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Rivers West: A Novel, by Louis L'Amour
Free PDF Rivers West: A Novel, by Louis L'Amour
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His dream was to build magnificent steamboats to ply the rivers of the American frontier. But when Jean Talon began his journey westward, he stumbled upon a deadly conspiracy involving a young woman’s search to find her missing brother, and a ruthless band of renegades. Led by the brazen Baron Torville, this makeshift army of opportunists is plotting a violent takeover of the Louisiana Territory. Jean swears to find a way to stop this daring plan. If he doesn’t, it will not only put an end to all his dreams; it will change the course of history—and destroy the promise of the American frontier.
- Sales Rank: #262814 in Books
- Brand: L'Amour, Louis
- Published on: 1993-09-01
- Released on: 1993-09-01
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.90" h x .60" w x 4.20" l, .22 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 208 pages
From the Inside Flap
"He killed me," the dying man had said. "He stabbed me." Those words stayed with young Jean Talon as he journeyed westward, finally reaching the Missouri in search of a simple and honest life building river boats. But the stranger died. And that meant unraveling a deadly knot that tied together a vicious renegade's army, the Louisiana Purchase, and the missing brother of a beautiful, headstrong woman. Too near the truth to break away, Jean Talon turns in the tools of his trade for a far more dangerous kind of work--the kind that either gets men killed or earns them a new home in a violent, untamed land.
About the Author
Our foremost storyteller of the American West, Louis L’Amour has thrilled a nation by chronicling the adventures of the brave men and women who settled the frontier. There are more than 300 million copies of his books in print around the world.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
A ghost trail, a dark trail, a trail endlessly winding. A dark cavern under enormous trees, down which blew a cold wind that skimmed the pools with ice. A corduroy road made from logs laid side by side, logs slippery with rotting vegetation from the swamp.
Here and there a log had sunk deep, leaving a cleft into which a suddenly plunged foot could mean a broken leg, and on either side of the swamp ... well, some said it was bottomless. Horses had sunk there, never to be seen again-and men, also.
My father's house lay several days behind me, back of a shoulder on the Quebec shore above the Gulf of St. Lawrence. For days I had been walking southward. An owl glided past with great, slow wings, and out in the swamp some unseen creature moved, seemed to pause, listen.
Was that a step behind me?
Astride a gap between logs, I paused, half turned to look.
Nothing. I must have been mistaken. Yet, I had heard something.
My shoulders ached from the burden of my tools. Straining my eyes in hte darkness, I looked for a place to stop, any place which to rest, if ever so briefly. And then I saw a wide stump from which a tree had been sawed, a full six feet in diameter. The tree cut from it lay in the swamp close by, half sunk.
With my left hand I swung my tools to the stump, keeping the rifle in my right, ready for use. This was a wild place. There were few travelers, and fewer still were honest men. Young I might be, but not trusting.
For the first time I was leaving my home, going south from Canada into the United States. Westward, it was said, they were building, and we are builders, we Talons.
There was a time when at least one of the family had been a pirate. He had been a privateer in the waters of the Indian Ocean, the Bay of Bengal, and the Red Sea, but mostly off the Coromandel and Malabar coasts of India. He'd done well, too, or so it was said. I'd seen none of the treasure he was said to have brought away.
What was that? I half rose from my seat on the stump, then settled back, holding my rifle in both hands.
It was cold, growing colder.
Behind me, on the Gaspé, I had left my father's cottage and the good will of at least some of my neighbors. My father was gone. My mother had died when I was yet a young boy, and I had no sweetheart.
Of course, there had been a girl. We had roamed the fields together as children, danced together, even talked of marriage. That was before a man far wealthier than I had come to see her father. To be wealthier than I was not difficult, for I had only the cottage inherited from my father, a few acres adjoining, a small fishing boat, and my trade. And she was ambitious.
The other man was a merchant with many acres, a three-masted schooner trading along the coast, and a store. He was a landed, a moneyed man, and, as I have said, she was ambitious.
She had come to our meeting place one last time. At once she was different. There was no fooling about on this day, for she was very serious. "Jean!" She pronounced it zhan, as was correct, but with an inflection that was her own. "My father wants me to marry Henry Barboure."
It took a moment for me to understand. Henry Barboure was nearly forty, twice as old as I, and a respected, successful man, although I'd heard it said that he was close-fisted and a hard man to deal with.
"You are not going to?" I protested.
"I must, unless ... unless ...."
"Unless what?"
"Jean, do you know where the treasure is? I mean all that gold the old man left? He was your great-grandfather, wasn't he? The pirate?"
"It was further back than that, " I said. "And anyway, he left no gold. None that I know of."
She came closer to me. "I know it is a family secret. I know it's always been a secret, a mystery, but Jean ..... if we had all that gold ... well, Father would never think of asking me to marry Henry. He always told me you'd know where it was, and you could get some of it, whenever you liked."
So that was it. The gold. Of course, I knew the stories. They had been a legend in the Gaspé since the first old man's time. He had been one of the first to settle on what was then a lonely, almost uninhabited coast. He had built a strong stone castle-burned by the British during one of their raids on the coast many years after, and attacked many times before that.
The story was that he had hidden a great treasure, and that he could dip into it whenever he wished, and that he had bought property, a good deal of it. It was true that he had sailed to Quebec City or Montreal whenver he desired-even down to Boston or New York to buy whatever he wished. But I knew nothing of any treasure, nothing at all. If he had left any behind it was so well hiddden that no one knew where it could be.
