Read Online Sudden Country by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online
Authors: Loren D. Estleman
Tags: Action & Adventure, Western
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the end. "Pick one. My paw didn't stay long enough to introduce hisself."
"I got to put something down."
"Hell, Ben, just plain Blackwater' s been good enough for you sinceâ"
"Clarence is your Christian, right?"
He chomped down on the cigar. "I don't answer to it."
"Clarence Blackwater then, for the record. Experience?"
"You know all that."
"The record don't."
"I fit with Chivington at Sand Creek and Miles in Montana."
"What else?"
"Let's see, I run a ferry acrost the Muddy by Jeff City till the carpetbaggers shot my pard and taken it over. That was in '68."
"What else?"
"Banking and railroads, I reckon."
The other men in line hooted.
"O.K., find a seat. Next."
Blackwater held the spot. "What's the pay?"
"Paymaster's yonder. Ask him."
The recruit came our way. He was tall and built like stretched rawhide, dressed in homespun with a dirty feather in his hatband. His cigar threatened to ignite a set of black whiskers tipped with gray.
"Fifty cents a day," Mr. Knox told him. "Did I hear you say you were at Sand Creek?"
"Wild'n, that was. I bare hung on to my topknot." He scratched his throat.
"I heard it was a massacre of squaws and children."
"Them newspaper writers wasn't there. Fillersteens, Colonel Chivington called 'em."
"What was that remark about banking and railroads?"
"Just a stretcher, Cap'n. The boys liked it."
"Aren't you rather old for this work?"
"Young bucks got too much to lose. I ain't so old in the saddle."
Wedlock was interviewing the next man in line. He was shorter and stouter than his predecessor and had on a stained linen duster and a hat with a rattlesnake band. He was not much younger than Blackwater, although he had a baby face and no whiskers. He was holding a burlap sack at a peculiar angle from his body.
"Christopher Agnes, you still clubbing rattlers for your supper?"
"Not no more. There's better money in bagging 'em live. I know a man in Frisco can't get enough of 'em. Sells 'em to pilgrims for luck. This'n here's worth two bucks if it's worth four bits." He shoved a leather-gloved hand inside the sack and drew out the largest diamondback I had ever seen, holding it behind its ugly squat head while it coiled its body around his arm. Its rattles buzzed. Every man in the room drew back except Wedlock. The baby-faced man cackled.
"Put that up, Christopher Agnes," Wedlock said calmly. "I'm signing men, not sidewinders; though I'm studying on making an exception in your case."
Christopher Agnes pressed a thumb behind the diamondback's head, popping its fangs. A drop of venom plopped to the table. "Old Ike wouldn't hurt you, Ben. He'd likely curl up and die."
Wedlock picked up the Remington, cocked it, and aimed it at the reptile's gaping mouth. "He'll do it quicker without brains. You'll just go on like always without yours, but it'll smart A snake's head makes sorry cover."
Someone coughed in the silence. After a moment Christopher Agnes cackled again and started to return the snake to the sack. Wedlock took the pistol off cock and put it down. Suddenly the diamondback flexed its body, breaking its owner's grip, and sank its fangs into his forearm. He shouted and dropped the snake. In the next instant, half a dozen guns came out. Old Ike's head was obliterated in the fusillade. It thrashed about for almost a minute, then relaxed with a shudder. The room stank of spent powder.
"Someone get a doctor!" cried Mr. Knox.
"No need." Christopher Agnes finished rolling up his sleeve, unfolded a jackknife from his pocket, and slashed the wound in two directions, making a neat X. He sucked out a mouthful of blood and spat it on the floor. Returning the knife, he took a piece of sticking-plaster from another pocket and pressed it to the wound, holding it there until it adhered. "I been bit I bet a hunnert and sevenny-five times," he said. "First ten or twelve I figured I'd kick over sure. Now I just run a fever. I'll be fit to ride by morning." As he rolled the sleeve back
"I got to put something down."
"Hell, Ben, just plain Blackwater' s been good enough for you sinceâ"
"Clarence is your Christian, right?"
He chomped down on the cigar. "I don't answer to it."
"Clarence Blackwater then, for the record. Experience?"
"You know all that."
"The record don't."
"I fit with Chivington at Sand Creek and Miles in Montana."
"What else?"
"Let's see, I run a ferry acrost the Muddy by Jeff City till the carpetbaggers shot my pard and taken it over. That was in '68."
"What else?"
"Banking and railroads, I reckon."
The other men in line hooted.
"O.K., find a seat. Next."
Blackwater held the spot. "What's the pay?"
"Paymaster's yonder. Ask him."
The recruit came our way. He was tall and built like stretched rawhide, dressed in homespun with a dirty feather in his hatband. His cigar threatened to ignite a set of black whiskers tipped with gray.
"Fifty cents a day," Mr. Knox told him. "Did I hear you say you were at Sand Creek?"
"Wild'n, that was. I bare hung on to my topknot." He scratched his throat.
"I heard it was a massacre of squaws and children."
"Them newspaper writers wasn't there. Fillersteens, Colonel Chivington called 'em."
"What was that remark about banking and railroads?"
"Just a stretcher, Cap'n. The boys liked it."
"Aren't you rather old for this work?"
"Young bucks got too much to lose. I ain't so old in the saddle."
Wedlock was interviewing the next man in line. He was shorter and stouter than his predecessor and had on a stained linen duster and a hat with a rattlesnake band. He was not much younger than Blackwater, although he had a baby face and no whiskers. He was holding a burlap sack at a peculiar angle from his body.
"Christopher Agnes, you still clubbing rattlers for your supper?"
"Not no more. There's better money in bagging 'em live. I know a man in Frisco can't get enough of 'em. Sells 'em to pilgrims for luck. This'n here's worth two bucks if it's worth four bits." He shoved a leather-gloved hand inside the sack and drew out the largest diamondback I had ever seen, holding it behind its ugly squat head while it coiled its body around his arm. Its rattles buzzed. Every man in the room drew back except Wedlock. The baby-faced man cackled.
"Put that up, Christopher Agnes," Wedlock said calmly. "I'm signing men, not sidewinders; though I'm studying on making an exception in your case."
Christopher Agnes pressed a thumb behind the diamondback's head, popping its fangs. A drop of venom plopped to the table. "Old Ike wouldn't hurt you, Ben. He'd likely curl up and die."
Wedlock picked up the Remington, cocked it, and aimed it at the reptile's gaping mouth. "He'll do it quicker without brains. You'll just go on like always without yours, but it'll smart A snake's head makes sorry cover."
Someone coughed in the silence. After a moment Christopher Agnes cackled again and started to return the snake to the sack. Wedlock took the pistol off cock and put it down. Suddenly the diamondback flexed its body, breaking its owner's grip, and sank its fangs into his forearm. He shouted and dropped the snake. In the next instant, half a dozen guns came out. Old Ike's head was obliterated in the fusillade. It thrashed about for almost a minute, then relaxed with a shudder. The room stank of spent powder.
"Someone get a doctor!" cried Mr. Knox.
"No need." Christopher Agnes finished rolling up his sleeve, unfolded a jackknife from his pocket, and slashed the wound in two directions, making a neat X. He sucked out a mouthful of blood and spat it on the floor. Returning the knife, he took a piece of sticking-plaster from another pocket and pressed it to the wound, holding it there until it adhered. "I been bit I bet a hunnert and sevenny-five times," he said. "First ten or twelve I figured I'd kick over sure. Now I just run a fever. I'll be fit to ride by morning." As he rolled the sleeve back
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