The Daughter by C.B. Cooper (story books to read txt) 📖

Indians could torture a body in the worst possible ways imaginable.”
“You ever run into Buffalo Hump again?”
“No, I made sure I steered clear of his area. I didn’t want to fight him, as far as I was concerned, our deal was done, just like we had agreed that night. Later on, when I was about nineteen, I was hired by the government to throw down on the Mexicans.” Sam shrugged, “And the rest is history, as they say.”
“Is that when ya started being a preacher?”
“It was a while after that. I spent a few years being a drunk first. I’m not real proud of that time in my life.”
Zeb rubbed his whiskered chin thoughtfully, “Any perticular reason you started drinkin’ like a fish?”
Sam sloshed the remaining coffee in his cup around to stir up the grounds in the bottom, and then chucked the liquid into the brush behind him.
He leveled a look at Zeb, “You don’t kill as many red devils as I did, without aquiring a few demons of your own along the way.”
Seeing that Sam obviously wasn’t going to supply any more information, he nodded his grey head thoughtfully, “Fair ‘nough.”
“What about you?” Sam asked brightly, trying to lighten the mood, “Any extraordinary adventures you’d like to share?”
Zeb smiled and shook his head, “Not tonight, boy. I’m plumb tuckered out jest listenin’ to yer’s. We best be hittin’ the sheets, we got’s a long trail in front of us.”
Both men rose to their feet and started moving around, gathering their bedding and spreading their blankets out by the fire. Sam made a quick trip into the trees to relieve himself, and reappeared a minute later.
“Zeb, you’ve been this route before, how long do you reckon it’ll take us?”
Zeb was just crawling into his blankets and waited until he was good and settled before answering, “In good weather and travelin’ light, like we are, a man should be able to make Kansas in ‘bout fifteen days, give ‘er take.”
“Fifteen days? Your kidding me.”
“Give ‘er take. That’s a sight better than going around, wouldn’t ya say?”
“That’s incredible. How’d you find this trail of yours.?”
“I didn’t. I heard about it from the Kiowa. This here trails been here a long time. That’s the funny thing about old Indian trails, they know their land like the back of their red hands, and if they make a trail somewhere, you know its gonna be the easiest and fastest way to get there. You know as well as I do, them Injun’s aint no dummy’s.”


Two days later they sat on the southern side of The Red.
“You had much experience dealing with The Red, boy?”
Sam smiled to himself. No matter how many times Zeb called him boy, it just struck a cord in him that made him want to smile.
“Not to much.” he admitted.
The old mountain man shook his head, “Uh, huh. Well, yer ‘bout to git some schoolin’ then. Look at the water and tell me what ya see.”
Sam, sensing this was a test, studied the river closely. “Well, I’d say it’s about fourty-five feet across, maybe three or four feet deep there in the middle. Its moving pretty slow, since it hasn’t rained in a while.” He knew there was something he was probably missing, but he didn’t want to stain his brain too hard, he wanted to give Zeb a chance in share his knowledge.
“I’d say yer partly right. Would you say its safe to cross here?”
Sam shrugged, “I don’t see anything wrong with it, Zeb.”
Zeb nodded as if he already knew what Sam’s answer would be, and that it would be wrong. “The thing about the Red is- it’s full of sandtraps. Quicksand. It’ll swaller up a horse and it’s rider quicker than a whore can suck off a school boy, and that’s a fact. I’ve witnessed it myself a time or two.” Chuckling, he added, “The quicksand part, that is.”
Sam studied the seemingly harmless river bottom. It looked alright to him. “So how do you know when there’s quicksand.”
“That’s the tricky part, ya don’t. Did you notice how the trail veered off to the west, back yonder?”
“Yes I did. I just figured you knew where you were going.” he said dryly.
Zeb ignored him, “Now, look closely at the bank here. You see any animal tracks?”
“No.”
“That there’s another indication. If the animals don’t cross here, it just might be for a reason”
“So what your telling me is, your not sure if there’s really any quicksand here or not.”
Zeb nodded, and turned his horse, “That would be a fact. But its not a chance ya ever want to take, is it? Our best bet would be to follow the beaten path. That way, yer usually always safe.”
On their way back to the main trail, Sam thought it would be a good time to broach the subject of stopping at the the Red River Station.
“Zeb?”
“Yeah, boy?”
“I’d surely appreciate it, if when we get to the station, you’d kindly keep my identity a secret, this time.”
Zeb, didn’t turn around, but Sam got the impression the old man was stifling a smile.
“I’m right sorry ‘bout what happened back at the fort, Sam. I just plumb forgot I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. I tell ya, getting old’s a bitch. Yer mind goes, yer hearin’ goes, yer eyes go, and I wont even mention what happens to yer dick, but it’s a down right shame. Nothing works right anymore! Ya spend yer whole life taking those things fer granted, and then, when ya really need ’um- poof! Their gone. There is something to be said fer dying young, at least a body don’t have to suffer the humiliation of breakin’ down.”
