Read Online Over the Misty Mountains by Gilbert Morris - Free Book Online
Authors: Gilbert Morris
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don’t know if I will or not. I couldn’t take a woman into a place like that.”
Josh saw the glimmer of hope die in Rhoda’s eyes. She turned again and started walking slowly away. Watching her go, he said, “I’ll see you when I get back.” But she did not turn. Somehow the incident troubled Josh Spencer. She was no more than a common prostitute. But there was a different quality in this one, and he hated to see her life come to ruin. There was something in the girl worth saving. Shrugging his shoulders with resignation, he headed toward the misty mountains.
****
“Where have you been?”
“Just out walking,” Rhoda said. She had entered the tavern again and found Cartier sitting at his usual table with a bottle of whiskey before him. He looked rough and irritable.
“Fix me something to eat!”
“All right. What do you want—eggs and bacon?”
“Anything. My stomach feels like it’s been cut open with a Chickasaw knife.” He glared over at the proprietor and asked, “What’s that rotgut you’re sellin’?”
“If you don’t like it, don’t drink here!” Dutch Hartog turned to face Cartier. He was in a rough business, and tough characters came and went. He waited for Cartier to respond, his hand on the counter. All he had to do was drop his hand to come up with either a knife or a bung starter, both of which he had used often.
Cartier stared at the thick-bodied proprietor and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. He shook his head and went back to his drinking. When Rhoda finally brought his breakfast, he gulped it down wolfishly, making guttural sounds until it was all gone. Shoving the wooden chair back, he grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap. He kissed her roughly, and she submitted without enthusiasm.
“Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold coin. “Go buy yourself a new dress or something. A bonnet.”
Rhoda took the coin and bit it. She had seen that his pocket was full. “Where’d you get all that money, Jack?”
“Never mind. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Do you ever go over the mountains?” she asked, suddenly thinking of Josh Spencer.
“Why are you askin’?”
“I just saw Josh Spencer. He’s headin’ over that way.”
A crafty look crossed the face of the trapper. He said something in French under his breath, then asked in English, “When did you see him?”
“Just now. Before I came in here.”
“Which way was he going?”
“He didn’t say. Just over the mountains. He mentioned something about Daniel Boone.”
The memory of the brawl came suddenly to Cartier, and his brutal face hardened. He was not a man to forgive easily, and filed away in his mind was the notion that someday he would get even with both Boone and Josh Spencer. “You been beddin’ down with Spencer?”
“What business is it of yours?”
The massive hand of the trapper closed on Rhoda’s back. He clenched the flesh together hard and she cried out, “Don’t! You’re hurting me!”
“I asked you a question!”
“What do you care? I don’t belong to you!”
“You do when I pay for you! Now answer me!”
“No! Let me go!”
Jacques Cartier slowly released her. Rhoda got up and gave him a frightened look, then turned and left. Cartier began drinking more heavily. He was a shrewd, crafty man who saw men like Boone and Josh Spencer as a threat to his business, which he kept mostly to himself.
“I’ll find him out there,” he said. “Then we’ll see!” he muttered. Shuddering as the raw whiskey hit his stomach, he continued to drink and began to make some kind of plans for revenge.
When Rhoda returned later in the day, she asked Dutch, “What happened to Jack Carter?”
“Don’t know. He left right after you talked to him.”
“Where was he going? Did he say?”
“He never says anything. I don’t trust that fellow,” Dutch said. “I could do without his business.”
Rhoda stepped outside of The Brown
Josh saw the glimmer of hope die in Rhoda’s eyes. She turned again and started walking slowly away. Watching her go, he said, “I’ll see you when I get back.” But she did not turn. Somehow the incident troubled Josh Spencer. She was no more than a common prostitute. But there was a different quality in this one, and he hated to see her life come to ruin. There was something in the girl worth saving. Shrugging his shoulders with resignation, he headed toward the misty mountains.
****
“Where have you been?”
“Just out walking,” Rhoda said. She had entered the tavern again and found Cartier sitting at his usual table with a bottle of whiskey before him. He looked rough and irritable.
“Fix me something to eat!”
“All right. What do you want—eggs and bacon?”
“Anything. My stomach feels like it’s been cut open with a Chickasaw knife.” He glared over at the proprietor and asked, “What’s that rotgut you’re sellin’?”
“If you don’t like it, don’t drink here!” Dutch Hartog turned to face Cartier. He was in a rough business, and tough characters came and went. He waited for Cartier to respond, his hand on the counter. All he had to do was drop his hand to come up with either a knife or a bung starter, both of which he had used often.
Cartier stared at the thick-bodied proprietor and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. He shook his head and went back to his drinking. When Rhoda finally brought his breakfast, he gulped it down wolfishly, making guttural sounds until it was all gone. Shoving the wooden chair back, he grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap. He kissed her roughly, and she submitted without enthusiasm.
“Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold coin. “Go buy yourself a new dress or something. A bonnet.”
Rhoda took the coin and bit it. She had seen that his pocket was full. “Where’d you get all that money, Jack?”
“Never mind. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Do you ever go over the mountains?” she asked, suddenly thinking of Josh Spencer.
“Why are you askin’?”
“I just saw Josh Spencer. He’s headin’ over that way.”
A crafty look crossed the face of the trapper. He said something in French under his breath, then asked in English, “When did you see him?”
“Just now. Before I came in here.”
“Which way was he going?”
“He didn’t say. Just over the mountains. He mentioned something about Daniel Boone.”
The memory of the brawl came suddenly to Cartier, and his brutal face hardened. He was not a man to forgive easily, and filed away in his mind was the notion that someday he would get even with both Boone and Josh Spencer. “You been beddin’ down with Spencer?”
“What business is it of yours?”
The massive hand of the trapper closed on Rhoda’s back. He clenched the flesh together hard and she cried out, “Don’t! You’re hurting me!”
“I asked you a question!”
“What do you care? I don’t belong to you!”
“You do when I pay for you! Now answer me!”
“No! Let me go!”
Jacques Cartier slowly released her. Rhoda got up and gave him a frightened look, then turned and left. Cartier began drinking more heavily. He was a shrewd, crafty man who saw men like Boone and Josh Spencer as a threat to his business, which he kept mostly to himself.
“I’ll find him out there,” he said. “Then we’ll see!” he muttered. Shuddering as the raw whiskey hit his stomach, he continued to drink and began to make some kind of plans for revenge.
When Rhoda returned later in the day, she asked Dutch, “What happened to Jack Carter?”
“Don’t know. He left right after you talked to him.”
“Where was he going? Did he say?”
“He never says anything. I don’t trust that fellow,” Dutch said. “I could do without his business.”
Rhoda stepped outside of The Brown
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