The Diary of Jerrod Bently by J.W. Osborn (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

Claw.”
“I remember his sire” Little Fox replied “Everyone wanted your Grandfather’s stallion.” He bred many mares and produced fine foals. This mare is Desert Rose. She is a wedding present.”
“You are getting married?”, Sam questioned.
“Yes,” Little Fox replied “I am twenty one summers and my father says I must take a wife.”
“Well, congratulations,” Sam said a little uncomfortable about the way her old friend was looking at her.”
“I always thought you were very beautiful, Samantha,” he said “But I have never seen you dressed like a man before. Why do you hide yourself in the white-man’s clothes?”
“Because I am ram rod on this cattle drive and I would never have been hired if they’d known who I really am.” Sam replied almost defensively. “How long have you been following me anyway?”
“Three days,” Little Fox replied “I have come to ask you to be my bride. I want no other girl, Samantha. Say yes to me and the mare will be my betrothal gift.” Now that mare looked pretty good and Sam Dodge had an eye for fine horses and it was just as keen as her Grandfather’s was. But she had a job to do, a ranch to buy and a life to build, and this unexpected proposal of marriage from a boy she had grown up with during her days on the reservation at Bear Claw was a surprise. However, that mare was just what she was hoping to find, but the timing was bad. She looked Little Fox in the eye. “Let me think about it, Little Fox,” she said “Then tell your father to come and speak to my Grandfather when we get back to Grants Creek. Little Fox smiled and let out a war whoop as he spun the mare around and dashed off. Sam watched them disappear and knew that she had to have that mare. As the wind changed and the scent faded, Trouble became calmer and more willing to concentrate on work instead of Little Fox’s mare.
Back on the hunt, Doc had shown me how to work the bolt action on his carbine and we were close enough to a small group of deer that I could almost reach out and touch one. We were to shoot the big buck with a rack of horns on his head that looked mighty dangerous if I missed. Doc insisted on me shooting it and that I would have learned something new. So I agreed and now I carried the carbine while Doc instructed in a whisper. The cattle were getting closer, I could see the dust and hear the rumbling sound as they approached, but we were a safe distance away and I was about to shoot my first deer. It was getting hotter and despite the shade I was sweating , not sure if it was my nerves or the heat. We hunkered down in the brush watching the deer. It looked like it would be a clear shot. “Wait for the right moment,” Doc hissed. “Let him get closer. You want to drop him in his tracks, not have him run.”
The cattle were coming along. It sounded like they were moving faster now. They must smell water and that would be the direction they would take. Scrub Pot drove along as he usually did, that same sour look on his face . Now under the wagon seat his was perched on, trouble was brewing. Those glass jars of boysenberry jam that Angus Watson set such store by were heating up and building up a dangerous charge. With the sound of the wagon wheels and the cattle, Scrub Pot never heard the tell tale hissing of a canning seal gone bad and there were more than one.