My father had shrugged off the stories. "Nonsense!" he would say. "Think nothing of treasure or stories of treasure. You will have in this world just what you earn ... and save. Remember that. Do not waste your life in a vain search for treasure that may not exist."
"There is no treasure," I said to her. "It is all a silly story."
"But he had money!" she protested. "He was fabulously rich!"
"And he spent it," I said. "If you want me it shall be as I am, a man with a good craft who can make a good living."
She was scornful. "A good living! Do you think that is all I want? Henry can give me everything! A beautiful home, travel, money to spend, beautiful clothes ...."
"Take him then," I had told her. "Take him, and be damned!"
Most helpful customer reviews
6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Implausible tale, which in itself isn't bad, just doesn't quite gel together
By A. Woodley
Jean Daniel Talon, descendent of a pirate leaves his home in Quebec to make his fortune. He is a shipwright by trade and carries his tools with him to the bustling new town of Pittsburgh to get work. He has been rejected by his long time sweetheart who has chosen a richer man in his stead. Instead of languishing for love he moves on, but finds a man brutally murdered. In the mans dying gasps he brings Talon into a plot which turns out to be something to do with annexing Louisiana. This is all set in the time of teh Louisiana Purchase when Louisiana was an awful lot more than the small state it now is in the south, this was a sizeable chunk of land going right into the middle of the United States.
Talon meets up with Jambe de Bois, a one legged man who is mysterious about his past but proves reliable to Jean. He also meets up with the annoyingly independent Tabitha Marjoribanks who insists on treating him as a common servant and being rather distasteful to him. she is in search of her brother Charles who has gone missing.
They all travel together as far as Pittsburgh, it becomes apparent to them that they are being followed with evil intentions in mind and must take side trails to avoid being robbed or worse. Even in Pittsburgh Jean finds himself badly assaulted and cast adrift - luckily he is picked up by a man and his daughter who are also looking for Charles Marjoribanks.
Macklem who is being sought by many people and is the centre of the plot has managed to envigle his way onto Tabitha Marjoribanks steam boat in search of her brother. It seems that she deliberately allowed him to captain the boat although the reason is not really explained. Anyway, it all comes to a head and Jean has a bit of fisticuffs with Macklem, whom he betters - and then for some reason Tabitha Marjoribanks decides she rather likes after rejecting him for the entire book up to the last page.
I really enjoyed the adventuring derring-do of the story but the actual tale was implausible and the ending kind of inexplicable.
3 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
First Draft For A Better Novel
By Bill Slocum
Even novels with great plots need second drafts. "Rivers West" starts out so promisingly it almost hurts reading the last 70 pages, when author Louis L'Amour becomes so obviously disengaged with his creation it becomes a matter of "last to leave turn off the lights."
It's 1821, and from the Quebec coast a young shipwright named Jean Talon lights off for Pittsburgh and what he hears are fresh opportunities making boats for the great rivers of the American West. Crossing a corduroy road at night, he discovers a dying British officer, recently stabbed, who tells him of a very bad man, one Jean later learns has plans to steal the fruit of the Louisiana Purchase from the new American republic. Before he can make up his mind about much of anything, events conspire to plunge Jean into the heart of the plot.
Right from the beginning, when L'Amour sets the scene with his description of "a ghost trail, a dark trail, a trail endlessly winding" to its atypically-set time and place (at least 50 years earlier and 1000 miles eastward of the usual setting for a L'Amour western), you get the feeling that the author was out to try something different. Using the idea of someone planning to steal the West away from the nascent United States draws your interest, even if the actual method of doing so is never explained. You forgive a lot with L'Amour, because you want what his readers might call the good parts, strangers becoming friends amid the sagebrush, fights to the death, and reminders of a simpler time. So when Jean is quickly befriended by a cheesy pirate character with a pegleg and "Argh matey" dialogue, you enjoy the Walter Scott spirit more than you mind the implausibility.
But the plot oddities keep coming, like friends and enemies Jean instantly recognizes without explanation. Worst of all is the female heroine, whose thorough obnoxiousness around the hero is explained away by one of his buddies suchways: "If you're going to have steam in the kettle, you've got to have fire in the stove."
The sketchiness of L'Amour's narrative gets in the way of your enjoyment most. He takes little time to fill in plot points that seem promising. There's a very cool steamboat that resembles a "great black serpent" on which the villain rides, but little is done with it, or for that matter, with the villain. At several points, Jean is cut off from his friends, episodes L'Amour too obviously uses to fast-forward the plot. There's a scene where Talon is befriended by some Omaha, but it goes nowhere except to show L'Amour's readers that he realized he was writing in 1975, when respecting Indians was expected of Western authors.
There are good moments here, particular in the scene-setting first half, and a reader with a fertile imagination can use it as a casting-off point for his or her own daydreamt adventures. L'Amour had a fine imagination, too, and it deserved better exercise than he gave it here.
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
Work In Progress
By Writetrak
Just finished reading this re-release today and went back to read that River's West was first copyrighted in 1975. It made me wonder too if the original release was probably a little too soon for L'Amour and maybe the rest of us fans as well. The book has most of the makings of a good read but falls short in character development and storyline; like a work in progress that wasn't quite done and maybe rushed to market. For me the book makes one too many leaps of plotline in a rushed and hurried sort of way and made me wonder why some of the characters were tossed in with little more than brief introductions and left to wallow.
The sad part for me was that it has great potential because with Louis L'Amour you always learn something in the process, whether it's history, settings, weapons, Indian or cowboy culture, or whatever...but that being said, I came away disappointed with this novel. It fell a little short of what I came to enjoy from one of nation's foremost historical fiction authors.
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