong, and ther e was always a little time for riding in the mountains, tracking stray cattle or horses, hunting varmints that preyed o n the stock.
It was spring again and Old Blue kept looking at me , and I knew he expected me to saddle up and ride. It wa s spring, and I was fifteen years old, close to six feet tall , but thin. Only my shoulders and arms were strong, an d my hands.
"What happened to the gun?" Logan asked me.
So I reached down in my pants and brought it out, tha t old Shawk & McLanahan .36 Pap had given me.
"Ever shoot it?"
"Yes," I said, and turning the muzzle, I fired. It wa s all one easy move. Sixty yards away a pine cone shattere d into bits. Pollard looked at me and nodded. "You ca n shoot. I only hope you never have to."
He was married that next Sunday to Mary Tatum, an d I stood up with them, feeling awkward in a store-bough t
"We're going to California to see Mary Tatum," h e said, "and then maybe you can go to school. You're to o willing to use a gun."
"They stole the cows," I said.
"I know."
"And Ma's picture."
He glanced at me. "Oh, I see."
It was a wild and lonely land of great red walls an d massive buttes. There were canyons knifed deep in th e rocky crust of the earth, and cactus with red flowers , and there were Indians, but they seemed friendly enough , and we traveled on, me riding Old Blue.
The sun rose hot and high in the mornings, and sometimes we took all morning to get to the bottom of a canyon, then all afternoon climbing out. We crossed wide re d deserts and camped in lonely places by tiny water holes , and my face grew browner and leaner and I learned mor e of the country. And one morning I got up and looked ove r at Logan Pollard.
"Today I'm fourteen," I said.
"Fourteen. Too young to live like this," he said. "A m an needs the refining influences of feminine companionship."
He was a careful man. Careful of his walk, careful o f the way he dressed, careful when he handled guns, an d careful in the care of his horse. Every morning he brushe d the dust fiom his clothes, and every morning he combe d his hair.
And when we rode he talked to me about Shakespear e and the Bible, and some about Plutarch and Plato. Som e of it I didn't set much store by, but most of it made a kind of sense.
From Virginia, he'd come. Educated there, and the n he'd come west.
"Why?"
"There was a man killed. They thought I did it."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I shot him fair, in a duel."
We rode on for several miles. I liked watching th e shadows of the clouds on the desert. "I was to have marrie d his sister. He didn't want me to."
And in California I went to school.
Logan Pollard stayed around for a while, and then h e rode away. I did not believe Mary Tatum wanted him t o go.
Yet he was gone no more than a week before he cam e back, and when I came riding in on Old Blue I saw the m talking, serious-like, on the porch. "It has happened before," he was saying, "and it may happen again."
"Not here," she told him. "This is a quiet place."
"All right," he said finally. "I'll stay."
The winter passed and all summer long I worked, fellin g logs for a lumber mill and holding down a riding job o n a nearby ranch the rest of the time. In the fall and winte r I went to school and learned how to work problems an d something of history. Most of all, I liked to read Plutarch.
Logan Pollard rode out to see me one day. I was sittin g on a log, reading my nooning away.
"Third time," I said. "I read slow."
"This is a book to be read that way. Taste it, roll th e flavor on your tongue."
It was not only school and reading. I was growing, too , and some part of every day I went out into the woods an d practiced with the gun. I'd a natural gift for guns, an d my skill had increased rapidly. Pollard never mentione d guns to me now, and was no longer wearing his. Not i n sight, anyway..
These were good months. Work never worried me. I e njoyed using my muscles, liked feeling strong, and ther e was always a little time for riding in the mountains, tracking stray cattle or horses, hunting varmints that preyed o n the stock.
It was spring again and Old Blue kept looking at me , and I knew he expected me to saddle up and ride. It wa s spring, and I was fifteen years old, close to six feet tall , but thin. Only my shoulders and arms were strong, an d my hands.
"What happened to the gun?" Logan asked me.
So I reached down in my pants and brought it out, tha t old Shawk & McLanahan .36 Pap had given me.
"Ever shoot it?"
"Yes," I said, and turning the muzzle, I fired. It wa s all one easy move. Sixty yards away a pine cone shattere d into bits. Pollard looked at me and nodded. "You ca n shoot. I only hope you never have to."
He was married that next Sunday to Mary Tatum, an d I stood up with them, feeling awkward in a store-bough t
Readers choose
Chelley Kitzmiller
Ellen Wittlinger
Kate Sedley
Allison M. Dickson
Alan M. Dershowitz
Michael Phillip Cash
Laura Jo Phillips
Karolyn James
Jennifer Hallissy
Margaret Dickinson