"TXT - Louis L'Amour - Fallon" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

prosperous; anything else at this time would prove fatal to his plan.
"You are going to the mines?"
The worry in the sandy-haired man's face was apparent. "Small chance unless we
leave our wagons and start off afoot." He indicated the shimmering wasteland.
"We're kind of scared to tackle that, with the womenfolks, and all."
Salvation lay here for Fallon, not only for the moment, but for the future as
well, if he could play these people in the right way. His throat was raw with
the need for water, and the smell of food made his stomach growl with
impatience.
"Rightly so." He gestured toward the barren country around them. "A man without
a horse out there, and without water ... he might keep going two days if he was
strong to begin with."
Fallon's glance fell on one of the girls ... quickly he averted his eyes. This
was no time for sentiment. These were good people, the sort he usually avoided,
but he could not think of that now. In any event, it was not them he planned to
victimize. They would be merely the window dressing. And anyway, what else could
they do? Where could they go? With luck, the men might make it through; the
women and children never could.
Fallon opened his campaign with a wide, friendly smile. "Believe me, you are
more fortunate than you realize. That wheel of yours must have been inspired to
break down here. You need go no further."
He turned to the water barrel. "May I?"
Dipping water into his hat with the drinking gourd, he held it for his grateful
horse. He took only the smallest sip himself, but it sent an agonizing,
unbelievable coolness throughput his body.
When his horse had emptied the hat, Fallon hung up the gourd. His eyes at that
moment fell upon the sorrel horse tied to the tailgate of the other wagon, and
he seemed to consider for a moment. "Have you ever heard," he asked, "of the
town of Red Horse?"
He moved closer to the fire and the bacon, fighting the urge to drink more, and
still more. "Red Horse," he continued, "was a mining town born suddenly from a
rocky gorge. It was said to be the richest strike among the mines."
He paused ... would nobody offer him a cup of coffee?
"My Uncle Joe, God rest his soul, was among the founders, owner of the richest
claim. Then the Piutes came ... suddenly in the night ... and every man-jack of
them was slaughtered ... wiped out."
He glanced around the group, then moved again to the water barrel and dipped the
gourd. All eyes were upon him, all were listening avidly, except one girl, who
looked at him with cool, disdainful eyes.
He touched the gourd to his lips and allowed a little more water to trickle to
the parched tissues of his mouth and throat. "The town and the claims were
forgotten. They had existed too short a time to be generally known, those who
knew the most about the place were dead, the claims were deserted, the buildings
empty."
He sipped water again. "One thing, and one only, prevented Red Horse from being
forever lost."
He had their attention, all right. They had forgotten their troubles, even
forgotten where they were, yet he knew it was less what he said that was
important than what their imaginations would do to the story.
"My uncle," he said, "had written a letter." He put his hand on his breast. "I