Well, the deer walked right into my sights. “You got him,” Doc whispered “Get your aim, push the bolt forward , and squeeze off the shot.” I did as instructed and as the carbine fired, not more than five hundred yards away, there was an explosion at the front of the chuck wagon. The deer leaped into the air, over top of Doc and me and was gone in seconds. I had no idea where the shot had gone until I saw the chuck wagon coming way by too fast. The mules were running away and Scrub Pot, covered in a bright red stain was trying to get control of them. “I’ve shot the cook!”, I cried. Doc and I ran for our horses and went after the run away wagon. Sam Dodge would have me hanged for shooting that old Indian. Oh this was going to be real bad and I prayed as we chased that wagon down that the old man was not hurt seriously. Then, out of no where, there was Sam and she was pushing that stud harder than I had ever seen him pushed before. The three of us converged on the wagon at once. It was worse than a nightmare. Scrub Pot was cursing as he tried to stop the runaways, and he appeared to be covered with blood. Doc got a hold on the side of the wagon, left his saddle and climbed in. I kept up with them and saw Sam do the same thing Doc had done. Seconds later, Sam had hold of the mules and between her and Doc they were getting them to slow down. But in all the commotion, Sam’s hat had blown off and that long dark braid fell down her back. With the wagon stopped, Scrub Pot seemed to be fighting with both Doc and Sam. “Get off me!,” he shouted “Both of you!. Who was the idiot that fired that gun!”
“Are you hit?” Doc asked as he touched the bright red stain on the back of the old man’s shoulder. The substance was sticky and suddenly Doc started to laugh. “It’s jam,” he hee hawed “He ain’t shot! The boss’s jam exploded!.” Needless to say, I was greatly relieved as I slid off Mud and joined them at the side of the chuck wagon. “Just like I told him it would,” Scrub Pot added in disgust, “It scared the mules, Wakeeze has run off and look at my wagon!”
“Look at you!,” Doc declared, “We thought you were hit when we shot at a deer.” The old man grimaced at him. “Did you get it?”
“No,” Doc replied “Bently missed by a country mile .” That was when Sam realized I was standing right there and had seen everything. I now knew her secret. All eyes fell on the hat that had landed in the dust at Mud’s feet. Scrub Pot looked up at me, a worried expression on his weathered face. Sam stood still, there on the wagon seat and for a moment I thought I saw uncertainty in her eyes, but then she glowered at us. “What is the matter with the three of you?”, she snapped as she captured her long dark braid and carefully wound it up on the crown of her head. “Give me my hat! Haven’t you seen an Indian girl before?” Doc did not seem at all surprised, like may be he had known all along about Sam’s masquerade. Scrub Pot retrieved the hat and handed it to her. She jammed it onto her head, covering her hair and tugged the brim down, then tied the leather strings so it was secure. “All right, Bently,” she said firmly “Now you know the truth. What will you do?”
I was still kind of flabbergasted as I looked up at her, there, still standing on the wagon seat, the blue Texas sky behind her as the dust settled. “Well,” I said after a moment “ I see no reason to tell anybody. You do a fine job and I really don’t think Watson can make it to Kansas without you, Sam. Besides that, I have learned a great deal of valuable information from you.”
You know, Sam Dodge was a down right attractive woman with her sparkling brown eyes and that shining almost black hair. I would have to say she was beautiful, right down to the stubborn set of her jaw. “You can trust me.”, I said “ I will keep your secret.”
I thought I saw relief in her eyes. “My name is Samantha Ann Dodge,” she said “I am head wrangler, and ram rod of this out fit and I intend to stay that way till we reach Abilene. Just because I am a woman , does not mean I can not do this job and finish it. Scrub Pot is my grandfather and Doc is my uncle and I am one fourth Blackfoot. That is my story.”
Now it all was clear, the silent steps, the expert horsemanship, her uncanny sixth sense that enabled her to sense things before they happened and the way she always looked at me, like she could read my mind. That explained it all, Sam Dodge was an Indian and proud of it. Come to think of it, so was I. Sam was quite a woman, that was for sure. “You will make sure no one touches my granddaughter,” Scrub Pot growled at me.. “I will kill any man who disrespects her.” From the look in his dark eyes, I knew he meant every word.


PORTERSVILLE, THE OKLAHOMA TERRITORY.


Jake Titus was a lawyer and his profession had made him a very important person in the small town of Portersville. He was also pretty handy with a gun, so when the sherif needed some help with rounding up a bunch of horse thieves or rustlers, he’d deputized Titus and that was where all the trouble began. Now it seemed that sheriffs didn’t last very long in Portersville. There had been a few previous to this one. His name was still on the door of the jail, but he was nowhere to be found. He’d been missing for a while now and Deputy Titus was doing all he could to help keep up with law enforcement and head up the fruitless searches for Sherif Dunham too. He was rushed from the moment he got up in the morning to 7:30 at night when he went to bed. This had to stop or Jake Titus was going to lose his mind and his law practice.
Victoria Langford set out