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

it did not look like it was going to rain. The last thing he expected was to settle in and the be surrounded by Indians. “Pawnee!”


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‘That was a surprise,” I commented to Doc as we headed back to our work at rounding up strays. “But I kind of knew she was keeping a secret.”
“That girl was a darn fool to do this,” Doc stated “That is why I came along. She is as tough as an armadillo and knows critters better than I do, but you get a woman around a bunch of men and it’s down right dangerous.”
“She seems determined to succeed , getting the job done,” I said.
“She is,” Doc replied “My sister was her mother and I’d hoped Sam might lose that Blackfoot streak she ‘s got, but that never happened. She is Indian stubborn, and been that way since she was a little papoose.”
“May be that is what I find attractive about her,” I answered “She’s real smart too.”
“Yeah,” Doc replied proudly “and pretty, like her Ma was. But I warn you Bently, my niece would be a handful to any man who’d tangle with her.”
I was asking too many questions about private matters that did not concern me, so I changed the subject to horses and cattle, not the fact that Samantha Ann Dodge was a very beautiful woman and I had a lot of respect for her. But when it came to women, after Alva Jane and Bart’s lies, I was more than a little gun shy. I had no idea that down the road a ways, in the misty future, I would see about every man who had come to know Sam Dodge lining up to make a proposal or ask her Grandfather’s blessing. I liked her alright, but I could not see myself there in line with the rest. “That would go over like a fart in church,” I muttered to myself.
“What?” Doc questioned . I did not realize that I had spoken my thoughts out loud.
“Nothing,” I said, a little embarrassed “Just thinking out loud.” At the time I had no idea that the line of suitors I had imagined asking for Sam’s hand had already begun to form and it had everything to do with that young Indian who was riding along side of the now red stained chuck wagon, conversing in Blackfoot, with Scrub Pot. That mare he was on was striking, even a green horn like me could tell that she was a truly fine horse. Scrub Pot was looking at that mare Little Fox called Deseret Rose. She was a beauty all right, the perfect match for Sam’s stallion, Trouble. , but Little Fox was no match for Scrub Pot’s grand daughter. If she ever expected to own the Flying S Ranch, Little Fox would not be the best choice for a husband.
However, the boy was sincere. He was the youngest of Scrub Pot’s long time friend Wolf Standing’s two sons. He had known both boys since they were born. There was Kane, the eldest who had left the reservation at Bear Claw , to seek his fortune as a black smith, and Little Fox who had grown up with Sam and gone to school with her. Scrub Pot listened to the boy talk and found it hard to believe how time had changed him from the unexpected papoose his mother carried around on her back to the fine young man he had become. Where had the time gone? He smiled as he remembered Sam taking her first steps and holding his hands and how Alice’s loving smile still warmed him in his loneliness.
“Samantha Ann is who I want to marry”, Little Fox said firmly.
“She is wild, boy,” Scrub Pot cautioned “Rides a horse like a warrior. She will be hard to handle.”
“She is beautiful, “ the young man said. Scrub Pot was still looking at the mare as he pulled his wagon to a stop. “I will rest my mules and get water for Wakeeze,” he said. “You stay.”
A look of hope sprang into the young man’s eyes as Scrub Pot climbed down from the wagon box and untied his bucket next to the water keg. “Wakeeze is old,” Little Fox commented, “But still looks like a fine war horse.” Scrub Pot filled the bucket with water and walked to the back of his wagon to untie his paint and give him a drink. “Wakeeze is my friend,” he said “He has been for many years.” While the big paint drank from the wooden bucket, Scrub Pot went over Little Fox’s mare. “Sam is worth many horses,” he said as he ran his hands down the mare’s front leg. “You will need many, like this one.”
“How many?”, Little Fox asked worriedly
“Forty,” Scrub Pot relied as he finished his assessment.
“But that is too many,!,” Little Fox cried in dismay, “It will take me weeks to catch that many horses. I want to marry Sam NOW!”
“You want my granddaughter?”, Scrub Pot said firmly “Forty horses is my bride price for Sam. Now go home , gather the horses and tell your father that we will meet when Sam and I return to Grants Creek.” Little Fox thought for a moment asking himself if he could round up all those horses, let alone find ones the same quality as Desert Rose was. However, the young man could not forget Sam’s sparkling brown eyes or her gentle smile or how she handled horses and he knew he wanted her for his own. “I will bring the horses to Grant’s Creek,” the young man promised.
“You will only need 39,” Scrub Pot said as he took the reins of Little Fox’s mare from him.
“Why 39?,” the young man questioned.
“Because I will keep this mare as a betrothal gift and promise of payment for the others,” Scrub Pot stated. He led the mare to the rear of his wagon and tired her next to his paint. “You have another horse to ride home, boy?”
“Back at camp,” Little Fox said “I have my brother’s paint.”
“Good,” Scrub Pot stated “Go home and prepare for your wedding.”
The young man was so pleased that his suit had been accepted that he dashed off at a run to meet his companions and tell them the news.
Scrub Pot grunted his approval as he filled his water bucket for the mare.
That was when Doc rode up to the wagon wiping the sweat and dust from his face with his red bandanna. “Sam is going to have a fit,” he said as he pushed his hat back. “And give me some of that water too.” Scrub Pot reached into the back of his wagon and pulled out a metal dipper and handed it to Doc. “Sam wants a good mare,” he said “Now she has one.”
“And what about Little Fox?”, Doc asked “He thinks he is going to be getting married to Sam when we get home.”
“No,” the old man grunted “He will find someone and forget all about Sam by the time we get home to Grant’s Creek. He is young, and it takes many weeks to catch forty horses.”
Doc slid off his horse and went to the water keg and filled the dipper. “You are a sly old coot,” he said as he took a drink and then splashed the rest into his face. “That is a nice mare, but Sam is going to kill you when she finds out what you have done.”
“She will marry, “ Scrub Pot said “But not just any man.”
“You have someone in mind?”
“May be.”
“She is still going to be furious.”
“Yes, but she will like the mare.”


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Ned Travis dashed out of the woods, wearing only his dingy one piece underwear. He had to leave everything behind, least he awaken the squaw who had kept him captive most of the night. It would seem that Bird That Talks and her band of stragglers has come upon him as they traveled just behind the Hinkley Cattle. Now he’d lost his horse and almost his hearing. No matter, he’d steal another one, some clothes and a gun and he’d be on his way. But first things first, the clothes. A man in his underwear is a sure sign that something is dead wrong and attracts all kinds of unwanted attention. As he walked on, his bare feet stinging, he cursed that small band of Indians. He wanted to get this job done. In the meantime, he would be more careful about where he chose to spend future nights on the trail. As soon as he found what he needed, he would be back on the trail of his query. Once he killed those two Indians for Hinkley, he’d go back to Grant’s Creek and collect his blood money. Then head for Mexico. As he walked along, he entertained himself with fantasies of beautiful senoritas dancing and bottles of good Mexican tequila. All he had to do was catch up with the herd and get rid of Sam Dodge and Scrub Pot. He’d walked about a two miles when he heard