The Daughter by C.B. Cooper (story books to read txt) đ
- Author: C.B. Cooper
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âWater.â Sam admitted weakly. He been out of salt pork for a week, not to mention that he didnât have any onions or seasonings of any type, and heâd drank the last of his coffee that morning.
âLet me go to my pack, see what else I can rustle up to go with these fine beans of yerâs.â
Sam watched Zeb come back with his arms loaded. Twenty minutes later they were drinking hot coffee and watching venison fry over the fire. The smell from the pot of beans was making Samâs mouth water. Zeb had added a small chunk of salt pork, a generous amount of wild onions, salt, and fresh cracked pepper. In another pot, he was simmering a can of peaches with some honey and a part of a cinnamon stick. It was a feast fit for royalty in Samâs hungery eyes.
âNow that weâs all settled in, why donâcha tell me what yer doing out here on foot, son.â
It was so embarrassing that Sam entertained the thought of lying for a second. But looking across the fire at his new found friend, he just couldnât do it. âWell, Iâm ashamed to say, that I lost my horse. Damned thing spooked, got away from me and left me on foot.â
Zeb didnât laugh, but he did smile, his blue eyes twinkling under his bushy grey eyebrows, âWall, I figured it was something like that. I run inta a small band of Kickapoo hunters yesterday eveningâ. They was stringinâ a shod horse baring a saddle imprint in its hide. Bet that was yerâs. To bad too, that was a nice lookin horse.â
âThat it was.â Jerking his chin, he motioned towards Zebâs animals, âThatâs a fine animal your riding, too.â
Zeb laughed, âYa mean olâ Ugly, oâer there? Donât look so surprised there, boy. You think I donât know ugly when I see it?â he laughed. âYa shoulda seen my third wife, she belonged to the flathead tribe up North, but thatâs a different story. But, Ugly right there, heâs pertâ near the best hoss I ever had. Pretty sure heâs got some jackass in his line somewhere⊠but that damned thing will go anywhere, an aint afraid of nothinâ. âSides, an ugly hoss is betterân no hoss, wouldnât ya say?â
Both men laughed good naturedly at Samâs expense. âYou got me there, Zeb.â
After supper was done and the dishes were cleaned and put away, they sat by the fire drinking the last of their coffee.
âYa know them Kickapoo that stole yer hoss? They was all worked up when I ran inta them. It was the strangest damn thang, they told me a story I couldnât hardly believe at the time.â
Sam waited to hear the rest, he knew what Jeb was probably getting at, but let the old man get there in his own time.
âWord travels like wild fire through the Indian tribes. If one Indian knows it, they all know it, you can be sure of that. Them Kickapoo were on their way of getting gone from around here, and you know, them Kickapoo donât run from much. But this had them damned injuns scared shitless.â Zeb cut his eyes, trying to read the look on Samâs face, but they might as well of been holding cards in their hands. He had his poker face screwed on tight.
âSeems evilâs among us, boy. According to them, that is. Theyâs claiminâ the devils loose and runninâ amuck,â he laughed âAnd they say heâs disguised as a woman, of all things.â He waiting for Sam to reply.
âIs that right?â
âYes sir-ee. They told me a devil woman was on the prowl, and some crazy white man seemed to be chasing her. They claim she kilt a whole passel of men down along the Brazos. Kilt them in a horrible way, they didnât go into detail mind you, but I got the jist of it. And they said the evil she left in them was killinâ the animals that ate offân âem for miles around.â
âHuh.â was all Sam said.
âThen they said that that white man came along and burnt those bodies, releasing their souls from the Devil and sending them along to the Great Spirit in the sky. Now, what do you make of all of that?â
âSounds pretty crazy to me.â he said, not meeting the old mans eye.
âThatâs what I thought. Then they tolâ me that the horse they had with them escaped from the white man, âcause he didnât want to chase the Devil down anymore, so he sought refuge with them. Now, what do you think of that?â
Sam smiled and shook his head, âIâd say that those damned Kickapoo talk to much.â
Zeb chuckled, then stroked his beard thoughtfully, âI figure, your that white man they were talkinâ bout, so you wanna tell me whatâs going on that has the whole Indian nation in an uproar?â
Zeb sat quietly, staring thoughtfully into the flames of the fire, while Sam explained the whole situation. He started with himself being a Reverend in their small town, and renting a room in Gracieâs barn when her momma got sick, and ended with her spiking his coffee with some sort of sleeping agent, and running off on him.
Zeb occasionally grunted, shaking his head, but waited until he was sure Sam was done before he spoke.
