Suspended Sentences Read Online Free PDF Page B

inside the lean-to. A bedroll, two canteens, a waterproof pouch with several books in it. No one was in sight, but we left the truck there and Mallory led the way through the forest. He was following tracks, although I couldn’t discern them.
    After a half-hour hike we heard the ring of a hammer against rock and presently we came upon the sourdough. He had a black beard peppered with gray; he wore coveralls and a plaid work shirt; he was short and built heavy through chest and shoulders. His eyes gleamed with an intelligence that seemed almost childishly innocent.
    Mallory made introductions. “Mr. Stoddard’s investigating the death of Mr. Cord.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe hunter who got killed the other day over on the far side of the peak.”
    We hunkered in the shade. Hugh Collins had been whacking away at a rock face with his pointed hammer. I said, “Finding any color?”
    â€œYou always find color. Enough for day wages. I pan out a few hundred dollars a month. You wanted to ask about this hunter?”
    â€œSomeone shot him. Looking at the map, I thought the man might have come from this direction. I wondered if you might have seen anyone that day.”
    â€œWhat day was that exactly?”
    â€œSunday.”
    â€œNobody came through this way Sunday.”
    â€œYou didn’t hear a couple of shots that day, then?”
    Collins laughed. He showed good teeth. “I hear shots all the time. This time of year these hills are alive with idiot hunters.”
    An animal limped into sight and approached us hesitantly. It was a hardy-looking little creature; it had only three legs but it managed to hobble along with dignity and even grace.
    Collins said, “All right now, Felicity,” and snapped his fingers and the delicate little creature came to him and nuzzled his hand. Its left foreleg appeared to have been amputated at the shoulder. Collins said, “Felicity’s a Rocky Mountain goat. You don’t see many.”
    â€œWhat happened to her leg?”
    â€œThat’s how we got together, Felicity and I. Seven years ago — she was a yearling — some idiot hunter blew her leg off and I came across her half dead up there on the peak. Bandaged her up, looked after her. She’s been with me ever since. Like the lion and Androcles.” He scratched the goat’s ears. After a moment she hopped away toward the woods. Collins looked up through the pines, evidently judging the angle of the sun. “You gentlemen hungry? Why don’t we walk back to my camp?”
    He served up a meal of beans and fritters and greens that he must have harvested from the mountain slopes. “Sorry there’s no meat. I don’t keep any on hand. Don’t get many visitors.”
    â€œAre you a vegetarian?”
    â€œGoing on seven years now.”
    I said, “You don’t talk like a back-country hermit, Mr. Collins.”
    â€œWell, I used to be on the faculty at the School of Mines down in Golden.” He had an engaging smile. “I’m mainly antisocial. I prefer it up here. Of all the animals I’ve met, I find man the least appealing.” The three-legged goat appeared and Collins fed it the last of his salad.
    I’d seen the cased rifle when we’d arrived in camp; it was propped inside the lean-to. Now I walked to it and unzipped the leather case. I was sure before I opened it, but it needed confirmation. The old rifle shone with fresh oil — it was well cared for.
    Collins and Mallory hadn’t stirred from their places by the fire place. Collins said in a mild voice, “That’s a real old-timer, you know. Dates back to Black Jack Pershing’s war.”
    â€œI know.” I watched Sam Mallory get up and walk toward the Power Wagon. When he opened the door I said, “Leave the carbine there, Sam,” and he looked at me — looked at the rifle I held — and closed the truck door with stoic