Free The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters (Arbor House Library of Contemporary Americana) by Robert Lewis Taylor

was bold and yet cringy and polite, too—nothing a person could complain about, but not comfortable, either. He prodded his mare on up till its flanks rubbed against her stirrups, and laid his hand on the saddle horn, which was silver-studded, like the rest of the leather.
    The young man’s face kept its friendly look, and his slouch was still easy and loose, but his eyes changed ever so slightly, becoming—I don’t know how you’d say it—
tight
-looking.
    “Yes,” he said, “her uncle that was in the Texas troubles brought it back from Mexico. We’ve been offered a heap for it, but she won’t sell.”
    “Well, now I don’t blame the little lady, indeed I don’t,” said Shep, grinning at her and touching the brim of his hat. “It’s just a perfect fit—very snug and firm. I don’t know when I’ve seen a better-filled saddle.”
    She stared directly at him, cool and contemptuous, and showed without saying a word that she no more cared what he thought than she would a pig in a pigsty. She had pluck, and no mistake.
    But he couldn’t leave it alone. He had hit on a line of palaver that suited him, and he meant to squeeze it dry. He said:
    “Why, the two was made for each other; there ain’t a wrinkle anywhere.” Then, turning to the husband, he said, “How old was this uncle? If you ask me, that saddle was cut to measure, and it wasn’t done in only one fitting, neither.”
    “Come on, Joyce,” said the young man shortly. “Stir up the team, Todd, we’ll be getting along.”
    “Hey, now!” cried Shep in offended alarm. “That ain’t what I call neighborly. You’re a-going to hurt this old fellow’s feelings”—gesturing toward John. “He’s touchy, he is—there ain’t hardly any telling what he’s apt to do next.”
    “ ‘God shall likewise destroy thee for ever, He shall take thee away, and pluck thee out of thy dwelling place, and root thee out of the land of the living,’ ” said John, and pulling out a pistol from under his coat, he shot the young man in the middle of the forehead, the bullet making a small, neat, blue hole. I remember thinking how queer it looked without any blood whatever. Then I saw Mr. Slater’s coat coming up toward me; the tops of the trees spun around in a whirling circle, faster and faster, and everything slipped away into blackness.

Chapter VI
    When I came to, that monster was bending over the dead man, on the ground, going through his pockets. Shep had the woman by both wrists, but he was making poor shift of it, for his left cheek had four bloody scratches from eye to chin, his jacket sleeve was half torn off, and he was being kicked about the shin and knee. At the sound of the shot, the team had reared, and the boy, standing up and sawing at the reins, was trying to calm them.
    “Go, Todd!” the woman cried. “Lash the mules—streak for home and fetch your Uncle Ned!”
    I don’t know when I ever saw a cooler performer than that boy, even among the shantyboaters, who were a rough lot and didn’t care a fig for human life, theirs or anybody else’s. He cracked a blacksnake whip down on the team, shouted “Gee—on!” and fell backward over the wagon seat, so abruptly did the mules leap forward and yank him out of there. The twins, in the back, were screaming, but the boy, steady and white-faced, was as businesslike as if he tackled this kind of thing every day.
    “After him, Shep!” the old man cried. “There’s nothing here—they’ve got their plunder in the wagon.”
    With a curse, Shep dropped the woman’s arm and spurred his horse in the direction of the runaway, but he hadn’t got more than fifty yards before a shot rang out and his hat flew off like something jerked on a string. He hauled up, almost pulling the mare back on top of him, which would have been a very good thing, in my judgment.
    The boy had dropped his reins and let the mules head for homeon their own. Then, lying on his stomach, he had snatched up a rifle and