Novel 1968 - Down The Long Hills (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page B
Authors: Louis L’Amour
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carefully put out the fire, and Hardy led Betty Sue to a thick grove of aspen on the slope above them. Between the aspen and a cluster of rocks they made a bed and lay down.
The wind blew cold on the mountain, and the aspen leaves rustled. Betty Sue was soon asleep, but Hardy lay awake a long time, listening for Big Red.
He had always taken responsibilities seriously, but now in the lonely night he was frightened, fearful of the strange sounds, of mysterious rustlings, of the movements of prowling creatures. In the night he thought of pa, and he remembered Mr. Andy and his slow, purposeful ways. Mr. Andy never seemed to hurry, but he was always busy, always getting something done, and he had many skills. As pa said, Mr. Andy was the kind of man the frontier needed.
Pa himself was a driver. He moved more quickly, but just as surely. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and never stopped working to get it. If he failed along one line, he was always ready to proceed on another.
Hardy realized that he had learned some good things from pa; one was to do one thing at a time; not to cross bridges until he came to them, but at the same time to try to imagine how he could cross them when the time came. Though he was scared now, he was scared less for himself than for Betty Sue, for it was always in his mind how helpless she would be if anything happened to him.
He knew she trusted in him, and believed in him completely. And that made him remember something else pa had told him: that a body never knew how strong he could be until somebody expected it of him.
He tried to figure how far they must be from Fort Bridger now. As well as he could figure, they were somewhere in the foothills of the Wind River Mountains, and Bridger was way beyond there. He knew he had to keep out of the mountains, because everybody talked about how awful it was to get snowed in…and snow could come almighty sudden. Tomorrow, when he made the slope of the mountains, he would have to turn and follow along them.
Betty Sue didn’t talk much. She was so tired when they came to bed down at night that she fell asleep right off, and during the daytime they had to ride quiet most of the time…or walk quiet. He was glad they had not had much talk, for she was always so filled with questions, and he was in no position to answer her questions now. He could not even answer his own.
But she must not know how frightened he was, or how little he actually could do. She must keep her complete trust in him, for without it she had nothing.
Somewhere in these thoughts he fell asleep, and for four hours he slept well. When he woke up suddenly it was still dark. Two things had brought him out of his sound sleep. One was the light, feathery, cool touch of a snowflake on his cheek; the other was a sound, the faintest of sounds.
He lay perfectly still. One hand felt for the pistol tucked in his pocket.
Another snowflake touched his cheek, and then another, and another.
He lay there listening. Again he heard a faint stir on the slope below them; something was moving down there, ever so carefully. Very quietly he sat up and tugged on his boots. Betty Sue slept on, shivering a little under his old coat.
The night was velvety soft, but there were no stars. Nearby the aspens whispered to the gentle wind. Hardy waited, his heart pounding, listening for the surreptitious movements on the slope below them. At last, shivering with cold, he lay down again and cuddled close to Betty Sue.
But he did not stay there long, for he thought of the snow falling, and of the tracks they would leave. They could not be very far from where Cal and Jud had camped. The thought gave him an idea, and he sat up again, listening.
This time he heard no sound and after listening a little longer he crept around to the side of the clump of aspen behind which they had found shelter. Out across the valley he saw a faint red glow. Without doubt it was a campfire; it might be a mile off, or even more. He
The wind blew cold on the mountain, and the aspen leaves rustled. Betty Sue was soon asleep, but Hardy lay awake a long time, listening for Big Red.
He had always taken responsibilities seriously, but now in the lonely night he was frightened, fearful of the strange sounds, of mysterious rustlings, of the movements of prowling creatures. In the night he thought of pa, and he remembered Mr. Andy and his slow, purposeful ways. Mr. Andy never seemed to hurry, but he was always busy, always getting something done, and he had many skills. As pa said, Mr. Andy was the kind of man the frontier needed.
Pa himself was a driver. He moved more quickly, but just as surely. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and never stopped working to get it. If he failed along one line, he was always ready to proceed on another.
Hardy realized that he had learned some good things from pa; one was to do one thing at a time; not to cross bridges until he came to them, but at the same time to try to imagine how he could cross them when the time came. Though he was scared now, he was scared less for himself than for Betty Sue, for it was always in his mind how helpless she would be if anything happened to him.
He knew she trusted in him, and believed in him completely. And that made him remember something else pa had told him: that a body never knew how strong he could be until somebody expected it of him.
He tried to figure how far they must be from Fort Bridger now. As well as he could figure, they were somewhere in the foothills of the Wind River Mountains, and Bridger was way beyond there. He knew he had to keep out of the mountains, because everybody talked about how awful it was to get snowed in…and snow could come almighty sudden. Tomorrow, when he made the slope of the mountains, he would have to turn and follow along them.
Betty Sue didn’t talk much. She was so tired when they came to bed down at night that she fell asleep right off, and during the daytime they had to ride quiet most of the time…or walk quiet. He was glad they had not had much talk, for she was always so filled with questions, and he was in no position to answer her questions now. He could not even answer his own.
But she must not know how frightened he was, or how little he actually could do. She must keep her complete trust in him, for without it she had nothing.
Somewhere in these thoughts he fell asleep, and for four hours he slept well. When he woke up suddenly it was still dark. Two things had brought him out of his sound sleep. One was the light, feathery, cool touch of a snowflake on his cheek; the other was a sound, the faintest of sounds.
He lay perfectly still. One hand felt for the pistol tucked in his pocket.
Another snowflake touched his cheek, and then another, and another.
He lay there listening. Again he heard a faint stir on the slope below them; something was moving down there, ever so carefully. Very quietly he sat up and tugged on his boots. Betty Sue slept on, shivering a little under his old coat.
The night was velvety soft, but there were no stars. Nearby the aspens whispered to the gentle wind. Hardy waited, his heart pounding, listening for the surreptitious movements on the slope below them. At last, shivering with cold, he lay down again and cuddled close to Betty Sue.
But he did not stay there long, for he thought of the snow falling, and of the tracks they would leave. They could not be very far from where Cal and Jud had camped. The thought gave him an idea, and he sat up again, listening.
This time he heard no sound and after listening a little longer he crept around to the side of the clump of aspen behind which they had found shelter. Out across the valley he saw a faint red glow. Without doubt it was a campfire; it might be a mile off, or even more. He
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