Robber's Roost (1989) by Zane Grey Read Free Book Online Page A

Hank."
    "Brad's a cross-grained cuss, but he has his good points. They don't show in times like this."
    Jim had to make conjecture about the times that did bring out a desirable side of Brad Lincoln. And he had his doubts about it.
    The trail narrowed into rough going, which necessitated single file, and gradual separation of the riders. The morning was bright, cool, beautiful, with air full of sweet smells of sage, which soft gray growth had come down to meet them. Blue jays squalled, mocking-birds sang melodiously; ring-tailed hawks sailed low over the slopes. Deer loped away among the cedars. As there were three riders ahead of Jim, none of whom got off to shoot, it appeared no time for him to do so, either. Star Ranch probably abounded with game. Jim wondered about this new ranch. It would not last long.
    They rode into the zone of the foothills, with ever-increasing evidence of fertility. The blue, cloudy color of the still pools of water in rocky beds gave proof of melting snow. But Jim's view had been restricted for several hours, permitting only occasional glimpses up the gray-black slopes of the Henrys and none at all of the low country.
    Therefore Jim was scarcely prepared to come round a corner and out into the open. Stunned by the magnificence of the scene, he would have halted Bay on the spot, but he espied Hays waiting for him ahead, while the others and the pack-animals disappeared round a gray rock-wall bend.
    "Wal, pard, this here is Utah," said Hays, as Jim came up, and his voice held a note of pride. "Now let me set you straight. . . .
    You see how the foothills step down to the yellow an' gray. Wal, thet green speck down there is Hankville. It's about forty miles by trail, closer as a crow flies. An' thet striped messy pot of hash beyond is the brakes of the Dirty Devil. Reckon a diameter of seventy miles across thet circle wouldn't be far wrong. Thet's the country nobody knows. My father told me of a hole in there I'd shore like to see. Wal, where the green begins to climb to them red buttes--there you're gettin' out of hell. An' beyond lays grassy plain after grassy plain, almost to Green River."
    Jim's silence was eulogy enough. In fact, he could not think of adequate expression.
    "Now shift an' look across the canyon country," went on Hays, stretching a long arm. "There's two hundred miles of wind an' water-worn rock. You see them windin' threads, sort of black in the gray. Wal, them's rivers. The Green runs into the Grand to make the Colorado, less'n sixty miles from where you're sittin' your hoss. An' look at the threads meetin' the Colorado. Canyons!
    I've looked down into Escalante, San Juan, Noki, Piute. But thet was when I rode with my father. I couldn't take you to one of them places. We heard of great stone bridges spannin' the canyons, but only the Injuns know of them. . . . Thet round-top mountain way across there is Navajo. An' now, look, Jim. See thet high, sharp, black line thet makes a horizon, level as a floor. Thet's Wild Hoss Mesa. It's seventy-five miles long, not countin' the slant down from the Henrys. An' only a few miles across. Canyons on each side. It reaches right out into thet canyon country, which makes our Dirty Devil here look like a Mormon ranch full of irrigation ditches. Nobody knows that country, Jim. Think of thet. My father said only a few Mormons ever got on top of Wild Hoss Mesa. . . . What you think of it?"
    "Grand. . . . That's all, Hank."
    "Ahuh. I'm glad you ain't like Lincoln. We'll get somewhere together, Jim. . . . An' now, comin' nearer home, there's the Black Buttes, sometimes called Bears Ears, an' here's Gray Bluff-- thet wall thet dances toward us from the gray out there. . . . An' this mess of rocks across the valley is Red Rocks. An' so on, as you'll come to know. Round the corner here you can see Herrick's valley an' ranch. It's a bit of rich land thirty miles long an' half as wide, narrowin' like a wedge. Now let's ride on, Jim, an' have a look at