the Broken Gun (1967) by L'amour Louis

Author:L'amour, Louis [L'amour, Louis]
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-12-12T06:26:27.734000+00:00

Chapter 8

The hollow in which we now stood had been created by falling water. From somewhere above, long ago, a stream had tumbled over the cliff's edge, gradually hollowing out this basin, then spilling out through the crack by which we had entered, and so into the valley below.

This much was obvious from the appearance of the rock and the basin itself, and this much John Toomey, wounded and trapped, had figured out for himself. But he had gone further, deducing that the hollowing action had been accomplished by Lost River itself.

The stream that once had fallen over the edge above had found another way, creeping into some crack and widening it until the entire flow could plunge into the cave and emerge below.

John Toomey's last words, scratched on the margins of the pages of his journal before he concealed them in the barrel of the Bisley Colt, had said as much. He added that he was now going into the cave from which the water emerged, and try to climb out.

Had he succeeded in that climb? Probably not, but if he had, he must have been found and killed shortly after, for he had never returned to pick up the broken pistol.

He had tried. Wounded and desperate, he had tried. He had dared to crawl into that black opening filled with the roar of rushing water.

Somehow, just the thought of that wounded man, hounded to this place by men who planned his murder, having the courage to crawl into that black hole gave me confidence.

I spoke again. "We'll get out, Belle,' I said. "We'll make it."

The guns gave me confidence, for I had qualified as Expert with six weapons during the training before Korea, and I'd had more than my share of fighting in Korea and Vietnam. If they wanted my scalp they were going to have to buy it the hard way.

How long until dark? I looked longingly at the sky. We had a chance of riding out under cover of darkness, and might even make it through. If we could make it to the village of Cave Creek or to the highway, we'd have a chance. But I knew they would have all the trails covered by men ready and willing to shoot.

We might go over the mountains. If we could get across to the Agua Fria, the country around Mayer and Dewey was familiar to me. And if we could get to a telephone I could call tom Riley.

Shadows were gathering in the draws and canyons, and there was a faint coolness in the air. Rifle in hand, I went to the opening and looked out. Belle sat quietly.

There were no sounds but the pleasant murmur of the water and the crunching of the horses' teeth as they grazed on the coarse grass. These were pleasant in the stillness.

Then, some distance off, I heard a plane. Belle heard it, too. She got up and came to me quickly.

"Dan, that's Colin. He has his own plane, you know.

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