The Old Gray Wolf by James D. Doss

Author:James D. Doss
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

WIDE AWAKE AT THE COLUMBINE HEADQUARTERS

Fortunately, this eyes-like-poached-eggs descriptor does not apply to every soul bedded down therein. But in the interest of completeness, all four shall be considered—and in order of increasing interest.

THE MAN OF THE HOUSE

Shhh! Charlie Moon is sleeping like a little boy who has rollicked all afternoon with a frisky, fuzzy puppy. His is enjoying a deep, peaceful sleep without dreams. Which is about as fascinating as watching gray moss grow on the shady side of a boulder, so we shall leave the man to his rest and—

But hold on. What was that?

“Ooouuuueeee!” With slight variations and intonations, this bloodcurdling, spine-tingling yowl was repeated several times.

On yowl number four, Charlie Moon groaned. On five, he opened his eyes and stared at the unseen beamed ceiling. Sidewinder must be howling at the moon. A sensible conclusion—except for one minor detail: there was no moon tonight. Except for the capitalized version, whose sleep had been so rudely disturbed.

“Ooouuuu … ooouueeee!”

Moon pulled the quilt over his head. Sooner or later, he’ll stop.

Sooner. Later. The hound did not.

Having no great appreciation for this doggish serenade, the miffed rancher rolled out of bed, raised the window, and yelled at the hound, “Quiet down out there!”

Sidewinder, who had something to say and was expressing himself the only way a descendant of wolves knows how, was also miffed. And hurt. But he did cease his nighttime solo.

THE UTE-PAPAGO ORPHAN

Sarah Frank is to be counted among the insomniacs, and we know why. There is no point in belaboring the love-struck maiden’s continuing melancholy about Charlie Moon’s upcoming wedding to Patsy Poynter, or Sarah’s indecision about when she would leave the Columbine forever, and where to go from there. Suffice it to say that the young woman has been staring at the darkened ceiling for thousands of clockish ticktocks. But nothing stays the same, and Sarah’s grief will eventually be numbed by her mind’s vital need for rest and the soporific effect of darkness. Her relief will, of course, necessarily be transient—at this latitude, the sun must come up in the morning.

THE TOURIST

The Columbine’s guest was the second of the sleepless souls—and there was ample reason for her nighttime distress. Miss Whysper had a great deal on her mind, and nocturnal mental activity tends to prevent an overtired person from drifting off into blissful unconsciousness. You know how it goes: one bothersome thought leads to another of like kind, and this process repeats itself with monotonous regularity until a dreadful circle is completed, at which point the sleepless soul is obliged to tread once more along the pathway of vexing conjectures.

In this instance, the self-administered affliction proceeded as follows:

Miss Whysper’s hopeful yawn was transformed into a wistful sigh. It would be so nice to stay at the Columbine until I’m rested and up to speed. But she knew that … I really should return to Granite Creek tomorrow morning and get on with my work. On the other hand, something useful might be accomplished right here … A day or two at Mr.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.