Free Shawn O'Brien Manslaughter by William W. Johnstone

to the ranch house. Sunshine filtered through the leaves and dappled the grass around them. Dim in the distance the steady thunk, thunk of Hamp Sedley’s ax was the only sound.
    â€œAt least I can shave again,” Shawn said. “Well, barely. I’ve cut myself a dozen times.”
    He idly watched Hamp Sedley chop wood near the barn, swinging the broad-bladed ax with more enthusiasm than skill.
    â€œThere’s a sight you don’t see every day, a riverboat gambler at honest labor,” Shawn said.
    â€œFather convinced him that he would go to seed without exercise,” Judy said. Sunlight tangled in her hair and added turquoise to her eyes. “Hamp seems to have taken him at his word.”
    â€œHamp worries about his health,” Shawn said. “He read a medical book one time and convinced himself that he was on a path to getting every ailment known to man, including his favorite, Pelizaeus-Merzbacher disease.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Judy said.
    â€œHamp has no idea, nor does anyone else, myself included. But he says a misery with a fancy name like that has to be lying in wait for him somewhere.”
    The girl laughed, a charming sound that pleased Shawn greatly.
    After a while she said, “Tell me about her, Shawn.”
    Shawn smiled. “Now, that’s a woman’s question.”
    â€œHamp told me you still grieve for her.”
    â€œHamp talks too much.”
    Shawn took his time to light up one of Duncan Campbell’s cigars. When it was drawing well, he said, “I had Judith for only a little while and then I lost her.”
    â€œYou loved her?”
    â€œWith all my heart and soul.”
    â€œShe died young.”
    â€œJudith was murdered. It happened in England, at a place called Dartmoor. She was kidnapped by escaped convicts and they killed her.”
    Judy touched the back of Shawn’s hand with her slender fingers. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
    â€œYou would have liked her,” Shawn said. “Judith was a wonderful woman. She loved life and the living of it.” Then, “Hamp swings that ax like a maiden aunt. He’s going to do himself an injury.”
    Judy accepted Shawn’s cue and smiled. “It’s almost time for lunch, so we can save Hamp from himself.”
    But the gambler had already decided that enough was enough. He drove the ax into the stump, picked up his coat, and strode toward them, his gunbelt slung over his shoulder.
    â€œHow much wood is a cord?” he said.
    â€œA lot,” Shawn said.
    â€œWell, I must have chopped ten cords into kindling,” Hamp said. He held up his hands. “Look at the blisters. An ax handle does terrible things to a man’s hands, especially a gambling man’s.”
    â€œHard work isn’t easy,” Shawn said. “Or so they tell me.”
    â€œYeah, well I’m done with that. From now on I’m saving my mitts for Antony, Cleopatra, and one-eyed Jack.”
    â€œA wise decision, Hamp,” Shawn said. “And I couldn’t agree with you more.”
    Sedley was suspicious. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.
    â€œOh, nothing,” Shawn said, his face empty. “I was just saying to Judy that you swing an ax like a professional.”
    â€œDamn right,” the gambler said. “But now I’m done with it.”
    â€œA great loss to the entire wood-cutting industry,” Shawn said.
    For a second time suspicion clouded Sedley’s face, but Judy, suppressing a grin, said, “I think it’s time for lunch.”

    â€œThe offer is tempting, Duncan, but I have to be moving on,” Shawn O’Brien said.
    â€œBut Shawn, if you take Pa’s offer you can put down roots here,” Judy said. “Maybe even start your own ranch.”
    â€œI already have roots, Judy,” Shawn said. “They’re back at Dromore in the New Mexico Territory.”
    â€œI do