Read Online The Return of the Indian by Lynne Reid Banks - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynne Reid Banks
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through the metal.
“Ah ain’t puttin’ up with it! No, sir, it ain’t fair, it ain’t dawggone well right! Ah ain’t bin drinkin’, Ah ain’t binfightin’, Ah ain’t cheated at poker in over a week! Ain’t no law kin sling a man in jail when he’s inny-cint as a noo-born babe, never mind keepin’ him shut in a cell so dark he cain’t see his own mus-tash!”
The boys were too fascinated to do anything at first, even open the door. They just crouched there, grinning imbecilically at each other.
“It’s Boone! It’s really him!” breathed Patrick.
But Boone, all unaware, and getting no response to his yells and blows, now decided no one was listening, and his voice began to quaver.
“They done up and left me,” he muttered. “Gone plumb away and left ol’ Boone alone in the dark …” There was a pause, followed by a long nose-blow that shook the cupboard. “T’ain’t fu-funny,” he went on, his voice now definitely shaking with sobs. “Don’t they know a man kin be brave as a lion and still skeered o’ the dark? Ain’t they got no ‘magination, leavin’ a fella ter rot in this pitch-black hell-hole? …” His voice rose on a shrill tide of tearful complaint.
Omri could not bear it a second longer. He opened the door. The light struck through and Boone instantly looked up, his red bandanna dropping to the floor between his knees. He jumped to his feet, staring, his mouth agape, his battered old hat askew on his ginger head. The horse backed off and snorted.
“Well, Ah’ll be e-ternally hornswoggled!” Boone got out at last. “If it ain’t you-all!”
Chapter 10
Boone’s Brain Wave
“Yes, it’s us-all!—I mean, it’s us!” said Patrick excitedly. He capered about, stiff-legged, unable to contain himself.
Omri, too, was over the moon. “It’s so good to see you, Boone,” he cried, wishing he could wring the little man’s hand and bang him on the back.
Boone, who must have fallen off his horse at some point, now scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. The horse came up behind him in the cupboard and nudged him forcefully in the back, as if to say, “I’m here too.” Omri could just about stroke its tiny nose with the tip of his little finger. The horse bunted it, nodding its head up and down, and then exchanged whinneys with Little Bear’s pony on the distant seed tray.
“And it’s mighty good t’see you fellas!” Boone was saying warmly, as he scrambled out of the cupboard. “Bin more’n a mite dull without mah hallucy-nations … Wal! Waddaya know, if it ain’t the li’l Injun gal!” Bright Stars had taken a few steps toward him timidly. He raised his hat. “Howdy, Injun lady! Hey, but whur’s th’ other one? That redskin that made me his blood brother—after he’d half killed me?” He looked around the top of the chest, but Little Bear’s matchbox bed had its back to him. “Tarnation take me if’n Ah didn’t miss that dawggone varmint when Ah woke up that last time … Or ‘went back,’ or whatever ya call it …” He rubbed his shirt front reminiscently. “Mah ol’ pals thought Ah’d gawn plumb loco when Ah tried t’ tell ’em how Ah got my wound!”
“Are you okay now, Boone?”
“Me? Ah’m jest fine! Y’ cain’t kill Boo-hoo Boone s’ easy, even if’n he does look a mite soft. So whur’s Li’l Bear? Lemme shake the hand that shot me, t’ show thur ain’t no hard feelin’s!”
Bright Stars didn’t understand much of this, but she heard Little Bear’s name. She took Boone by the arm and drew him over to the bed. When Boone saw the prostrate figure of the Indian he stopped short.
“Holy smoke, whut happened t’ him?”
“He got shot too. By Frenchmen,” Omri added in a low voice, and signaled to Boone not to ask questions. But Boone was not the most tactful of men.
“Jee-hoshaphat! Never did trust them Frenchies. Gotone runnin’ our saloon. Someday someone’s gonna run
him
… right outa town! Waters the
“Ah ain’t puttin’ up with it! No, sir, it ain’t fair, it ain’t dawggone well right! Ah ain’t bin drinkin’, Ah ain’t binfightin’, Ah ain’t cheated at poker in over a week! Ain’t no law kin sling a man in jail when he’s inny-cint as a noo-born babe, never mind keepin’ him shut in a cell so dark he cain’t see his own mus-tash!”
The boys were too fascinated to do anything at first, even open the door. They just crouched there, grinning imbecilically at each other.
“It’s Boone! It’s really him!” breathed Patrick.
But Boone, all unaware, and getting no response to his yells and blows, now decided no one was listening, and his voice began to quaver.
“They done up and left me,” he muttered. “Gone plumb away and left ol’ Boone alone in the dark …” There was a pause, followed by a long nose-blow that shook the cupboard. “T’ain’t fu-funny,” he went on, his voice now definitely shaking with sobs. “Don’t they know a man kin be brave as a lion and still skeered o’ the dark? Ain’t they got no ‘magination, leavin’ a fella ter rot in this pitch-black hell-hole? …” His voice rose on a shrill tide of tearful complaint.
Omri could not bear it a second longer. He opened the door. The light struck through and Boone instantly looked up, his red bandanna dropping to the floor between his knees. He jumped to his feet, staring, his mouth agape, his battered old hat askew on his ginger head. The horse backed off and snorted.
“Well, Ah’ll be e-ternally hornswoggled!” Boone got out at last. “If it ain’t you-all!”
Chapter 10
Boone’s Brain Wave
“Yes, it’s us-all!—I mean, it’s us!” said Patrick excitedly. He capered about, stiff-legged, unable to contain himself.
Omri, too, was over the moon. “It’s so good to see you, Boone,” he cried, wishing he could wring the little man’s hand and bang him on the back.
Boone, who must have fallen off his horse at some point, now scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. The horse came up behind him in the cupboard and nudged him forcefully in the back, as if to say, “I’m here too.” Omri could just about stroke its tiny nose with the tip of his little finger. The horse bunted it, nodding its head up and down, and then exchanged whinneys with Little Bear’s pony on the distant seed tray.
“And it’s mighty good t’see you fellas!” Boone was saying warmly, as he scrambled out of the cupboard. “Bin more’n a mite dull without mah hallucy-nations … Wal! Waddaya know, if it ain’t the li’l Injun gal!” Bright Stars had taken a few steps toward him timidly. He raised his hat. “Howdy, Injun lady! Hey, but whur’s th’ other one? That redskin that made me his blood brother—after he’d half killed me?” He looked around the top of the chest, but Little Bear’s matchbox bed had its back to him. “Tarnation take me if’n Ah didn’t miss that dawggone varmint when Ah woke up that last time … Or ‘went back,’ or whatever ya call it …” He rubbed his shirt front reminiscently. “Mah ol’ pals thought Ah’d gawn plumb loco when Ah tried t’ tell ’em how Ah got my wound!”
“Are you okay now, Boone?”
“Me? Ah’m jest fine! Y’ cain’t kill Boo-hoo Boone s’ easy, even if’n he does look a mite soft. So whur’s Li’l Bear? Lemme shake the hand that shot me, t’ show thur ain’t no hard feelin’s!”
Bright Stars didn’t understand much of this, but she heard Little Bear’s name. She took Boone by the arm and drew him over to the bed. When Boone saw the prostrate figure of the Indian he stopped short.
“Holy smoke, whut happened t’ him?”
“He got shot too. By Frenchmen,” Omri added in a low voice, and signaled to Boone not to ask questions. But Boone was not the most tactful of men.
“Jee-hoshaphat! Never did trust them Frenchies. Gotone runnin’ our saloon. Someday someone’s gonna run
him
… right outa town! Waters the
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