Free Novel 1966 - The Broken Gun (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Page B

to move—I wanted to get around the slight curve in the rock. But I dared not move, for to move was almost surely to be seen.
    “Sheridan?” The voice was a little less sure now. “Come on, Sheridan. I’ve come to get you out of there.” He was lying, for I could see the pistol in his hand, ready for a shot.
    “It was all a mistake,” he went on. “The boss wants to make it up to you. Come on out and I’ll toss you a rope.”
    An inch…if I moved just an inch…I crawled my fingers forward along the ledge, held still, then lifted my knee ever so slightly and pushed it forward a little.
    All was quiet behind me. I dearly wanted to look, but dared not.
    He was walking around now; soon his eyes would go along the cliff. I did not think he could make me out, in the shadow as I was…but he might.
    I eased my fingers along, and leaning my weight on my palm I hunched forward a little. Almost instantly there was a shot. A bullet struck the rock above me and ricocheted off down the canyon. Reese shouted some incomprehensible words at me, and fired again.
    But the moment had given me time to move. The corner wasn’t much, but I was around it, with a swell of the rock behind me.
    But there was no time for elation. Glancing quickly around, I saw the ledge on which I stood ran only a few feet farther, but beyond it was a chimney, a cleft in the rock that appeared to be several feet deep, and from three feet wide opposite where I stood, to five or six feet wide at the bottom, a good hundred and fifty feet down.
    Above, the chimney narrowed to slightly less than three feet, and led to the top of the mesa, where it widened out into a saucer-like depression. However, I dared not try to climb to the top, for Reese would be riding along there soon, and there would be no escape for me on the top. My only chance was to descend the chimney, get on down the slope, and try to find a horse or some other means of escape, or perhaps get to a telephone.
    It did not take me long to reach the chimney. A risky step and a swing into the narrow space in the rock, my knees against one side, my back and hands against the other, using the opposition of forces to work my way down the narrow cleft.
    I thought of Belle, who must be somewhere down there. Without a horse there was no chance of finding her in this rough country. Yet my mind would not dismiss the thought of her, worrying over what Colin Wells might do now that he felt assured of my imminent death; for it would be hours before he could learn that I had, at least for the time, escaped.
    It was growing warm. The sky above was a pleasant blue, with a jet trail marking a streak of passage across it. High overhead, winging slowly above the desert, a buzzard hung in midair.
    When I reached the last few feet I just let go and dropped, landing on the slope with bent knees, and moving forward even as I touched the ground.
    My thoughts ran swiftly ahead. There was a walkie-talkie back in the jeep, but that was some miles away, and Reese would not be likely to call for help until he was sure he had lost me. Then he might get in touch with the other hands by some means, and they would be hunting me as soon as they learned about it.
    What I needed now was a weapon, and I needed it desperately.
    It was almost unbelievable that a great city lay not many miles away, for here all was wilderness, unchanged since the days when John and Clyde Toomey had first arrived.
    And then, suddenly, I knew where I was going.
    Chapter 7
    I WAS GOING to Lost River.
 
    It could not be far from here, and the description of its location had been graphic enough. It must be a location similar to that of Fossil Springs, somewhat to the north, where a power station had been developed.
    Lost River was literally that: a river in a small rocky basin that emerged from the ground, bursting forth in great volume, ran along for a short distance through a rocky channel, and then disappeared underground. The water, John Toomey had said,