Taggart (1959) by Louis L'amour Read Free Book Online

easil y muffled, although the process was slower.
    Returning to the canyon of the chapel, Adam considered his plans. The mining tow n of Globe was but a short distance to the south but he had never visited the tow n and did not plan to. His visit would arouse discussion and might lead someone t o follow him back out of curiosity. They had brought with them a good supply of beans , rice, flour, and dried fruit, besides other staples, and this, augmented by wha t game he could trap and the edible plants Consuelo knew so well, would have to suffice.
    The opening of the small canyon, partly concealed by desert growth, presented a n uninteresting aspect that promised nothing to a rider passing by. Any desert travele r had passed hundreds of such arroyos or canyons with scarcely a passing glance. I t was in a small cove at the upper end of the canyon that they pastured their horse s and mules.
    Consuelo stepped from the door when Miriam and Adam came down from the moutain. Sh e held a rifle in her hand. "Somebody comes?" she asked.
    "Apaches," Miriam said. "And a white man."
    Consuelo laughed. "It is Tom Sanifer. He comes for me, just like he said."
    "Then he'd better watch his hair," Adam replied dryly. "He's in a fair way to los e it."
    "He will come. You see. Tom Sanifer loves me."
    Adam placed his rifle beside the door and dipped a gour d dipper into the wooden bucket beside the door. He looked across it at his wife. "An d you'd go?"
    She returned his look mockingly. "Who knows? Maybe you keel him. Maybe he keel you , and then I must go with him." "I think you'll stay," Adam said quietly.
    "Here?" Her temper flared. "You think I like this place? You think this is good plac e for woman? Just give me one chance and I go ... queeck!"
    She took her rifle and walked to the mouth of the canyon to keep watch while Miria m and Adam ate. When Adam had finished he lighted his pipe and, taking his rifle, wen t out to relieve Consuelo.
    She came back, and began the work of cleaning up while Miriam went on with her meal.
    As she ate, she read from one of their carefully hoarded books.
    Consuelo stared at her. "Always you read . . . you no want a man, you want a book.
    You want even to sleep with a book!" "It might be better than some men," Miriam replie d dryly. "And you don't have to wash socks for a book."
    When she had finished eating she walked to the end of the canyon. Adam stepped dow n from the rocks. "I believe they've gone on," he said, "but we can't be sure."
    She went up among the rocks and found her place-a place that allowed her to hea r anyone approaching, yet her own shadow was lost against the blacker shadow of th e rocks.
    Night had come while she ate. Darkness lay now like velvet upon the land, and overhea d the sky was midnight blue and scattered with stars, with only an occasional cloud.
    She knew the desert night, knew the amazing clarity of it, and all the little sound s the desert had that belonged to it, and she loved these hours beneath the stars.
    They rarely stood watch, and that only when someone had been seen in the vicinity , and on those occasions they often stood guard most of the night. On one occasio n they stood watch for three days and nights.
    When Stark went back and entered the house, Consuel o turned to face him. "When we go, Adam? How much longer do we 'ave to stay here?"
    "Two months ... a little less or a little more."
    "You know what I think? I think we never go. I think we die here in this canyon.
    I think so."
    "The gold is richer now."
    She ignored the comment. "You know what Apache do to man they catch? I have see n it. They tie him to a cactus with strips of green rawhide, and when it dries it tighten s and pulls the thorns into a man. He dies ... after a long time and much pain. "
    "You saw that?"
    "I saw ... and what they do to a woman I have seen. Before I was six, I have see n it."
    "I never saw anything like that. Hope I never do." Consuelo put a glass on a shelf.
    "Why Miriam no marry?