Mark of the Hunter Read Free Page A

Jesse attempted to sway Cord’s thinking, telling him that he was needed to work the farm with him and T.G. But Cord knew better than that. Jesse and T.G. could manage very well without him. “I know you’re leavin’ just so Mary Ann and I can have your room,” T.G. told him. “You know I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to leave on my account.”
    â€œYou’re givin’ me too much credit,” Cord said. “I was fixin’ to go ever since my corn crop came in. I wouldn’t have cared if you and your little wife had to sleep on the kitchen table.”
    â€œLiar,” T.G. replied. “I know you better’n that.”
    Serious again, Cord said, “It’s time I moved on. There’s parts of the territory I ain’t ever seen, and I reckon I’m ready now—matter of fact, I’ve been thinkin’ that I’ve already stayed too long. I’ve got a little saved up to hold me for a little while till I find something else.”
    â€œIt’s that thing with your mother, ain’t it?” He could tell by his cousin’s expression that his guess was accurate. “Damn, Cord, that’s been so long ago you’d do well to let it go for good. That feller’s most likely dead by now, shot by one of the scum he rides with. You probably don’t even remember his name.”
    â€œLevi Creed,” Cord responded. “That’s his name, and I got a feelin’ he’s still alive. He ain’t gonna die till I kill him.”
    Frustrated with his cousin’s stoic indifference to probability, T.G. continued to argue. “What are you gonna do, just ride from town to town askin’ folks if they’ve seen Levi Creed? That don’t make a bit of sense.”
    â€œI’ll find him if he’s still standin’,” Cord said, with a patient smile for his cousin and friend. “Good luck on your weddin’. I’m proud of you. Mary Ann’s a fine girl, and you might decide you wanna build a house on my mother’s piece of land. That would be all right with me.” There was a familiar sense of finality in his tone that T.G. had learned to recognize over the years. It meant the discussion was over.
    The September morning that Cord left his home of seven years dawned cloudy and gray, which somehow seemed appropriate to Nettie Anderson, for it reminded her of the dark circumstances that had brought the doleful young man into her home.
Maybe it’s best he leaves,
she thought, for his presence kept the grief for her daughter always fresh in her mind. She stood by the porch with Cindy, T.G., and Jesse as Cord led his old sorrel up to bid them farewell. He had bought the horse with a little of the money he had saved from his corn crop over the last few years. She watched as Jesse and T.G. gave him a strong handshake, and he turned to face her.
    â€œI wanna thank you for everything you did for me, Grandma,” he said.
    â€œCome here,” she said, fighting back a tear, her arms outstretched. She gave him a firm hug, holding him close for a few moments before stepping back to arm’s length where she continued to hold him while she gazed up into his face. It was hard to remember him as the shy, undersized boy she had taken in. Tall and powerfully built, he towered over her. She reached up with one hand and touched the jagged scar running across his forehead, and her tears started in earnest. Wiping her eyes with her apron, she attempted to pull herself together. “You take care of yourself,” she said. “And remember, you’ve always got a home here.”
    He nodded somberly. Then without another word, he climbed in the saddle and turned the sorrel northward, toward Ogallala, never looking back. The wild little cow town across the Nebraska line was as good a place as any to start his search for Levi Creed. The odds were slim that he would find the murderous outlaw