Read Online Duster (9781310020889) by Frank Roderus - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank Roderus
Tags: Coming of Age, ranch, western adventure, western action, painted pony books, frank roderus, prairie rose publications
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on the ground so they could huddle over
some bone dice Oberon pulled out of a pocket somewhere. I watched
long enough to decide I couldn't figure out what they was doing,
and then wandered off to see if I could spot some quail or
something to chunk rocks at since I was still hungry and didn't
have anything better to do.
I kicked around for the better part of an
hour without seeing anything more interesting than a big old
chuckwalla, and I left it alone. They say the Indians used to eat
them, but I'd had to be a sight hungrier before I'd eat a lizard as
ugly as that one was.
I got back to the mules just about the time
another one of Estrada's men came riding up at a good pace. He
called out something before he even got stopped, and Jesus jumped
up from the ground real quick.
"Come on, Duster. Them gringo rustlers heard
we was here an' they don't want to take a chance on us seeing them.
They want Estrada to shoot us an' leave us out here. He sent word
for us to get on our mules and get on about our business quick
before them gringos decide to come do the job themselves."
The fellow that had just rode up handed
Jesus a stoppered gourd full of water, and we pushed and pulled at
the mules until old Gert was in place next to Stardust. Then we
climbed up and I laid a hand onto Stardust's rump good and hard—I
had forgot my switch somewhere—and we took off through the brush as
fast as we could make those mules go.
7
WE GOT OUT on the road easy enough by
following the tracks that bunch of horses had left the night
before. They'd gouged up the dirt so it left a darker shade than
what was laying around it, and the sun hadn't been up long enough
to dry out what they'd uncovered. By afternoon, though, we probably
couldn't have followed in off the road to Estrada because there's
so much brush and rock and junk that a horse don't leave much of a
print on the ground.
Jesus guided us out, pulling at Stardust's
reins like a proper teamster. This time I wasn't about to go dozing
off for a nap—I was too busy watching our back trail for some sign
of Texas rustlers coming after us. I wasn't real positive what we
could of done had I seen any so it is a good thing we weren't
followed. It seemed a long time before we got back to the road.
By the time Jesus broke his way through the
last of the thorn and got both mules pointed down toward Fort Ewell
again, the sun was up well enough to make the road smell all heat
and dust and dry. After being in the brush so long it seemed
strange to hear the mules plopping quiet-like in soft dust instead
of having the rattle and snap of breaking brush around us when we
moved.
We kept the pace up and had got maybe a mile
down the road when we come up on a rider moving toward us. He was a
stranger to me, but he looked like a real important man. He was up
on the biggest, prettiest bay mare I'd ever seen—which, of course,
pretty well meant he wasn't no cowman even if his clothes hadn't
already told us that. A cowman won't hardly ride anything but a
gelding. Then, too, his rigging was built for pretty and not for
using as it was all carved and conchoed and had one of them
Californy-style center-fire cinches that you never see on a working
pony in Texas.
He was a big man and rode real stiff and
straight up like he was daring that mare to mess with his dignity.
To make it even plainer he was dressed in a fancy, dark gray suit
that fit his shoulders too fine to have come off any rack, and
there was a neat, black string tie slipped under a collar that
hadn't even begun to wilt (which was maybe from him carrying his
chin so high, for I never otherwise seen a collar so neat so far
out from anywhere). He topped the outfit off with a narrow brim hat
about the color of a dove's belly—pearly gray, I think the
storekeepers call it—that had never thought to be used for watering
a horse or wiping sweat off a worn-down animal.
Jesus hauled at the reins until we was over
to the side of the right-of-way and
some bone dice Oberon pulled out of a pocket somewhere. I watched
long enough to decide I couldn't figure out what they was doing,
and then wandered off to see if I could spot some quail or
something to chunk rocks at since I was still hungry and didn't
have anything better to do.
I kicked around for the better part of an
hour without seeing anything more interesting than a big old
chuckwalla, and I left it alone. They say the Indians used to eat
them, but I'd had to be a sight hungrier before I'd eat a lizard as
ugly as that one was.
I got back to the mules just about the time
another one of Estrada's men came riding up at a good pace. He
called out something before he even got stopped, and Jesus jumped
up from the ground real quick.
"Come on, Duster. Them gringo rustlers heard
we was here an' they don't want to take a chance on us seeing them.
They want Estrada to shoot us an' leave us out here. He sent word
for us to get on our mules and get on about our business quick
before them gringos decide to come do the job themselves."
The fellow that had just rode up handed
Jesus a stoppered gourd full of water, and we pushed and pulled at
the mules until old Gert was in place next to Stardust. Then we
climbed up and I laid a hand onto Stardust's rump good and hard—I
had forgot my switch somewhere—and we took off through the brush as
fast as we could make those mules go.
7
WE GOT OUT on the road easy enough by
following the tracks that bunch of horses had left the night
before. They'd gouged up the dirt so it left a darker shade than
what was laying around it, and the sun hadn't been up long enough
to dry out what they'd uncovered. By afternoon, though, we probably
couldn't have followed in off the road to Estrada because there's
so much brush and rock and junk that a horse don't leave much of a
print on the ground.
Jesus guided us out, pulling at Stardust's
reins like a proper teamster. This time I wasn't about to go dozing
off for a nap—I was too busy watching our back trail for some sign
of Texas rustlers coming after us. I wasn't real positive what we
could of done had I seen any so it is a good thing we weren't
followed. It seemed a long time before we got back to the road.
By the time Jesus broke his way through the
last of the thorn and got both mules pointed down toward Fort Ewell
again, the sun was up well enough to make the road smell all heat
and dust and dry. After being in the brush so long it seemed
strange to hear the mules plopping quiet-like in soft dust instead
of having the rattle and snap of breaking brush around us when we
moved.
We kept the pace up and had got maybe a mile
down the road when we come up on a rider moving toward us. He was a
stranger to me, but he looked like a real important man. He was up
on the biggest, prettiest bay mare I'd ever seen—which, of course,
pretty well meant he wasn't no cowman even if his clothes hadn't
already told us that. A cowman won't hardly ride anything but a
gelding. Then, too, his rigging was built for pretty and not for
using as it was all carved and conchoed and had one of them
Californy-style center-fire cinches that you never see on a working
pony in Texas.
He was a big man and rode real stiff and
straight up like he was daring that mare to mess with his dignity.
To make it even plainer he was dressed in a fancy, dark gray suit
that fit his shoulders too fine to have come off any rack, and
there was a neat, black string tie slipped under a collar that
hadn't even begun to wilt (which was maybe from him carrying his
chin so high, for I never otherwise seen a collar so neat so far
out from anywhere). He topped the outfit off with a narrow brim hat
about the color of a dove's belly—pearly gray, I think the
storekeepers call it—that had never thought to be used for watering
a horse or wiping sweat off a worn-down animal.
Jesus hauled at the reins until we was over
to the side of the right-of-way and
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