The Collected Short Stories of Louis L'Amour, Volume Four Read Free

from all this sent a little tremor of excitement through her, excitement tinged with relief.
    The yurt filled and the air was stifling. Anna studied the faces of the chieftains, but they were expressionless. Would they follow Kulan, or would they demand an older, more experienced leader?
    Tsan-Po whispered to her that most of those within the tent were supporters of Norba, and Anna Doone felt inside her coat for the pistol she was never without.
    Their very lives might depend on the selection of Kulan as
jyabo,
for if Norba were able to take power, he would at once seek to rid himself of his rival. It would not be without precedence if Norba attempted to kill Kulan here, now. Her hand on her pistol, Anna suddenly knew that if Norba even moved toward her son, she would kill him.
    She accepted some tea, drinking from a bowl that had come to Tibet from India in the dower of a princess, more than a thousand years before. In those years, Tibet had controlled most of western China, as well as part of India and Kashmir.
    Abruptly, without waiting for the others to assemble, Norba declared himself. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we will move to Tosun Nor to pasture upon the old lands.”
    There was silence as he looked around the yurt. That silence held for a slow minute, and then Kulan said one word.
    “No.”
    The word was definite, the tone clear, the challenge accepted.
    Norba’s face flushed with anger, but Kulan spoke before Norba could frame a word.
    “There is drought at Tosun Nor. The grass lies yellow and dead, the air is filled with dust. The beds of streams are cracked earth. We must go to the mountains, to the Yur-tse.”
    Again Norba prepared to speak, but Kulan interrupted. “My father is dead, but I am my father’s son. We rode upon the high grass together and he taught me what I must do.”
    For the first time, he looked at Norba. “You are
deba
of two hundred tents. You may ride with us or go to Tosun Nor. I would advise you to come with us.”
    Norba looked around at his followers. “We are men, and not to be led by a boy. It is I who shall lead the Khang-sar. When you are of an age to lead,” he added slyly, “you may lead.”
    Tsan-Po spoke. “The boy is his father’s son. Leadership falls upon him.”
    Norba got to his feet. “Enough! I say that I shall lead. I say it, and my men say it.”
    Kulan arose, and Shambe and Anna arose with him. Anna held her gun in her hand. “The Ku-ts’a stand without,” Shambe said, “and they follow Kulan…Unless all the chieftains say otherwise.”
    Norba’s lips flattened against his big teeth, and for an instant Anna thought he would strike Kulan despite the fact that the bodyguards surrounded the tent. The Ku-ts’a numbered fifty-eight chosen men, the hereditary guard of the
jyabo.
Norba had not expected the Ku-ts’a. With the
jyabo
dead, he had believed they would accept the situation.
    He slammed his sword back into its scabbard. “We will go to Tosun Nor,” he said. “You are fools.”
    “Go, if you will,” Kulan replied, “and those who survive are welcome to return. Our herds will be fat upon the long grass of the limestone mountains.”
    With a pang, Anna realized that Kulan was no longer a boy. The discipline had been strict and the training harsh, but he was every inch a king. Yet she was impatient, for their time was short, and if the plane were discovered, the fliers would be killed and they would be condemned to more fruitless, wasted years.
    Alone at last, she said to him, “What was all that about the drought at Tosun Nor?”
    “It had been rumored, so while you talked to the old man of your people, I asked the other. He spoke of dense clouds of dust high in the heavens, and of sheep and horses lying dead from starvation and thirst.”
    He paused. “It is well that Norba goes, for when he returns, if he returns, his power will be broken.”
    He glanced at her slyly, his face warming with a smile. “My mother taught me to listen, to