Over on the Dry Side by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page A

as Doby believed. Doby had seen no other tracks, no other signs.
    He slid his Henry from its scabbard and rode forward along the trail.
    It was very still. He turned off the trail and went into the trees. When he had gone a short distance, he paused again. Through a break in the trees he could see all the land to the west, a magnificent sweep of country with the vast bulk of the Sleeping Ute topping the horizon.
    He was high up, with a sheer drop of two hundred feet or so a few rods away, with trees all the way to the edge. This was the vast rampart visible from the ranch. He must be close to the cabin.
    He stepped down from the black and stood listening. Far off he saw several elks come from the brush to feed. There was much ponderosa here. He walked slowly forward, crossing a wide area of bare rock swept by runoff water. He saw several old stumps from trees cut down long ago, no doubt to build the cabin he was looking for.
    Suddenly he saw it, partially screened by ponderosa and spruce. He knew it had been built by his brother, who understood the use of broadax and adz, of squared logs. He liked its solid look, yet he was puzzled by the chimney, which might have belonged to a still older structure. But like the cabin, it was set deep into the native stone.
    Owen Chantry, in a lifetime of drifting, had looked upon many constructions with a critical eye, and this one presented some interesting aspects. At first glance it was but another log house, yet it gave evidence of care in its framing and fitting, and the choice of its site. Concealed, it nonetheless offered a magnificent view to the west, with almost equally fine views to the south and north. To the east the view was cut off by trees and beyond them the vast bulk of the La Platas, with their bare peaks, slide-rock slopes and forested flanks.
    Chantry could detect no movement near the cabin. Tying his mount under the trees and out of sight, he took his rifle and crossed the sparse grass to the doorway. The latch-string was out.
    Lifting it, he opened the door. Inside all was empty and still, yet freshly swept and dusted. There were two pots of flowers. The hearth was cold, the ashes long dead.
    He walked back to the open door and looked westward through the trees. Screened from view, the cabin was nevertheless a perfect observation point for all that moved in the valley below—and the vast spread of land that reached out in all directions.
    The air was cool with the scent of spruce. A pleasant place, certainly, and a place in which to be alone. Owen Chantry leaned against the doorpost.
    The mountains showed blue with distance. Farther to the north, somewhat fainter, lay the La Sals.…Wild country, almost unknown country from here to there. And farther on lay a maze of canyons. Father Escalante had come through, and Rivera had explored some of it a hundred years ago. Seeking a route only, they probably had seen little of the country.
    He looked around him again. For the first time in thirty years, he felt at home.
    The winters would be cold, for the altitude was high. A man must lay in a good supply of food to last out such a winter, and he must have reserves within himself on which to draw.
    He went inside the cabin. It was as trim indoors as out.
    Thoughtfully, he examined the walls, the logs solid and fitted one to the other without crack or crevice. No chinking here, for the logs had been faced with an adz until each lay cheek to cheek against the other.…A wall two feet thick or more, and a handsome stone-flagged floor.
    There was a ceiling and hence at the back, at least, a small loft. The hewn planks of the ceiling lay from beam to beam, fitted tightly. There seemed to be no—
    He distinctly heard the sound.…A horse walking, a horse that came slowly forward, then paused…just outside.
    Owen Chantry turned swiftly, rifle in hand.
    Chapter 5
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    T HE HORSE STOPPED, blew slightly, and a saddle creaked. Owen Chantry stepped into the