Free Bloody Sunday by William W. Johnstone Page A

was something Luke had missed out on for the most part. Looking back on his life, he could see that he had spent most of it in solitude, alone even when he was in a crowded saloon or café. Even most of his relations with women had been impersonal.
    From time to time, he gave some thought to trying to change, but after all this time he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He wasn’t sure he even knew how.
    Gabe Pendleton came over to his bunk. The foreman was already fully dressed and looked like he was ready to begin the day’s work.
    â€œWell, now you’ve met our cook, Kaintuck,” Pendleton said.
    â€œWe haven’t been formally introduced,” Luke said, “but I doubt if I’ll forget him anytime soon. Of course, since he quit I don’t suppose it really matters.”
    Pendleton chuckled and shook his head.
    â€œKaintuck quits three or four times a week. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s back in the cook shack right now, out back of the mess hall.”
    â€œYou don’t eat in the main house?”
    â€œThat’s Mrs. MacCrae’s house,” Pendleton said, his voice hardening slightly. “She’s got her place, and we’ve got ours. If you were going to be staying around here, Jensen, you’d need to understand that. But I guess since you’re moving on, like you say, it doesn’t matter.”
    Luke swung his legs off the bunk and stood up. He said, “I don’t recall telling anybody that I was moving on.”
    â€œAnd I don’t recall anybody inviting you to stay,” Pendleton shot back. “If you’re thinking about parlaying what happened yesterday into a riding job, you’d better think again. We’re not hiring. Our crew’s full up.”
    At one of the nearby bunks, Ernie Frazier pulled a shirt over his head and then said, “I figured we could always use another good hand around here, Mr. Pendleton. Anyway, you haven’t replaced Jimmy Applewhite since he quit and went back down to South Texas. . . .”
    The young wrangler’s voice trailed off as Pendleton gave him a hard look.
    â€œI handle the hiring and firing around here, Ernie,” the foreman said. “You’d do well to remember that.”
    â€œYes, sir,” Ernie mumbled as he looked down at the plank floor.
    Pendleton turned back to Luke and went on: “You’re welcome to stay for breakfast, of course. If your horse needs to rest for a day or two, I reckon even that would be all right. But don’t get the idea this is something that it’s not, Jensen.”
    Pendleton had him pegged as just another drifting saddle tramp, one step below even a grub line rider. That was all right, Luke thought. The ramrod’s opinion of him didn’t really matter.
    It was a lot more important what Glory MacCrae thought.
    Luke didn’t respond to Pendleton. After a moment, Pendleton turned and walked away, speaking quietly to several of the other men as he left the bunkhouse. Luke pulled on his boots and buckled his gun belt around his waist, then settled his hat on his head as he joined the others on their way to the mess hall.
    True to Pendleton’s prediction, Kaintuck was hustling around the room with its long table flanked by benches. The old cook filled coffee cups and set out platters of bacon—which as far as Luke could see was cooked just fine—biscuits, flapjacks, and fried eggs. There were bowls of gravy and molasses with spoons in them.
    Luke sat down at one of the empty places and filled the tin plate in front of him. The food was simple but good. The coffee was better than good. Not as thick as axle grease, as the jocular cowboy had claimed, but plenty potent.
    The crew ate without a lot of talking. Breakfast was serious business on a ranch, where hours of hard work awaited before the men would have a chance to eat again. Even then, their lunch was liable to be rather skimpy, maybe some jerky and a