Read Online Colorado Sam by Jim Woolard - Free Book Online

hadn’t poked their funny bone the very first thing in the morning, Nathan lagged behind while they bolted back inside and finished dressing. Once the cowboys were occupied with knife and fork at the cook’s table, he donned his shield shirt in a flash and joined them.
    Â Â  The denigration of Spud Daniels’ breakfast fixin’s the previous evening was unwarranted. He was far from being a boil and burn cook. A whopping platter of potatoes and diced onions simmered, more than fried, in a skillet greased with bacon fat served as the main dish. Slices of beef pot roast, interspersed with bacon strips, rimmed the platter of potato and onion, leading Nathan to believe Spud Daniels had frequented Annie Britton’s kitchen on more than a few occasions. A kettle of pinto beans, complete with serving ladle, set next to the main dish along with bowls of boiled eggs, raw turnips, and peeled onions. Not one, but two tall enamelware coffee pots passed amongst the diners. 
    Â Â  Anxious anticipation rippled through the ST crew as Spud Daniels, hands protected by potholders, placed a Dutch oven on the table and removed the lid. Just the smell of the stubby cook’s sourdough biscuits provoked much lip smacking and feverish grabbing, and before any cowboy could call out, Spud produced clay urns of butter to go with the biscuits. The lavish meal of the previous evening already a distant memory, Heft Thomas and Nathan matched the ST crew bite for bite, Nathan again marveling at the bantam Heft’s prodigious appetite.
    Â Â  Since breakfast and supper were the cowboy’s only meals of the day, their foreman allowed them to linger over a final cup of coffee. Nathan missed the sly wink Liege Towers gave his look-a-like, Rand Johnson. “Rand, you notice anything out of the ordinary out at the necessary?”
    Â Â  “Yeah, if he hadn’t been wearing Levis and cowboy boots you’d have thought some dude fresh off the train got amongst us by mistake,” Rand Johnson answered. 
    Â Â  “Them pearl buttons belong on a ladies dress, don’t they, boys?” Charlie Swain stuck in.
    Â Â  A statement on Nathan’s behalf came from a most unexpected source. Ike Justice, whose average words per day Brick Redman had long sworn could be counted on the fingers of a single hand, exceeded his daily quota by observing, “A Tanner’s a Tanner. Fancy underwear don’t mean squat one way or another.”
    Before anybody at the table could launch a retort, Heft Thomas slid his chair back and stood. “Gents, roundup ain’t far off, and there’s still considerable horseshoeing and bronc busting waiting on you.” 
    Â Â  The cowboys grumbled, but the boss man had spoken and, fisting hats, spurs, and roping gloves, they headed for the blacksmith shop and corrals. When the bunkhouse was empty except for Spud Daniels, Heft Thomas said to Nathan, “Let’s get some horses and we’ll ride up where your uncle was killed. Don’t forget your Colt.”
    Â Â  Nathan buckled his shell belt around his waist and donned his jacket and cap against the chill of the morning air, though he regretted the cap, which no self-respecting cowboy would be caught wearing on his worst day. 
    Â Â  Heft Thomas selected his Blackie and a steel dust gelding of approximately fifteen hands from the corral. “Your uncle named him Buck after he won him as a colt from Cole Buckman in a poker game at Moss Kaylor’s saloon. He didn’t pan out as a stud. But he’s eight years old and a prime using horse.” 
    Â Â  They bridled the two horses and led them into the stable. Heft provided Nathan a double rigged stock saddle with the ST brand burnt into its horn, skirt, and fenders. Given his experience with the Tanner Mansion horses, saddling was an easy chore for Nathan. He buckled the latigos, pulled on the horn to insure the saddle was