Free The Reckoning by Len Levinson Page B

rain hissed as if it disapproved of him. He'd been a thief, had killed a man in Arkansas, and sold whiskey to Osage warriors. The son of a mud hut farmer, he'd been poor all his life, and didn't expect anything significant to change.

    Just a few more days, he thought, fingering the coins. I'll get me a nice hotel room, and then I'll go to the cribs. Might as well have some fun while I'm at it, he thought as he rode toward the darkness at the edge of the storm.

CHAPTER 5

    T HE COWBOYS RETURNED to the Bar T Saturday afternoon. They herded the horses into the corral, and proceeded to feed and water them, while the Ramrod made his way to the main house.
    The front door was opened by Myrtle Thornton. “No trouble, I hope.”
    â€œOnly once.” McGrath removed his cowboy hat. “The boss in?”
    Myrtle led McGrath to Big Al Thornton, who was seated with his daughter on wooden chairs behind the house, facing the open range. Phyllis wore a pink dress with a high buttoned collar, while the top three buttons of the rancher's shirt were undone.
    â€œHave a seat, McGrath,” Myrtle said. “Let's hear about it.”

    McGrath smelled of sweat, tobacco, and horses as he dropped onto a chair. “We had a blowout with the Circle K. They showed up while we was on the north range, and Jay said we was abrandin’ their calves. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, that new man you hired beat the hell out of Billie Reade, then he knocked Jay out of the saddle, and I thought for sure there'd be gunplay. You never told me that Braddock was a professional.”
    Thornton appeared surprised. “I din't know it myself!”
    â€œHis hand moved awful fast.”
    Myrtle Thornton interjected: “I told you that he was an owlhoot.”
    â€œJust because he's got a fast hand,” Big Al replied, “that don't mean he's a hired gun. But we don't need no more hotheads around here than we've got already. Tell Braddock that I want to talk to him.”
    The cavalry detachment saw no Comanches, witnessed no atrocities, and now were back at their encampment, anxious to prepare for their big Saturday night on the town.
    The troopers lined up in front of Lieutenant Dawes, and he inspected them with merciless objectivity. They were covered with dust, wilted in their saddles. If Comanches had attacked on the way in, no telling what might've happened.
    Sergeant Mahoney rode toward him, and threw a salute. “Any special orders, sir?”

    â€œI'm going into town for about a half hour. Carry on.”
    The detachment commander felt as though his legs were permanently bowed, as he climbed down from his horse. He knew that he should take a bath, shave, and change clothes, but couldn't wait that long. He tossed his reins to the orderly, then headed toward the general store.
    Vanessa had been on his mind throughout the patrol, and his future hung in the balance of her decision. Perhaps she changed her mind, he thought, but how could a rational woman prefer an ordinary cowboy to me? He considered himself a first-rate candidate for marriage, but if Vanessa rejected him—it would devastate his vanity, and he'd resume his depressing bachelor career. One day he'd get careless, and somebody's husband would shoot him, or a Comanche would get his hair.
    Please say yes, he implored silently, as he strolled down Shelby's only street, headed for Gibson's General Store.
    Fred Gibson fretted behind his store window, as he observed the Army encampment on the edge of town. He'd laid in a special stock of white lightning, prepared in a washtub with the aid of his wife, because he'd foreseen demand increasing during the months ahead, as both the Bar T and Circle K added more cowboys, and the Army camp became a permanent adjunct to the town.
    Gibson needed capital, his fondest ambition a full-fledged saloon with gambling tables and girls.Maybe Mr. Phipps and I can build it, and between the two of us, we can become