Echo Burning Read Online Free PDF

the Wild West,” she said.
    â€œI guess,” he said back. “A million people trained first and foremost to do what needed doing. The rules came afterward.”
    â€œLike the Wild West,” she said again. “I think you liked it.”
    He nodded. “Some of it.”
    She paused. “May I ask you a personal question?”
    â€œGo ahead,” he said.
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œReacher,” he said.
    â€œIs that your first name? Or your last?”
    â€œPeople just call me Reacher,” he said.
    She paused again. “May I ask you another personal question?”
    He nodded.
    â€œHave you killed people, Reacher? In the army?”
    He nodded again. “Some.”
    â€œThat’s what the army is all about, fundamentally, isn’t it?” she said.
    â€œI guess so,” he said. “Fundamentally.”
    She went quiet again. Like she was struggling with a decision.
    â€œThere’s a museum in Pecos,” she said. “A real Wild West museum. It’s partly in an old saloon, and partly in the old hotel next door. Out back is the site of Clay Allison’s grave. You ever heard of Clay Allison?”
    Reacher shook his head.
    â€œThey called him the Gentleman Gunfighter,” she said. “He retired, actually, but then he fell under the wheels of a grain cart and he died from his injuries. They buried him there. There’s a nice headstone, with ‘Robert Clay Allison, 1840–1887’ on it. I’ve seen it. And an inscription. The inscription says, ‘He never killed a man that did not need killing.’ What do you think of that?”
    â€œI think it’s a fine inscription,” Reacher said.
    â€œThere’s an old newspaper, too,” she said. “In a glass case. From Kansas City, I think, with his obituary in it. It says, ‘Certain it is that many of his stern deeds were for the right as he understood that right to be.’”
    The Cadillac sped on south.
    â€œA fine obituary,” Reacher said.
    â€œYou think so?”
    He nodded. “As good as you can get, probably.”
    â€œWould you like an obituary like that?”
    â€œWell, not just yet,” Reacher said.
    She smiled again, apologetically.
    â€œNo,” she said. “I guess not. But do you think you would like to qualify for an obituary like that? I mean, eventually?”
    â€œI can think of worse things,” he said.
    She said nothing.
    â€œYou want to tell me where this is heading?” he asked.
    â€œThis road?” she said, nervously.
    â€œNo, this conversation.”
    She drove on for a spell, and then she lifted her foot off the gas pedal and coasted. The car slowed and she pulled off onto the dusty shoulder. The shoulder fell away into a dry irrigation ditch and it put the car at a crazy angle, tilted way down on his side. She put the transmission in park with a small delicate motion of her wrist, and she left the engine idling and the air roaring.
    â€œMy name is Carmen Greer,” she said. “And I need your help.”

2
    â€œIt wasn’t an accident I picked you up, you know,” Carmen Greer said.
    Reacher’s back was pressed against his door. The Cadillac was listing like a sinking ship, canted hard over on the shoulder. The slippery leather seat gave him no leverage to struggle upright. The woman had one hand on the wheel and the other on his seat back, propping herself above him. Her face was a foot away. It was unreadable. She was looking past him, out at the dust of the ditch.
    â€œYou going to be able to drive off this slope?” he asked.
    She glanced back and up at the blacktop. Its rough surface was shimmering with heat, about level with the base of her window.
    â€œI think so,” she said. “I hope so.”
    â€œI hope so, too,” he said.
    She just stared at him.
    â€œSo why did you pick me up?” he asked.
    â€œWhy do you