Read Online The Range Wolf by Andrew J. Fenady - Free Book Online

diversion of any kind before calling it a day.
    I paused also to watch.
    On either end of a small table two men sat engaged in an arm wrestling contest.
    One was Simpson, the other, a Negro called Smoke, both of about the same size and muscle. Both sweating and straining by the gleaming light of the campfire, cheered on by the onlookers, most of them cheering for the Negro.
    Just when the black arm seemed to gain advantage, the white fist and arm slowly drove the black arm to an upright position . . . both quivered, but neither gave way.
    Locked and shuddering for a long time and for what must have seemed a much longer time to the two opponents, neither receded nor gained advantage.
    First, the black man smiled, then the Scandinavian . . . both still straining.
    â€œYou ain’t shy of muscle,” Smoke gritted.
    â€œNeither are you,” Simpson managed to nod.
    â€œWhat say to a draw?” Smoke smiled.
    â€œI say done!” Simpson smiled back.
    Each man let loose of his grip.
    Protests.
    Epithets.
    â€œBastards.”
    â€œQuitters.”
    â€œAssholes.”
    Two of the biggest protesters, neither of whose names I knew, advanced. One close to Smoke, the other to Simpson.
    â€œWe got money bet here,” one shouted.
    â€œThen nobody lost,” Simpson said.
    The protester grabbed Simpson’s shirt.
    â€œI say you finish . . .”
    Simpson hit the first protester and knocked him to the ground.
    Smoke hit the other and knocked him next to the first.
    â€œI’m finished,” said Simpson, and looked at Smoke. “Are you?”
    â€œI are,” Smoke nodded.
    â€œThere’ll be no more fighting on this drive unless I say so,” came a voice out of the darkness, and Wolf Riker stepped into the light of the campfire with Pepper standing next to him. “I need every able-bodied man to be able to do a day’s work until we get to Kansas. Now call it a night. We’re going to get an early start.”
    Wolf Riker looked down at the two men on the ground who had begun to stir.
    â€œThat goes for the pair of you lilies, too.”
    Riker walked away followed by Pepper as the pair of lilies managed to stagger to their feet while drovers dispersed.
    It occurred to me that if I wanted to write about the untamed West, there was no better—or worse—place to start.

CHAPTER XIV
    We did get an early start the next day. Before first light I already had managed to go through my suitcase in the utility wagon and secure clothing items more suited for the trail and for my current occupation.
    This was followed by the usual abuse from the kitchen commandant. I had found that the best defense from such abuse was to avoid eye contact, and any other form of contact from the smelly son of a bitch while performing my assigned workload.
    In the morning this included standing as far away as possible from Cookie while the two of us passed out plates loaded with breakfast and cups filled with coffee to the drovers lined up in front of the two of us near the kitchen wagon.
    While so doing I glanced some distance away and discovered that Mr. Wolf Riker talked to horses—at least to one horse. The one he called Bucephalus. And not just a word or two.
    Riker stroked the animal’s huge head with one hand, patted its flank with the other, and leaned in close, whispering only the two of them knew what.
    I watched, half expecting the horse to talk back, when I heard Pepper’s voice.
    â€œAre we standing in line for morning meal, or what?”
    â€œOh, yes, excuse me, Mr. Pepper. I was just noticing that Mr. Riker is having quite a conversation with that animal. Bucephalus. Isn’t that his name?”
    â€œThey got a lot to talk about, and that is his name. Him and that horse go back a long way—but not as long as him and me. Quite an animal.”
    â€œWhich one of them do you mean?”
    â€œI mean you’d best watch your smart