Read Online The Shirt On His Back by Barbara Hambly - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Hambly
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think of few civilized societies in which he'd be able to
prosper as he does here. But I can only assume that the Laws of Nature will
eventually deal with him as he deserves: as, indeed, they deal with every man
in this land.' The Scotsman studied January's face for a moment, a slight frown
pulling at his dark brows, while January - in company with two or three of the
trappers - examined the new Manton rifle Stewart had been trying out.
'Orleans
Ballroom,' said January, interpreting his glance.
The
tall man's face broke into a smile. 'Good heavens, the piano player! What on
earth are you doing up here?'
'Trying
to keep my house,' said January, and Stewart grimaced.
'It
is bleak down there, isn't it? I thought to make a go of it as a cotton broker,
but it's hardly the year to try to start any business, is it?' Camp rumor had
it that the tall, commanding Scotsman was the heir to a title, a castle and
considerable property in his homeland, but despite his blood horses, private
loaders and pack-train of civilized amenities like brandied peaches and foie gras,
Stewart was an unpretentious man who had won the respect of the trappers by his
businesslike attitude and his willingness to do his share of the work on the
trail.
'See
here - January, isn't it?'
'You
can make it Ben - Your Lordship.'
'Not
"My Lordship" just yet, thank God; Bill will do. The Company's
holding a feast in Jim Bridger's honor tomorrow night, and I meant to ask
Sefton if he'd favor us - do you play anything besides piano? You must—'
'You
didn't bring one?'
Stewart
smote his forehead theatrically, making all the long fringes of his white
buckskin jacket flutter. 'Dash it, I knew I was forgetting something!'
'I'm
sure if you ask around the camp, someone will have one,' said January
comfortingly. 'Or, if that isn't the case, I'm fair on the guitar.'
'Excellent!
One of the Taos traders usually has one. Or perhaps that fellow Wynne from
Philadelphia . . . Heaven knows he has every other sort of useless thing for
sale. Could I induce you and Sefton to come down and play for us? Bring the
lovely Mrs Sefton as well. I know the chief of her village has been asked, and
- damn it!' he added and, turning, strode across the path to where Jed
Blankenship, far from approaching La Princessa or Irish Mary (Veinte-y-Cinco
having disappeared with another customer), had gone over to Pia,
Veinte-y-Cinco's thirteen-year-old daughter, who ran errands for Seaholly's and
worked behind the bar. The yellow-bearded trapper had the girl by the arm, and
Pia was pulling back, not fear in her face but a child's disgust at adult
stupidity.
'For
God's sake, Blankenship—' Seaholly came around the bar as January, Stewart and
several other men crossed the path. Blankenship - who'd had several drinks
already - turned to Seaholly, thrust toward him a handful of credit-plews of
various companies at the rendezvous and snarled, 'Waugh! You want a cut of every piece of commodity in this camp?'
The
Reverend William Grey - at his usual stand next to the liquor tent - waved his
Bible and thundered, 'Generation of serpents! You are as fed horses in the
morning, neighing after whoredoms and strong drink! Woe unto you!'
More
expeditiously, the trapper Kit Carson seized Blankenship by one shoulder,
whirled him around and knocked him sprawling. As he lay on the ground, Moccasin
Woman - the gentle, gray-haired woman of the small tribe of the Company's
Delaware scouts - stepped out of the crowd and kicked him.
'As
I said,' declared Stewart contentedly, 'the Laws of Nature will take their
course. It's what I love about this land, January. The very lack of human law
brings out what is essential in Man - what each man is in his heart. And it's
comforting to find that so much of it is good.'
January
opened his mouth to ask whether the Good lay in the fact that men would object
to injury to a child - the girl Blankenship had tried to rape two days ago on
the river bank had been barely two years older
prosper as he does here. But I can only assume that the Laws of Nature will
eventually deal with him as he deserves: as, indeed, they deal with every man
in this land.' The Scotsman studied January's face for a moment, a slight frown
pulling at his dark brows, while January - in company with two or three of the
trappers - examined the new Manton rifle Stewart had been trying out.
'Orleans
Ballroom,' said January, interpreting his glance.
The
tall man's face broke into a smile. 'Good heavens, the piano player! What on
earth are you doing up here?'
'Trying
to keep my house,' said January, and Stewart grimaced.
'It
is bleak down there, isn't it? I thought to make a go of it as a cotton broker,
but it's hardly the year to try to start any business, is it?' Camp rumor had
it that the tall, commanding Scotsman was the heir to a title, a castle and
considerable property in his homeland, but despite his blood horses, private
loaders and pack-train of civilized amenities like brandied peaches and foie gras,
Stewart was an unpretentious man who had won the respect of the trappers by his
businesslike attitude and his willingness to do his share of the work on the
trail.
'See
here - January, isn't it?'
'You
can make it Ben - Your Lordship.'
'Not
"My Lordship" just yet, thank God; Bill will do. The Company's
holding a feast in Jim Bridger's honor tomorrow night, and I meant to ask
Sefton if he'd favor us - do you play anything besides piano? You must—'
'You
didn't bring one?'
Stewart
smote his forehead theatrically, making all the long fringes of his white
buckskin jacket flutter. 'Dash it, I knew I was forgetting something!'
'I'm
sure if you ask around the camp, someone will have one,' said January
comfortingly. 'Or, if that isn't the case, I'm fair on the guitar.'
'Excellent!
One of the Taos traders usually has one. Or perhaps that fellow Wynne from
Philadelphia . . . Heaven knows he has every other sort of useless thing for
sale. Could I induce you and Sefton to come down and play for us? Bring the
lovely Mrs Sefton as well. I know the chief of her village has been asked, and
- damn it!' he added and, turning, strode across the path to where Jed
Blankenship, far from approaching La Princessa or Irish Mary (Veinte-y-Cinco
having disappeared with another customer), had gone over to Pia,
Veinte-y-Cinco's thirteen-year-old daughter, who ran errands for Seaholly's and
worked behind the bar. The yellow-bearded trapper had the girl by the arm, and
Pia was pulling back, not fear in her face but a child's disgust at adult
stupidity.
'For
God's sake, Blankenship—' Seaholly came around the bar as January, Stewart and
several other men crossed the path. Blankenship - who'd had several drinks
already - turned to Seaholly, thrust toward him a handful of credit-plews of
various companies at the rendezvous and snarled, 'Waugh! You want a cut of every piece of commodity in this camp?'
The
Reverend William Grey - at his usual stand next to the liquor tent - waved his
Bible and thundered, 'Generation of serpents! You are as fed horses in the
morning, neighing after whoredoms and strong drink! Woe unto you!'
More
expeditiously, the trapper Kit Carson seized Blankenship by one shoulder,
whirled him around and knocked him sprawling. As he lay on the ground, Moccasin
Woman - the gentle, gray-haired woman of the small tribe of the Company's
Delaware scouts - stepped out of the crowd and kicked him.
'As
I said,' declared Stewart contentedly, 'the Laws of Nature will take their
course. It's what I love about this land, January. The very lack of human law
brings out what is essential in Man - what each man is in his heart. And it's
comforting to find that so much of it is good.'
January
opened his mouth to ask whether the Good lay in the fact that men would object
to injury to a child - the girl Blankenship had tried to rape two days ago on
the river bank had been barely two years older
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