West From Singapore by Louis L'Amour

Author:Louis L'Amour [L'Amour, Louis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Westerns
ISBN: 9780553900194
Google: mFFuP-jwlgEC
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

WELL OF THE UNHOLY LIGHT

Rain had fallen for three days, and the jungle dripped with it. The fourth day had begun with heavy showers and faded into a dense fog. Yet despite the rain, the drums had not stopped.

The path was a slide of mud between two solid walls of jungle, green by day, an impenetrable blackness by night. Three miles by trail, they had said. It would be like Frazer to live in such a place. He walked slowly. The drums bothered him.

He knew as much about the interior of Halmahera as anyone did, which wasn't a great deal. Mostly, the natives lived along the coast, rarely going into the interior.

But the drums were somewhere beyond Mount Sahu, apparently, and they might be as far away as Gam Konora.

The only way he could tell when he reached the clearing was by the sudden feeling of space around him. Then he glimpsed a light from the bungalow. He wondered again why Frazer had sent for him. The man had never been one to ask for help. He had been notoriously a lone wolf.

Suddenly he dropped to a crouch and then squatted down, listening. Someone was coming around the house! He dropped one hand to the gravel path to balance himself and waited.

The footsteps stopped abruptly, and he realized the person had stepped off the path.

He heard then the soft swish of receding steps through the grass. He started to call out, but then thought better of it and waited.

After a moment, he stepped up on the veranda and rapped softly. There was no reply.

He pushed the door open and stepped in.

Then he stopped. The headless body of a man lay on the floor beside the desk! Staring, he stepped closer, noticing an old tattoo on the hand, between the forefinger and thumb. A faded blue anchor. Stepping carefully around the pool of blood, he glanced at the papers on the desk. He was just reaching to pick them up when a cold voice interrupted:

"So, we have a murderer!" The man's voice was flat. "Put your hands up."

Looking up he saw three men standing in the doorway. The speaker was a tall man with a cold white face, blue eyes, and blond hair. The others were obviously policemen.

"I'm afraid you've made a wrong guess," he said, smiling. "I came to pay Bent Frazer a visit and found things like this." "Yes?" The man was icily skeptical. "Nevertheless, you will consider yourself under arrest. It so happens that Benton Frazer had no visitors.

He was a recluse."

"You think I murdered this man?"

"What else am I to think when I find you standing over the body with bloody hands?"

Involuntarily, he glanced down. His right hand was bloody! But mingled with the blood sticking to his hand were tiny bits of sand and gravel. The path, that was it! When he crouched he had put his hand down. Whoever had carried the head away had obviously gone that way or else was wounded himself. Then,

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