Pale Rider by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

mulled this offer over before replying. “Thanks. That’s kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden on your family.”
    It was Hull’s turn to smile. “My family’s back east, dead and buried. Got a fiancée, is all. But she and her daughter have a place of their own. So I’ve got plenty of room. It’d be a pleasure to me if you’d stay, not a burden. I’d enjoy the company, and we don’t get to see too may new faces in Carbon. Give me somebody new to jaw at, somebody who ain’t heard all my old jokes, and I’m plumb delighted.”
    “I don’t know . . .”
    “You got business elsewhere?” Hull’s heart began to sink.
    “Not especially.”
    “Well then come on. Three hots and a cot’s the least I owe you.”
    The stranger appeared to think on it further. Or maybe he’d already make his decision and was thinking about something else entirely. Hull couldn’t tell. He considered himself a decent appraiser of both men and ore, but this quiet stranger was an enigma to him.
    A reply, at last. “Sounds good.”
    Pleased with himself, Hull straightened on the hard seat. Ignoring the pain this caused him (McGill had spent a moment or two on his back and the result was slow in disappearing), he chucked the reins to urge the mare to greater speed. Having received a commitment, he didn’t want to give the stranger a chance to change his mind.
    Gradually the road disappeared. A trail veered northward, and Hull turned the wagon onto the barely visible track that led up into the mountains. Low scrub gave way to tall evergreens and rolling foothills made room for steep granite walls with breathtaking speed. The metamorphosis never failed to amaze the Easterner in Hull Barret. These were not civilized mountains like the Adirondacks or the Alleghenies. One minute you were on the outskirts of the great central valley and the next, you were traveling through a granite cathedral.
    He tried to make conversation with his companion, putting aside personal questions in favor of sallies on the weather, the cost of goods, and of course, the possible sources and locations of gold. When it became clear that his pleasant but nearly mute friend wasn’t interested in talk, the miner shut up. Maybe the tall rider was tired, or maybe he was thinking about the consequences of his actions back there in town. Hull didn’t think that was the case, but he had the feeling that with this man you couldn’t be sure of much of anything.
    They rode on in contemplative silence, Barret’s mind churning furiously with hopes and plans, the other rider apparently content to absorb the beauty of the scenery. It took most of what remained of the day for them to reach the diggings.

III
    He didn’t say much, but Hull suspected his companion missed nothing as they rode into Carbon Canyon. Not that there was much to see. There were ten thousand canyons just like it that cut into the western flank of the Sierra Nevada, Surely he’d seen copies of Carbon elsewhere. But he looked interested all the same.
    Hull pointed up the slope. “That’s my place, there. Just draw a straight line from that damned boulder that marks the middle of my claim. One of these days I’m going to—but we can talk about that later, if we have the time. I’m sure you ain’t in the mood for chitchat now. I don’t know how long you’ve been riding, but you must be tuckered out right proper after that scrape back in town.”
    The stranger spoke without looking over at him, apparently intent on committing the surrounding terrain to memory. “I’ve been on the trail awhile.”
    Somehow Hull restrained himself from asking “How long?” and “Where from?” “You’ll find water and shaving gear inside. I’ll tell Sarah—that’s my fiancée—there’ll be an extra mouth to feed, and I need to share out these supplies I picked up before dark.” He chuckled. “Bet there’s some folks who didn’t think they’d ever see ’em. Got you to thank for that.