Read Online Under the Stars and Bars by J. T. Edson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. T. Edson
Tags: Western
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the horse and was treating it in the usual manner.
Satisfied he could deal with the horse, Dusty knotted the separate ends of the reins. He then slipped them over the sleek, well-formed head, but kept them just behind the ears. Doing so gave him a measure of control over the gelding if it should try to move away from him. With deft ease, Dusty fitted the bridle into position and adjusted the bit in the chestnut’s mouth.
Fortunately for himself and the scout, Dusty had handled enough Yankee McClellan saddles to be conversant with their differences from his double-girthed range rig. After placing the folded blanket in position, he draped the right side’s stirrup leathers and girth across the seat. Hoisting the saddle into the air, he laid it on the chestnut’s back. With the girth tightened and the breast-collar fitted as perfectly as the scout could have desired, Dusty set the stirrups to the level of his shorter legs. He made the latter move under the pretence of testing the fit of the saddle, and avoided permitting the quartet to notice that the stirrup-leathers had been adjusted for a much taller man’s use. Freeing the reins from their knot, he held them while he unbuckled the hobbles, which he placed in the left-hand saddle-pouch.
Hanging Dusty’s gunbelt across the dun’s saddle, the scout secured the medicine boot to the left side of the pommel. Then he removed and put away his hobbles.
‘Mount up, Reb,’ he ordered. ‘We’re all set to go, Deacon.’
‘Come with us then,’ Wightman commanded.
‘Now I ain’t suggesting nothing,’ the scout said, in a tone that showed he was. ‘But I reckon it’d be safer for “Brother” Aaron to ride in front of me— Just so’s he can stop the Reb here from escaping.’
‘A goodly notion, brother,’ affirmed Wightman, silencing Aaron’s protests before they could be uttered. ‘Now I’m a man of peace and know nothing about such things, but shouldn’t you fasten that blasphemous Southern dog’s reins to your saddle? He may try to seek safety in flight.’
‘He’ll not achieve it with us all ‘round him,’ the scout answered.
‘If he does,’ Abel growled, ‘we’ll stop him for good and all.’
‘Likely he knows it,’ said the scout calmly and swung astride the dun. ‘Come on, I can surely use some breakfast.’
Mounting up, the guerillas formed a loose box around Dusty and the scout. Glowering savagely, Aaron went ahead. Wightman rode at the scout’s left side and Job moved into position to Dusty’s right. Drawing the Mississippi rifle from its boot, Abel brought up the rear. Splashing through the ford, they were joined by the Spencer-toting man on the western bank.
‘Who’re they, Parson?’ Blocky inquired, nursing the repeater across his upper thighs.
‘A soldier in the blessed cause, Brother Blocky,’ Wightman answered. ‘And a miserable peckerwood wretch who cowardly surrendered himself in the face of the righteous wrath of Colonel Verncombe’s Dragoons.’
‘Verncom—!’ Blocky ejaculated, looking around nervously. ‘Is he—?’
‘One of his Troops is coming,’ Wightman answered. ‘Until it arrives, I am extending our hospitality to our brother here.’
With that, the gaunt man jerked his head to the rear. Allowing the others to ride by, Blocky ranged his mount alongside Abel’s and started to converse with him in a low tone. Dusty guessed that Abel was giving Blocky the full story and mentioning Wightman’s plans for the future. However, the pair held their voices at such a level that the words did not carry to the small Texan’s ears.
Led by Aaron, the party passed through the woods parallel to the river for about half a mile. Then they swung along the banks of a stream that ran through a narrow, wood-sided gorge. Turning a corner, Dusty found that the gorge opened out and he received his first sight of the guerillas’ camp. An inclination of the scout’s head drew Dusty’s attention to where, on his
Satisfied he could deal with the horse, Dusty knotted the separate ends of the reins. He then slipped them over the sleek, well-formed head, but kept them just behind the ears. Doing so gave him a measure of control over the gelding if it should try to move away from him. With deft ease, Dusty fitted the bridle into position and adjusted the bit in the chestnut’s mouth.
Fortunately for himself and the scout, Dusty had handled enough Yankee McClellan saddles to be conversant with their differences from his double-girthed range rig. After placing the folded blanket in position, he draped the right side’s stirrup leathers and girth across the seat. Hoisting the saddle into the air, he laid it on the chestnut’s back. With the girth tightened and the breast-collar fitted as perfectly as the scout could have desired, Dusty set the stirrups to the level of his shorter legs. He made the latter move under the pretence of testing the fit of the saddle, and avoided permitting the quartet to notice that the stirrup-leathers had been adjusted for a much taller man’s use. Freeing the reins from their knot, he held them while he unbuckled the hobbles, which he placed in the left-hand saddle-pouch.
Hanging Dusty’s gunbelt across the dun’s saddle, the scout secured the medicine boot to the left side of the pommel. Then he removed and put away his hobbles.
‘Mount up, Reb,’ he ordered. ‘We’re all set to go, Deacon.’
‘Come with us then,’ Wightman commanded.
‘Now I ain’t suggesting nothing,’ the scout said, in a tone that showed he was. ‘But I reckon it’d be safer for “Brother” Aaron to ride in front of me— Just so’s he can stop the Reb here from escaping.’
‘A goodly notion, brother,’ affirmed Wightman, silencing Aaron’s protests before they could be uttered. ‘Now I’m a man of peace and know nothing about such things, but shouldn’t you fasten that blasphemous Southern dog’s reins to your saddle? He may try to seek safety in flight.’
‘He’ll not achieve it with us all ‘round him,’ the scout answered.
‘If he does,’ Abel growled, ‘we’ll stop him for good and all.’
‘Likely he knows it,’ said the scout calmly and swung astride the dun. ‘Come on, I can surely use some breakfast.’
Mounting up, the guerillas formed a loose box around Dusty and the scout. Glowering savagely, Aaron went ahead. Wightman rode at the scout’s left side and Job moved into position to Dusty’s right. Drawing the Mississippi rifle from its boot, Abel brought up the rear. Splashing through the ford, they were joined by the Spencer-toting man on the western bank.
‘Who’re they, Parson?’ Blocky inquired, nursing the repeater across his upper thighs.
‘A soldier in the blessed cause, Brother Blocky,’ Wightman answered. ‘And a miserable peckerwood wretch who cowardly surrendered himself in the face of the righteous wrath of Colonel Verncombe’s Dragoons.’
‘Verncom—!’ Blocky ejaculated, looking around nervously. ‘Is he—?’
‘One of his Troops is coming,’ Wightman answered. ‘Until it arrives, I am extending our hospitality to our brother here.’
With that, the gaunt man jerked his head to the rear. Allowing the others to ride by, Blocky ranged his mount alongside Abel’s and started to converse with him in a low tone. Dusty guessed that Abel was giving Blocky the full story and mentioning Wightman’s plans for the future. However, the pair held their voices at such a level that the words did not carry to the small Texan’s ears.
Led by Aaron, the party passed through the woods parallel to the river for about half a mile. Then they swung along the banks of a stream that ran through a narrow, wood-sided gorge. Turning a corner, Dusty found that the gorge opened out and he received his first sight of the guerillas’ camp. An inclination of the scout’s head drew Dusty’s attention to where, on his
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