Trail Angel Read Free

from Georgia, the brothers were eager to make their fortune in the gold fields but lacked the funds to get there. Rutledge hired them to drive a pair of his supply wagons, but he left it up to Caleb to make sure they knew how.
    Standing beside the brothers, Caleb wondered how long it had been since they bathed. He was probably just as ripe; he just no longer noticed. Then he saw the snake. “It’s a rattler,” Willis said.
    â€œI can see that.” Thing was mad now and coiled for a fight, making it no smarter than its would-be assassins.
    â€œHe’s a big one, ain’t he?” Clifton said.
    â€œIt’s nothing compared with the moccasins I used to shoot back home,” Caleb said. He drew his Navy Colt and carefully aimed along the beaded sight.
    â€œYou missed him, too,” Clifton hooted after the shot sailed high.
    A look from Caleb silenced the runt. Damn revolvers. He had taken the gun off a dead officer in Mississippi. Practically only good for hand-to-hand fighting. Adjusting his aim, he fired before either Daggett wagged his tongue again. The snake exploded with the impact.
    â€œEw!” Willis started toward the carcass, pulling out a knife. “You want the rattle?”
    Caleb returned to the job. There would be plenty more snakes to kill on the trail. “I want you boys to help me finish moving the oxen.”
    â€œWhat’s the hurry?” Clifton asked.
    The fool had already forgotten. “The meeting’s tonight. All the wagon drivers are going to be there. I mean to be there, too.”
    â€œOh, yeah.”
    Like the Daggett boys, Caleb merely worked for Rutledge and hadn’t actually been invited to the meeting. The boot-licker had gone and found himself guides he said knew a shortcut to Montana, but Caleb would be damned if he was going to follow some Yankees and their Sambo. Not without taking their measure.
    Rutledge was smart but soft. He had been just a quartermaster, living at home in Charleston, reading his books, balancing his ledgers, climbing into bed with his wife every night and complaining that the “boys” hadn’t won the war already so he could get back to making money. He never crawled through mud while people shot at him. He didn’t march until the shoes disintegrated under his feet. Rutledge lost two sons, Caleb gave him that, but that only made it worse that he would hire blue-bellies.
    The war had been over barely a year. Maybe that was enough time for a man like Rutledge to forget it had been Union soldiers who killed his sons. Maybe that’s what makes rich men the way they are. It wouldn’t occur to Rutledge that Caleb might have an opinion on what the bastards had to say. Or that maybe Caleb, having served honorably in the war himself so far as Rut-ledge knew, might have something more to offer than his sweat and muscle.
    Once reaching fresh grass, the oxen ambled ahead without more encouragement. As long as nothing disturbed them, they wouldn’t wander, but Caleb wanted them watched. Plenty of cattle thieves in the territories. Besides, that’s what Rutledge paid these fools for. Rich men like Rutledge needed others to do their work, and with the Sambos free, Caleb knew who would be toting the wood, fetching the water and driving the wagons.
    â€œGet used to it, boys. You are the new slaves.”
    Willis looked bothered. “We ain’t slaves.”
    Clifton nodded. “We’re free to go where we want.”
    â€œThen why ain’t you in Montana, already making your fortune?”
    Accustomed to dealing with his brother, Clifton had the habit of stating the obvious. “You know as well as us, we got to get there first. We ain’t got no money for that.”
    â€œSo you’ll be a slave until we get to Montana. And if you don’t strike it rich, you will be somebody’s slaves so you can eat and sleep under a roof.”
    Willis looked confused, but Clifton smiled