Read Online the Man Called Noon (1970) by Louis L'amour - Free Book Online
Authors: Louis L'amour
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train.
All was quiet. Somewhere out on the flat he heard a bird call, but there was no other sound. He looked off across the flat country toward the farthest mountains.
Soon he might know. Somewhere there would be a clue. If he was Ruble Noon now, he might always have been Ruble Noon-but what if he had been somebody else before that? What was he? Who was he?
In the distance he heard the train. He could hear the rails humming.
The Man Called Noon (1970)
Chapter Seven
The train came in sight, whistled, and rolled down the track, the drivers pounding. It consisted of a locomotive, two freight cars, three stock cars, and a caboose.
The brakeman swung down. "Climb aboard," he said. "We're runnin' behind time."
"How about my horse?"
He gave a look at the roan, then indicated an empty stock car. "Load 'im up, but get a move on."
An improvised ramp, three planks nailed together, lay against the building. Noon took one end, the brakeman the other, and they placed it in position. The horse went into the stock car, and in a matter of minutes they were rolling.
Back in the caboose the brakeman went to the stove and took up the coffeepot. "How about it?" he said.
"Sure," Noon said.
The railroader handed him a cup. The coffee was hot, black as midnight, and strong.
"Can't figure you out," the brakeman said. "I've made this run fifty times, maybe, an' nobody ever gets on at that stop but you."
"It's a lonely country."
"Yeah ... it is that. But there's a lot of lonely country, and you're the on'y one I know with your own railroad station."
Noon shrugged. "I'm not complaining. Saves time."
The brakeman finished his coffee and went out to check the train. Ruble Noon put down his cup and stretched out on the settee.
Some hours later he was awakened by the brakeman. "You hungry? We're makin' a stop up ahead. The grub's pretty good."
"Thanks."
It was night. He heard the train's long whistle, looked ahead, and saw the finger of light from the locomotive pushing its way through the darkness. Behind it was the red glow from the firebox. The long whistle sounded again, calling into the night.
He sat for some time in the window, looking into the darkness. Then he saw the lights of a town ahead, a fair-sized town. He took out his watch-it was just past eleven o'clock.
The train ground to a halt. "We'll be here about twenty minutes," the brakeman said. "Don't get too far away."
Noon swung down, following the brakeman, and walked to the station. There was a lunchroom there, and several men were already eating at the long table. Two men who appeared to be cowhands were standing at the bar nursing their beers
As the brakeman entered they turned, glancing from the brakeman to Noon. One of the cowhands said something in a low tone to the man beside him, who gave a sharper look.
Ruble Noon sat down, helped himself to a piece of overdone steak and some mashed potatoes, and started to eat. He was, he discovered, very hungry.
The brakeman spoke out of the side of his mouth. "I don't know you, mister, but it looks like you've got trouble."
Noon was listening, but he did not look up. "All right," he said, and then added, "Keep out of it. Let me handle it."
"There's two of 'em," the brakeman protested, "and I ain't had a good fight in months."
"Well," Noon said, "if they use their fists. But if it's guns, leave it to me."
He could hear the low talk at the bar. One man was protesting to the other, but the first was having none of it. Suddenly, he spoke aloud. "You over there! You with the blue coat! Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"You might." Ruble Noon spoke easily. "I've been there."
The man was just drunk enough not to understand. "You been where?" he demanded.
"There," Ruble Noon said gently.
For a moment there was silence, and in the silence somebody chuckled. The man at the bar grew irritated. "I know you from somewhere," he insisted.
"I don't think you know me," Ruble Noon said. He finished his coffee and got to his feet.
All was quiet. Somewhere out on the flat he heard a bird call, but there was no other sound. He looked off across the flat country toward the farthest mountains.
Soon he might know. Somewhere there would be a clue. If he was Ruble Noon now, he might always have been Ruble Noon-but what if he had been somebody else before that? What was he? Who was he?
In the distance he heard the train. He could hear the rails humming.
The Man Called Noon (1970)
Chapter Seven
The train came in sight, whistled, and rolled down the track, the drivers pounding. It consisted of a locomotive, two freight cars, three stock cars, and a caboose.
The brakeman swung down. "Climb aboard," he said. "We're runnin' behind time."
"How about my horse?"
He gave a look at the roan, then indicated an empty stock car. "Load 'im up, but get a move on."
An improvised ramp, three planks nailed together, lay against the building. Noon took one end, the brakeman the other, and they placed it in position. The horse went into the stock car, and in a matter of minutes they were rolling.
Back in the caboose the brakeman went to the stove and took up the coffeepot. "How about it?" he said.
"Sure," Noon said.
The railroader handed him a cup. The coffee was hot, black as midnight, and strong.
"Can't figure you out," the brakeman said. "I've made this run fifty times, maybe, an' nobody ever gets on at that stop but you."
"It's a lonely country."
"Yeah ... it is that. But there's a lot of lonely country, and you're the on'y one I know with your own railroad station."
Noon shrugged. "I'm not complaining. Saves time."
The brakeman finished his coffee and went out to check the train. Ruble Noon put down his cup and stretched out on the settee.
Some hours later he was awakened by the brakeman. "You hungry? We're makin' a stop up ahead. The grub's pretty good."
"Thanks."
It was night. He heard the train's long whistle, looked ahead, and saw the finger of light from the locomotive pushing its way through the darkness. Behind it was the red glow from the firebox. The long whistle sounded again, calling into the night.
He sat for some time in the window, looking into the darkness. Then he saw the lights of a town ahead, a fair-sized town. He took out his watch-it was just past eleven o'clock.
The train ground to a halt. "We'll be here about twenty minutes," the brakeman said. "Don't get too far away."
Noon swung down, following the brakeman, and walked to the station. There was a lunchroom there, and several men were already eating at the long table. Two men who appeared to be cowhands were standing at the bar nursing their beers
As the brakeman entered they turned, glancing from the brakeman to Noon. One of the cowhands said something in a low tone to the man beside him, who gave a sharper look.
Ruble Noon sat down, helped himself to a piece of overdone steak and some mashed potatoes, and started to eat. He was, he discovered, very hungry.
The brakeman spoke out of the side of his mouth. "I don't know you, mister, but it looks like you've got trouble."
Noon was listening, but he did not look up. "All right," he said, and then added, "Keep out of it. Let me handle it."
"There's two of 'em," the brakeman protested, "and I ain't had a good fight in months."
"Well," Noon said, "if they use their fists. But if it's guns, leave it to me."
He could hear the low talk at the bar. One man was protesting to the other, but the first was having none of it. Suddenly, he spoke aloud. "You over there! You with the blue coat! Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"You might." Ruble Noon spoke easily. "I've been there."
The man was just drunk enough not to understand. "You been where?" he demanded.
"There," Ruble Noon said gently.
For a moment there was silence, and in the silence somebody chuckled. The man at the bar grew irritated. "I know you from somewhere," he insisted.
"I don't think you know me," Ruble Noon said. He finished his coffee and got to his feet.
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