Louis L'Amour by The Warrior's Path

was born here. I have not seen England. To me it is a land far off where a king reigns.”
    â€œHe reigns here, also,” Blaxton reminded. “It is not good to forget that.”
    â€œWhere I live,” I said, “is beyond the mountains where only Indians are. I do not think the king reigns there nor has power. It is a man himself who rules himself, and it is people working together. Perhaps you may think us wrong, but we do not often think of the king.”
    He considered that, then smiled. “To tell you the truth, we do not often think of him, either, yet it is not well to forget. You can be sent home to be tried by his courts, sent to his prisons, or executed by his officers.”
    We finished our broth and sat there in silence, enjoying each the company of the other. Finally he nodded to indicate the books. “Do you read, then?”
    â€œI do. In our home there are many books, and my teacher was a good one.” I glanced at him. “You might not approve. He was an infidel, a Moslem.”
    He shrugged. “I would say this to none but you and perhaps to Sam Maverick, but I have myself read a book by a Moslem and found it not at all bad. Did he speak of religion?”
    â€œOnly to say there were many paths, all directed to the same end, and he advised me not to be too quick to put my religion upon the Indian, for he had one of his own that served him well.”
    â€œYou have courage,” Blaxton said, “to face that wilderness. The sea and the woodland … I love them, but I do not venture. I walk these quiet paths, standupon these headlands, pick my berries, and sometimes—rarely—I fish. For a few trinkets, an Indian will bring me fish or mussels. It is a good life and an easy one if the demands you make are not too large.”
    â€œYou have your books. They are the best companions.”
    â€œAye.” He glanced at me, and I think at the moment he really liked me, although he was a distant and aloof man. “Within this room I can talk to the Hebrew prophets, to Plato and to Aristotle. It is good company I keep here.”
    He stood up. “Let us go to Maverick’s place. You will see how well it can be done.”
    As we walked along, I said to him, “Then nothing can be done against the slavers?”
    He glanced at me. “What slavers? Who is to testify? It is all surmise and wild imaginings. Understand, I am inclined to believe there is something in what you say. To me Pittingel is too smug, too knowing, and too sly. He seems sometimes to hold us all in contempt, yet that may be only an attitude.
    â€œIn any event, slavery is no crime, although frowned upon in many quarters. It has been with us, my friend, for several thousand years.
    â€œAnd if no slavery, how is the work to be done? A man who comes to this country wishes land of his own, and he will rarely stand to a bit of work for anyone else.
    â€œI do not approve of one man enslaving another, yet so it has always been, and the mere fact that Joseph Pittingel transports slaves into the country or to the West Indies, this will be no argument against him. He will lose favor in some homes, will find himself quietly put aside by some of our people, but to others it will mean nothing. You must face reality, my firned.”
    â€œOf course, he was right. Yet, there had to be a way. I thought suddenly of those other girls.
    â€œI knew but one of them,” Blaxton said when I suggested it. “A handsome lass and pert.” After a moment he added, “I feared for her. She was too filled withzest, and I am afraid—I should not say this—but I am afraid she had too little of the Lord’s goodness in her.”
    He glanced at me. “I tried to talk to her of God, and she kept reminding me, without saying a word, that I was but a man and she knew it. She disappeared suddenly, and it was suspected she had run off with someone … aboard some ship