Free The Last Chance Ranch by D.G. Parker Page B

downed trees and branches to clear, so it was no surprise that no one looked enthusiastic about the day ahead. Obie wandered into the barn and found Ben saddling the Bastard.
    "'Bout time you got out of bed,” Ben grumbled, tightening the cinch. The Bastard swung his broad head in Obie's direction with a snort, and the young man took a hasty step backward. “Behave, you,” Ben admonished with a tug at the bridle. “I'm headin’ over to the mill. I swear, I am determined to pry some lumber outta that old Dutchman if it kills me. You wanna come with?"
    "Hell no. Last time I went, that old man called me a catamite. I still don't know what that means."
    "Ask Father Percy next time you're in town. How ‘bout you, Temper, feel like takin’ a ride?"
    "Me? Nawsir. I don't know what a catamite is neither, but I bet it ain't worse than a nigger."
    "Damnit, you got a point. Old Arne's likely to shoot you on sight. God save us from hardheaded sons of bitches.” He swung up into the saddle, the Bastard doing a little dance in place before Ben settled him down. “Tell Snow to follow me with the wagon in a half hour or so. If I ain't talked de Groot around by then, I guess I never will.” He gave the stallion a nudge, and the great black horse lunged out of the barn.
    Half an hour later, Snow left with the wagon, trundling down the path to the road.
    Half an hour after that, he came trundling back up.
    Obie rose from where he'd been hunched over, sawing through a downed branch. Squinting into the sun, he watched the wagon approach with a funny feeling in his gut. Snow wasn't driving any faster, but the lines of his body were taut and tense. And why wasn't Ben with him? Before his brain could come up with a good reason not to, Obie was running to meet the wagon. Sure enough, when he looked over the side, Ben was reclining back on a pile of rope, scowling something fierce. A kerchief was tied around his right thigh, its dark blue fabric stained purple. Obie launched himself over the side, a jumble of questions spilling out of his mouth.
    "What the hell happened? Who did this? Where's the Bastard?"
    "Settle down, Obediah.” Ben let his hand graze against Obie's for the briefest of seconds. “I'll live."
    By now, a handful of others had gathered around the wagon and followed it as it bypassed the barn and went directly to the main house. Snow threw the brake and climbed into the back, issuing orders. “Lonnie, run ahead and tell Juanita we need hot water and bandages. Dex, you find Porter and get him here now."
    "Doctor,” Obie chattered nervously. “Somebody needs to get a doctor.” Even though Ben was warm and alive right there next to him, Obie had taken a chill deep inside he couldn't seem to shake. He and Snow helped their boss off the wagon and supported him between them as Ben hopped on his good leg, up the porch steps and into the house. Juanita was ready for them, having laid out clean bandages and spread the bed with burlap sacks to catch the blood. “You need a doctor,” Obie said again as they settled him on the bed.
    "No I don't. Porter's a better hand at takin’ out a bullet than that young sawbones in town."
    "He shot you,” Obie spat, hovering over his lover. “Son of a bitch, I knew he didn't like you, but damn!"
    "Arne de Groot didn't shoot me,” Ben refuted. He was utterly calm, laying there with a damn bullet in his leg and acting like they were having a Sunday picnic. It was making Obie a little crazy. “I only got about halfway to the mill—you know that spot before the turnoff to Sam's, where the thickets are heavy? I was passin’ there, and somebody took a shot at me from the brush. Probably would have killed me, too, if the Bastard hadn't bucked. Threw me off and left me there, the ill-mannered beast."
    "I found him limpin’ down the road, swearin’ a blue streak and complainin’ about blood in his boot,” Snow commented as he untied the stained kerchief and gingerly pulled it away from the