âThat girl a yourn, is hunting a world of trouble. Damn good thing the injunâs think sheâs the Devil, even if she aint, itâll guarantee her, and you, safe passage. As it is, they wouldnât touch her with a hundred foot tee-pee pole. Tomorrow we head for Fort Worth, itâs only about a half a days ride from here. Weâll get you outfitted again, then Iâll show you the way to the Oregon trail.â Seeing Sam was about to protest the offer, Zeb continued, âNow, you aint putting me out none, I was a headed that away, anyhow. I heard the railroadâs paying good wages to keep the hostiles a bay while their a layinâ track, and I aim to git me a piece a that. âSides, youâd be doing me a favor, we wouldnât git messed with, on account the injuns think your a God.â
Sam about choked on his last drink of coffee, âThey think Iâm a what!â
âTheir a thinkinâ youâre a God of some sort. Sent down to fight the Devil himself. And I tell you what, they aint gonna mess with you.â Zeb chuckled, âThey were a little peeved though, said something about the Great Spirit sending a white boy to do a warriorâs job. But thatâs neither here nor there. Bottom line is, you and that girl, both got a free pass through Indian territory, and that donât happen very often.â
Sam couldnât hardly believe his ears, a free pass through Indian territory? Well, that certainly took a load off his mind. Trouble was, if they ever found out what he had done in his past, all hell would be breaking loose. But Sam didnât want to think about that, his main concern right now, was riding into Fort Worth. Before Zeb had come along, heâd planned on skirting the settlement and heading towards Johnson Station, he told Zeb as much.
âHell fire, boy! Thatâs another good twelve, thirteen miles past Fort Worth. They probably aint got the hoss selection that The Fort do. I bet you could git yourself a fine war hoss there, Johnson Station aint got nothingâ but old farm nags. Take it from me, thatâs where I picked up olâ Ugly over there, âbout three years back.â
Sam doubted that Zeb wanting to go to Fort Worth, instead of Johnsonâs Station, had anything to do with the quality of their horses, as opposed to the quality of their whiskey. Forts, as a rule, tended to serve good, store bought liquor, where as bars in small towns usually served homemade rot-gut out of old rotten water barrels.
Smiling, Sam said, âYour right Zeb, Fort Worth it is.â
Later, after they were under their blankets, laying beside the low burning fire, Zeb said, âBoy, I jest cant wrap my head around you being a preacher.â
Smiling in the dark, Sam answered, âWas a preacher.â
âIs that something that you can jest⊠quit being?â
âWell, I donât rightly know, Zeb. But I did.â
âYou gotta do some sort a ceremony for that?â
âI didnât.â
Zeb laughed quietly, âDid you tell yer Boss you was quittinâ?â
Sam thought about that, âWell, now that you mention it, I guess I didnât.â
âWell, mayhaps your still workinâ and you jest donât know it.â
Sam chuckled, âMaybe, but I doubt it.â
âYou never did say why you took up that particular professionâŠâ
That was something Sam wasnât ready to talk about, even to the old mountain man that heâd taken such a liken to. Though their friendship was only a few hours old, he felt like heâd known Zeb Tucker for a very long time. âI think Iâll save that story for another night, Zeb. Iâm pretty bushed.â
Zeb wasnât no dummy, and he took the hint. âThatâs alright, boy. Iâm pretty tired myself, and we best be gittin an early start in the morningâ. Iâm looking forward to hittinâ The Fort tomorrow, catch up on all the local gossip and maybe have a drink or two at the local waterinâ hole. Boy, I aint had me a descent sip of whiskey in a long while.â
Sam smiled under his covers, âSounds good to me. Gânight Zeb.â
ââNight, boy.â
Zeb was snoring almost immediately.
Sam lay listening to the slow quiet cadence of the old man sleeping across from him, and let his mind wander. He wasnât looking forward to reaching the Fort, nearly as much as Zeb was. Mostly, he was hoping he wouldnât run into anyone he knew from his past. But since most of the residence were likely Texas Rangers, the prospect wasnât good. A lot of soldiers from the Mexican-American war had signed up to be rangers after the war.
Sam let out a big sigh. He guessed he couldnât run away from his past forever. Besides, if everything went well, they would be at The Fort for less than twenty four hours. Whatâs the worst that could happen in a day?
âLook alive, Clancy! You got yourself a gen-u-ine American hero in your midst, you big dumb bastard!â
They had been at the Fort for less than two minutes, and Zeb had already let the cat out of the bag.
âIs that what you call, âkeeping a low profileâ, Zeb?â Sam growled.
The mountain man smiled at him mischievously, âSorry, Sam. I guess I already plum forgot, damn memory just aint what it used to be.â
Turning back to the stocky Irishman standing at the door of the livery, he hooked a thumb towards his riding companion, âI forgot, me and Sam Sharp here, we were gonna lay low while we were in town. Ifân thereâs one thing Sam Sharp doesnât like, itâs a bunch of god damned gawkers, asking a bunch a dumb questions.â
Clancy, as Zeb had called him, looked Sam over carefully. Spitting a brown stream of tobacco juice into the dirt, he asked skeptically, âAre you really Sam Sharp?â
Sam was about to answer when Zeb cut in, âWall, hell yes, heâs Sam Sharp, you big buffoon! You donât recognize a livinâ legend when you see one?â
âSettle down, Zeb. The man just asked a question. Clancy, is it?â He waited for the big man to nod his head in acknowledment, âWell, Clancy, maybe I am and maybe Iâm not, but one things for sure,
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