“I’m sorry, Zeb. I hadn’t realized you had it so rough.” Sam said dryly, “And here I thought it was you leading me all this time. I had no idea I’d taken on the burden of caring for a geriatric.”
“Don’t you smart mouth me, boy! I still got enough of my senses to know when someone’s bustin’ my nuts.”
Sam stifled a laugh, “Just promise me that you wont go blabbing my name all over town.”
Zen turned in the saddle to look back at Sam, and groused, “I don’t know why yer so goddamn sensitive about it.”
“Well, lets see… if you would of kept your trap shut back at the fort, those two men back there would still be alive.”
Zeb turned back around as he harumphed, “Like we didn’t do the world a favor there.”
“Zeb!”
“Fine, fine, have it yer way.” he waved, and after a minute he asked “So how do you plan on introducing yerself then?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking’ on that. I’m going to tell them that my names Sam Smith.”
“Oh, …that’s real original.”
Sam gave the back of Zeb’s head an exasperated look. “Smith was my mother’s maiden name.”
“Sam Smith.” Zeb said.
“That’s right.”
“Sam Smith… Sam Smith… Sam Smith.”
Sam was glad to see that Zeb was taking it so seriously this time. He kept repeating the name out loud so he would be sure to remember it once they hit the Red River Station.
“Sam Smith… Sam Smith…… Sam Smith!”
Sam shook his head as Zeb continued to yell his name louder and louder.
Zeb finally pulled up on the reigns of old Ugly, and turned in the saddle to look at Sam petulantly. “Wall, that aint gonna work, is it?”
Frowning, he asked,“What are you talking about?”
“Wall, I’ve been up here saying yer name a hundred times, and you havent answered it not once. So hows this gonna work if’n you caint remember yer own name!”
Sam groaned. “Zeb!”
“What!” he answered back. “You see how I answered ya right away? That’s because I know my name.”
Sam smiled and shook his head. “Zeb, you are a test.”
“Test a what?”
“Never mind, just keep riding.”
Red River Station. Red River Station… there was something vagely familiar about the small town but Sam just couldn’t put his finger on it. Not so much the name, but the actual town itself, not that it didn’t look like a hundred other small towns that were smattered across the west. It had the usual livery, dry goods store, saloon, resturant and hotel, but there something about it that was tickling the edge of Sam’s memory.
They had checked their animals at the livery and even paid the extra fifty cents for a good rub down and an extra fork of hay.
As they walked up the street towards the local watering hole, Zeb nudged Sam. “I gotta make a quick stop at the mercantile for a new plug of tabaccey, you wanna come with me?”
“No, I’m good. I’ll meet you down at the saloon.”
“Alrighty then, suit yerself, Sam Smith.”
Sam chuckled as Zeb veered off and entered a building with an old sign above it that announced the name, Red River Mercantile.
As he walked along the boardwalk to the Red River Saloon, he studied the buildings on the opposite side of the street. The Red River textiles was a small hole in the wall, next came the impressive sized Red River Station House which boasted clean rooms, home cooked meals and even hot baths for a dollar. Next came Hanks barber shop, the only business in town that didn’t start with Red River, as far as Sam could see, anyway.
He made his way through the swing doors and into the saloon. He eyed a small table at the back and made his way to it. It was getting late in the afternoon and the place was already filling up with men. Doing a quick calculation in his head, he realized it was Friday night, time for the working men in the area to cut loose a little.
A small piano sat tinkering in the far corner. Sam wasn’t sure if it was badly out of tune, or if the thin, bald man who was hammering away at it, just didn’t know how to play, but the god-awful noise was grating on his ears.
He sat studying a table full of men playing poker when she walked up. He had always had a fondness for the cards, but as a Reverend he had dismissed the game as the gambling evil it was, but since he no longer had to follow those rules, it probably wouldn’t hurt to sit in on a hand or two.
One minute he was watching the game, debating with himself whether or not to throw in on a hand or two, and the next, a pair of boobs was obstructing his view. And what a magnificent set of boobs they were. They were full, and round and practically falling out of the red dress that was doing its damndest to keep them in check.
His eyes lingered, then finally traveled slowly up to the pretty face that smiled seductively down at him. She had thick honey colored hair pulled up into a loose bun with little tenderils falling to frame her face, smokey blue eyes that let a man get lost in their depths, and a set of full deep red lips made for sin.
Sam swollowed hard. He could feel little beads of persperation popping out on his forehead as his blood pressure spiked up a notch. Damn, she was a fine looking woman.
When she spoke, her voice dripped like molasses, “What’s your pleasure, Cowboy?”
He was happy to see that she was studying him as closely as he was studying her. “Probably the same as yours, sweetheart.” he drawled.
She cocked an eyebrow suggestively. “Bourbon then?”
“What?” he asked slightly confused,