The Smartest Horse in Texas (The Traherns #2) Read Free

calculate.”
    Grabbing him, they hauled him roughly to his feet. “I need
water,” he said.
    “Too bad you didn’t think of that before leaving the spring,” I
said.
    The kid caught up with us, which meant he’d pushed that white
horse way too hard. Cummings didn’t seem to notice. They set the murderer on
that bony white horse with his hands tied behind his back and I decided that
was fitting justice. I gave Cummings the old Sharps rifle, which he said had
been his brother’s.
    I now had my outfit back.
    Cummings looked me over. “You hunting work?”
    “Yes.”
    “You can calculate?”
    “Only if I have to. I’d never make a banker.”
    “He a good cutting horse?”
    “I’ve roped from him. Never tried cutting cows.”
    “I could use a good man. The fellow keeping my books for me says
he can’t see the numbers anymore.”
    “I got a hankering for a place of my own,” I said. “But I need a
stake. So I could work for you awhile at least. You could look for another man
during that time. Where you located?”
    “The C bar C. We’re on the north side of the Brazos River.”
    “You going there now?”
    “After we turn this murderer over to the law at Ft. Smith.”
    “They’ll just hang him,” one of the men said. “Seems a shame to
waste time taking him there.”
    “I want the law. We’ll do this legal,” Cummings said.
    “They take too long,” another man said.
    “You comin’ along?” Cummings asked me.
    “No. You don’t need me. I’ll go on south to your ranch. I’m
going to need to take it slow. His feet hurt.” I nodded towards Hero. “I’ll see
you when you get there.”
    “Tell Elmer, he’s my bookkeeper, that you’ve come to replace
him. I’ll give him his pay when I get back.” They rode off, and I started
walking south, leading Hero along.
    He walked with a limp. I stopped and check his feet. A stone
bruise, likely, from being ridden too fast over the sharp rocks. I walked
slower, picking the smoothest trail I could find.
     “Poor fellow. You’ve always given me your best, so you
tried to do it for that lowlife scum. Take it easy.”
    I had some leather shoes that I’d made for him during the war,
to hide his tracks when necessary. I pulled these out of my saddlebag and tied
them on his feet. It would give him more protection while the stone bruises
healed. They worked fine, but when we eventually reached the sandy valley
floor, I removed them, as he fussed about them.
    We crossed the desert area on a narrow trail, very different
from the wide stage road that the Butterfield trail had been. This was almost
just a direction in the sand. Each step of Hero’s feet in the fine dust sent
tiny streams of dirt flowing ahead of each hoof, as if stepping in shallow
water.
    My first impression of Texas was that everything bit or stung,
and walking along, keeping my eyes open for snakes and scorpions and batting
away the bugs did not change that any. There were plenty of animals in the
desert, they just hid until you came by.
    Towards evening I saw some bees headed in one direction and I
followed those bees to a small watering hole, and on the way shot me a
long-eared jackrabbit for supper. I got a drink and let Hero drink, then moved
back from the water apiece so that the desert animals and birds could come in
for their share. I found a camp site that allowed me to watch them come in, a bobcat
family, a passel of wild hogs, a wolf, and all the little animals, birds, and
insects, taking their turns, including several families of quail. An owl nested
in a cactus right next to my camp, looking out at me solemnly until it flew
away.
    It took me two more days to come into the area where Cummings
said he had his ranch.
    Coming down the ridge into the wide valley of the Brazos River,
Hero lifted his head and snorted. I stopped and looked more carefully at what
had caught his interest. An eagle, soaring on the heat waves rising above the
valley floor, searched for a tasty treat like a