Read Online Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
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that lolle d and sagged. Under me there was a bronco that was surefooted on a trail that was a devil's nightmare.
Then there was a light.
Have you ever seen a lighted window flickering through the rain of a lonely land?
Have you ever known that sudden gush of heart-glowing warmth at such a sight? Ther e is no other such feeling, and so when I saw it, the weariness and pain seemed warrante d and cheap at the price of that distant, promising window.
What lay beyond that light? Warmth and food? The guns of enemies old or new? It di d not matter, for since time began, man has been drawn to the sight of human habitation , and I was in an unknown land, and far from anywhere so far as I knew. Then in a lightnin g flash I saw a house, a barn, and a corral, all black and wet in the whipping rain.
Inside the barn, there was the roar of rain on the roof and the good, friendly smell s of horses and hay, of old leather and sacks, and all the smells that make barns wha t they are. So I slid from my horse and led him into the welcome stillness and close d the door behind us. There I stripped the saddle from him and wiped the rain fro m his body and shook it from his mane, and then I got fresh hay and stuffed the mange r full. "Fill your belly," I told him. "Come dawn we'll be out of here."
Under my slicker, then, I slipped the riding thong from the butt of my Colt and sli d my rifle from the saddle scabbard. The light in the window was welcoming me, bu t whether friend or enemy waited there, I did not know. A moment after I knocked o n the door, it jerked open under my hand and I looked into the eyes of a woman.
Her eyes were magnificent and brown, and she was tall and with poise and her hea d carried like a princess crowned. She looked at me and she said, "Who are you?" He r voice was low, and when she spoke something within me quivered, and then she said , "What do you want here?"
"Shelter," I said, "a meal if you've got the food to spare. There's trouble followin g me, but I'll try to be gone before the storm clears. Will you help? Say the word , yes or no."
What she thought I'd no idea, for what could she think of me, big, unshaven, an d scarred? And what could she think when my slicker was shed and she saw the two tied-dow n guns and the mark of blood on the side and the spot where my shirt was torn by th e bullet.
"You've been shot," she said.
And then the room seemed to spin slowly in a most sickening fashion and I fell agains t the wall and grabbed a hook and clung to it, gripping hard, afraid to go down fo r fear I'd not again get to my feet.
She stepped in close and got her arm about my waist and helped me walk toward th e chair, as I refused the bed. I sat while she brought hot water and stripped my shir t from me and looked down at the place where the bullet had come through, and a frightenin g mess it was, with blood caked to my hide and the wound an ugly sight.
She bathed the wound and she probed for the bullet and somehow she got it out. Thi s was something she had done before, that I could see. She treated my side with something , or maybe it was only her lovely hands and their gentle touch, and as I watched he r I knew that here was my woman, if such there was in the world, th e woman to walk beside a man, and not behind him. Not one of those who try always t o be pushing ahead and who are worth nothing at all as a woman and little as anythin g else.
She started coffee then and put broth on the fire to warm, and over her shoulde r she looked at me. "Who are you, then? And where is it you come from?"
Who was I? Nobody. What was I? Less than nothing. "I'm a drifting man," I said simpl y enough, "and one too handy with a gun for the good of himself or anyone. I'm ridin g through. I've always been riding through."
"There's been a killing?"
"Of a man who deserved it. So now I'm running, for though he was a bad lot, there' s good men in his line and they'll be after me."
She looked at me coolly, and she said,
Then there was a light.
Have you ever seen a lighted window flickering through the rain of a lonely land?
Have you ever known that sudden gush of heart-glowing warmth at such a sight? Ther e is no other such feeling, and so when I saw it, the weariness and pain seemed warrante d and cheap at the price of that distant, promising window.
What lay beyond that light? Warmth and food? The guns of enemies old or new? It di d not matter, for since time began, man has been drawn to the sight of human habitation , and I was in an unknown land, and far from anywhere so far as I knew. Then in a lightnin g flash I saw a house, a barn, and a corral, all black and wet in the whipping rain.
Inside the barn, there was the roar of rain on the roof and the good, friendly smell s of horses and hay, of old leather and sacks, and all the smells that make barns wha t they are. So I slid from my horse and led him into the welcome stillness and close d the door behind us. There I stripped the saddle from him and wiped the rain fro m his body and shook it from his mane, and then I got fresh hay and stuffed the mange r full. "Fill your belly," I told him. "Come dawn we'll be out of here."
Under my slicker, then, I slipped the riding thong from the butt of my Colt and sli d my rifle from the saddle scabbard. The light in the window was welcoming me, bu t whether friend or enemy waited there, I did not know. A moment after I knocked o n the door, it jerked open under my hand and I looked into the eyes of a woman.
Her eyes were magnificent and brown, and she was tall and with poise and her hea d carried like a princess crowned. She looked at me and she said, "Who are you?" He r voice was low, and when she spoke something within me quivered, and then she said , "What do you want here?"
"Shelter," I said, "a meal if you've got the food to spare. There's trouble followin g me, but I'll try to be gone before the storm clears. Will you help? Say the word , yes or no."
What she thought I'd no idea, for what could she think of me, big, unshaven, an d scarred? And what could she think when my slicker was shed and she saw the two tied-dow n guns and the mark of blood on the side and the spot where my shirt was torn by th e bullet.
"You've been shot," she said.
And then the room seemed to spin slowly in a most sickening fashion and I fell agains t the wall and grabbed a hook and clung to it, gripping hard, afraid to go down fo r fear I'd not again get to my feet.
She stepped in close and got her arm about my waist and helped me walk toward th e chair, as I refused the bed. I sat while she brought hot water and stripped my shir t from me and looked down at the place where the bullet had come through, and a frightenin g mess it was, with blood caked to my hide and the wound an ugly sight.
She bathed the wound and she probed for the bullet and somehow she got it out. Thi s was something she had done before, that I could see. She treated my side with something , or maybe it was only her lovely hands and their gentle touch, and as I watched he r I knew that here was my woman, if such there was in the world, th e woman to walk beside a man, and not behind him. Not one of those who try always t o be pushing ahead and who are worth nothing at all as a woman and little as anythin g else.
She started coffee then and put broth on the fire to warm, and over her shoulde r she looked at me. "Who are you, then? And where is it you come from?"
Who was I? Nobody. What was I? Less than nothing. "I'm a drifting man," I said simpl y enough, "and one too handy with a gun for the good of himself or anyone. I'm ridin g through. I've always been riding through."
"There's been a killing?"
"Of a man who deserved it. So now I'm running, for though he was a bad lot, there' s good men in his line and they'll be after me."
She looked at me coolly, and she said,
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