The Best of Edward Abbey Read Online Free PDF

it be easier to take the horses to the spring than to carry the water back here to the horses?”
    “A bucket of water is lighter than a horse,” Lee pointed out.
    “The horses can walk,” I said.
    “But they’re tired.”
    “Will you please answer my question?”
    The old man smiled and patted my knee. “You’re right, Billy, it should be easier to do it your way. But the horses don’t like itdown in there. And the trail is too tight for all three at once; you’d have a rough time. And besides, think what a mess three big horses, full of water and grass and grain, would make of one little spring which is barely big enough to dip a pail into. We drink out of that spring too.”
    “I guess you’re right, Grandfather. I should’ve thought of that.” I stood up.
    “Someday we’ll cover the spring, run a pipe from it down to a water trough the horses can get to.”
    “How long have you been using this place?” Lee asked, winking at me. “How many years, John?”
    “You shut up and wash your dishes.”
    I walked to the corral, found the bucket and started down the path to the spring. Lee and the old man rose to their feet, stretching. “We’ll give you a hand, Billy,” Grandfather said, “as soon as we clean up.”
    “Yes sir.”
    The twilight was moving in. I had to go carefully to find my way, for the trail seemed awfully vague in the deep shadows under the cliff. When I reached the spring the tree toads were bleating, a dismal noise and a sure sign of night. There was no other sound, except the murmur of the flowing water. A few fireflies twinkled in the gloom above the weeds.
    The long day in the desert sun had drawn a lot of water from my body. I was thirsty again. I squatted close to the spring, scooped up a double handful of water and drank. I dipped up more and bathed my face.
    When the last tinkle of falling drops had died away I became aware of a deep and unexpected silence. The toads had gone silent and the water seemed to run more quietly than before. Even the fireflies had disappeared. I waited for a moment, listening to the silence, then reached cautiously for the bucket and dipped it into the water as quietly as I could, afraid to make too much noise. Looking around in all directions I could see nothing, nothing but the damp weeds, the wall of rock, the grand trunks of the yellow pines, the dusky woods. I looked up.
    I should not have looked up. On the brink of the crag abovethe spring I saw a pair of large eyes gleaming in a sleek head, saw a dark powerful shape of unforeseeable hugeness crouched as if to leap. I could not move, I could not make a sound. I stared up at the lion and the lion stared down at me. Paralyzed, I squatted by the spring, gripping the water bucket, unconscious of the ache in my muscles, and waited for death to fall upon me.
    My grandfather called through the silence, from the far-away cabin out of sight and out of reach beyond the twilight: “Billy?”
    I tried to answer but my throat was numb. The lion watched me.
    My grandfather called again: “Billy? Where are you?”
    This time the lion turned its massive head and with yellow, luminous eyes looked blandly, without curiosity or fear, up the pathway.
    I heard the old man’s boots scraping on the stones of the path, coming toward me, and at last the big cat stirred itself and rose and vanished, all at once, suddenly, with uncanny grace and stillness, into the night and the forest.
    Grandfather called me for the third time, coming closer, and now I thought I could answer. “Here,” I croaked. “I’m here.” I managed to stand up, the heavy bucket frozen in my grip. As the old man came toward me down the path I took a few leaden steps to meet him.
    He stared at my face. “What happened to you?”
    I told him.
    He put one arm around my shaking shoulders and with his other hand unwrapped my fingers one by one from the handle of the water bucket. Carrying the water himself, he led me up the pathway among the