Read Online Blood of the Mountain Man by William W. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William W. Johnstone
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fair man. You fight Biggers and Cosgrove and Fat?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too.”
And the three rode out.
Van Horn had sent Ladd into town, and he returned with Little Jimmy and the Mexican, Pasco.
“You got any objection to working with cows?” Smoke asked the Mexican.
“If it means a fight with Biggers, Cosgrove, and Fat, I’ll work for the devil,” Pasco replied.
“I’ve been called that,” Smoke said.
“So I’ve heard,” Pasco smiled his reply.
“Stow your gear in the bunkhouse.”
Over coffee, Jenny said, “That is the most disreputable-looking crew I think I have ever seen. Except for Jimmy.”
“They’ll stand to the last man, Jenny. They’re tough as rawhide and meaner than pumas. Right now, I want you to bake a half dozen pies and fry up a tubful of doughnuts. Then I want you to bake a dozen loaves of bread and cook up the thickest stew you ever made in your life. Can you do that?”
‘You bet I can, Uncle Smoke.”
“After this evening’s supper, Jenny, you won’t be able to drive those men off with a shotgun.”
The men spent the rest of that day getting set up in the bunkhouse, mending shirts or socks, looking over the remuda, and loafing. Young Jimmy Hammon was in for a quick education, bunking with these salty ol’ boys, but most of what he would learn would be vital and stand him in good stead for the rest of his life. And Smoke also knew that the older men would look after the boy.
Soon the aroma of baking began to fill the house and Smoke had to leave before his mouth got to watering so bad he’d look like a drooling fool.
He got a couple of carrots and an apple from the kitchen and walked to the corral and picked out a horse to ride, sparing Buck. The horse was a big black with a mean eye. He and Smoke took to one another right off.
Van Horn strolled up and leaned against the railing. “He’s a bad one, Smoke. Nobody rides Devil. He’s a pure killer.”
Smoke smiled and whistled softly. The big black came right to him, the other horses giving him a wide berth. Smoke had quartered the apple and the black took the pieces as gently as a baby.
“I knew one man tried that and lost part of a finger,” Van Horn said.
“We understand each other,” Smoke said, rubbing the velvet of Devil’s nose. “We’re alike and he senses it.”
“He ain’t been cut, Smoke. He’s dangerous.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s just misunderstood, that’s all.” Smoke stepped inside the corral and walked around, the big black following along behind him, just like a puppy, occasionally reaching out to nibble at Smoke’s shirt, but with only his lips, not his teeth.
The other hands had gathered around the railing, watching Smoke and the big horse. After a time, Smoke put a blanket on him and walked him around, then saddled him and the black took the bit with no fuss.
“Damnedest thing I ever did see,” Van Horn said.
“Open the gate,” Smoke called, swinging into the saddle, and he and the black went out of the corral at a gallop. The black loved to run, and Smoke let it go until it tired. Several miles from the house, the big black slowed and Smoke reined up and swung down, letting the animal blow.
“We’re going to get along just fine,” Smoke told the horse named Devil. “I might even buy you from Jenny and take you back with me.”
Smoke looked all around him, in this valley surrounded by mountains. Fine spread, he thought. I can see why the others want it. But they’re not going to get it . . . not the way they plan, anyway.
Back in the saddle, he walked Devil back to the ranch. Rather than risk Jimmy getting hurt, he rubbed the black down himself and turned him into the corral. He forked some hay for the animals and finished just as Jenny started ringing the supper bell. The men started lining up and Smoke smiled at them as Jenny waved them into the house.
“We all eat together, gentlemen,” the girl informed them. “So come on and fill your plates.”
And fill
“Yes.”
“Me, too.”
And the three rode out.
Van Horn had sent Ladd into town, and he returned with Little Jimmy and the Mexican, Pasco.
“You got any objection to working with cows?” Smoke asked the Mexican.
“If it means a fight with Biggers, Cosgrove, and Fat, I’ll work for the devil,” Pasco replied.
“I’ve been called that,” Smoke said.
“So I’ve heard,” Pasco smiled his reply.
“Stow your gear in the bunkhouse.”
Over coffee, Jenny said, “That is the most disreputable-looking crew I think I have ever seen. Except for Jimmy.”
“They’ll stand to the last man, Jenny. They’re tough as rawhide and meaner than pumas. Right now, I want you to bake a half dozen pies and fry up a tubful of doughnuts. Then I want you to bake a dozen loaves of bread and cook up the thickest stew you ever made in your life. Can you do that?”
‘You bet I can, Uncle Smoke.”
“After this evening’s supper, Jenny, you won’t be able to drive those men off with a shotgun.”
The men spent the rest of that day getting set up in the bunkhouse, mending shirts or socks, looking over the remuda, and loafing. Young Jimmy Hammon was in for a quick education, bunking with these salty ol’ boys, but most of what he would learn would be vital and stand him in good stead for the rest of his life. And Smoke also knew that the older men would look after the boy.
Soon the aroma of baking began to fill the house and Smoke had to leave before his mouth got to watering so bad he’d look like a drooling fool.
He got a couple of carrots and an apple from the kitchen and walked to the corral and picked out a horse to ride, sparing Buck. The horse was a big black with a mean eye. He and Smoke took to one another right off.
Van Horn strolled up and leaned against the railing. “He’s a bad one, Smoke. Nobody rides Devil. He’s a pure killer.”
Smoke smiled and whistled softly. The big black came right to him, the other horses giving him a wide berth. Smoke had quartered the apple and the black took the pieces as gently as a baby.
“I knew one man tried that and lost part of a finger,” Van Horn said.
“We understand each other,” Smoke said, rubbing the velvet of Devil’s nose. “We’re alike and he senses it.”
“He ain’t been cut, Smoke. He’s dangerous.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s just misunderstood, that’s all.” Smoke stepped inside the corral and walked around, the big black following along behind him, just like a puppy, occasionally reaching out to nibble at Smoke’s shirt, but with only his lips, not his teeth.
The other hands had gathered around the railing, watching Smoke and the big horse. After a time, Smoke put a blanket on him and walked him around, then saddled him and the black took the bit with no fuss.
“Damnedest thing I ever did see,” Van Horn said.
“Open the gate,” Smoke called, swinging into the saddle, and he and the black went out of the corral at a gallop. The black loved to run, and Smoke let it go until it tired. Several miles from the house, the big black slowed and Smoke reined up and swung down, letting the animal blow.
“We’re going to get along just fine,” Smoke told the horse named Devil. “I might even buy you from Jenny and take you back with me.”
Smoke looked all around him, in this valley surrounded by mountains. Fine spread, he thought. I can see why the others want it. But they’re not going to get it . . . not the way they plan, anyway.
Back in the saddle, he walked Devil back to the ranch. Rather than risk Jimmy getting hurt, he rubbed the black down himself and turned him into the corral. He forked some hay for the animals and finished just as Jenny started ringing the supper bell. The men started lining up and Smoke smiled at them as Jenny waved them into the house.
“We all eat together, gentlemen,” the girl informed them. “So come on and fill your plates.”
And fill
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