Sawtooth Ranch (eBook)

B. M. Bower (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018
486 Seiten
Seltzer Books (Verlag)
978-1-4554-2751-2 (ISBN)

Infos

Classic western. According to Wikipedia: 'Bertha Muzzy Sinclair or Sinclair-Cowan, née Muzzy (November 15, 1871 - July 23, 1940), best known by her pseudonym B. M. Bower, was an American novelist who wrote fictional stories about the American Old West... She wrote 57 Western novels, several of which were turned into films.'

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Classic western. According to Wikipedia: "e;Bertha Muzzy Sinclair or Sinclair-Cowan, nee Muzzy (November 15, 1871 - July 23, 1940), best known by her pseudonym B. M. Bower, was an American novelist who wrote fictional stories about the American Old West... She wrote 57 Western novels, several of which were turned into films."e;

Textauszug

CHAPTER XIV. "FRANK'S DEAD"

 

"Frank come yet?"  The peevish impatience of an invalid whose horizon has narrowed to his own personal welfare and wants was in Brit's voice. Two weeks he had been sick, and his temper had not sweetened with the pain of his broken bones and the enforced idleness.  Brit was the type of man who is never quiet unless he is asleep or too ill to get out of bed.

 

Lorraine came to the doorway and looked in at him.  Two weeks had set their mark on her also.  She seemed older, quieter in her ways; there were shadows in her eyes and a new seriousness in the set of her mouth. She had had her burdens, and she had borne them with more patience than many an older woman would have done, but what she thought of those burdens she did not say.

 

"No, dad--but I thought I heard a wagon a little while ago.  He must be coming," she said.

 

"Where's Lone at?"  Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted his face at the pain.

 

"Lone isn't back, either."

 

"He ain't?  Where'd he go?"

 

Lorraine came to the bedside and, lifting Brit's head carefully, arranged the pillow as she knew he liked it.  "I don't know where he went," she said dully.  "He rode off just after dinner.  Do you want your supper now?  Or would you rather wait until Frank brings the fruit?"

 

"I'd ruther wait--if Frank don't take all night," Brit grumbled.  "I hope he ain't connected up with that Echo booze.  If he has----"

 

"Oh, no, dad!  Don't borrow trouble.  Frank was anxious to get home as soon as he could.  He'll be coming any minute, now.  I'll go listen for the wagon."

 

"No use listenin'.  You couldn't hear it in that sand--not till he gits to the gate.  I don't see where Lone goes to, all the time.  Where's Jim and Sorry, then?"

 

"Oh, they've had their supper and gone to the bunk-house.  Do you want them?"

 

"No!  What'd I want 'em fur?  Not to look at, that's sure.  I want to know how things is going on this ranch.  And from all I can make out, they ain't goin' at all," Brit fretted.  "What was you 'n' Lone talkin' so long about, out in the kitchen last night?  Seems to me you 'n' him have got a lot to say to each other, Raine."

 

"Why, nothing in particular.  We were just--talking.  We're all human beings, dad; we have to talk sometimes.  There's nothing else to do."

 

"Well, I caught something about the Sawtooth.  I don't want you talking to Lone or anybody else about that outfit, Raine.  I told yuh so once. He's all right--I ain't saying anything against Lone--but the less you have to say the more you'll have to be thankful fur, mebby."

 

"I was wondering if Swan could have gotten word somehow to the Sawtooth and had them telephone out that you were hurt.  And Lone was drawing a map of the trails and showing me how far it was from the canyon to the Sawtooth ranch.  And he was asking me just how it happened that the brake didn't hold, and I said it must have been all right, because I saw you come out from under the wagon just before you hitched up.  I thought you were fixing the chain on them."

 

"Huh?"  Brit lifted his head off the pillow and let it drop back again, because of the pain in his shoulder.  "You never seen me crawl out from under no wagon.  I come straight down the hill to the team."

 

"Well, I saw some one.  He went up into the brush.  I thought it was you."  Lorraine turned in the doorway and stood looking at him perplexedly.  "We shouldn't be talking about it, dad--the doctor said we mustn't.  But are you sure it wasn't you?  Because I certainly saw a man crawl out from under the wagon and start up the hill.  Then the horses acted up, and I couldn't see him after Yellowjacket jumped off the road."

 

Brit lay staring up at the ceiling, apparently unheeding her explanation.  Lorraine watched him for a minute and returned to the kitchen door, peering out and listening for Frank to come from Echo with supplies and the mail and, more important just now, fresh fruit for her father.

 

"I think he's coming, dad," she called in to her father.  "I just heard something down by the gate."

 

She could save a few minutes, she thought, by running down to the corral where Frank would probably stop and unload the few sacks of grain he was bringing, before he drove up to the house.  Frank was very methodical in a fussy, purposeless way, she had observed.  Twice he had driven to Echo since her father had been hurt, and each time he had stopped at the corral on his way to the house.  So she closed the screen door behind her, careful that it should not slam, and ran down the path in the heavy dusk wherein crickets were rasping a strident chorus.

 

"Oh!  It's you, is it, Lone?" she exclaimed, when she neared the vague figure of a man unsaddling a horse.  "You didn't see Frank coming anywhere, did you?  Dad won't have his supper until Frank comes with the things I sent for.  He's late."

 

Lone was lifting the saddle off the back of John Doe, which he had bought from the Sawtooth because he was fond of the horse.  He hesitated and replaced the saddle, pulling the blanket straight under it.

 

"I saw him coming an hour ago," he said.  "I was back up on the ridge, and I saw a team turn into the Quirt trail from the ford.  It couldn't be anybody but Frank.  I'll ride out and meet him."

 

He was mounted and gone before she realised that he was ready.  She heard the sharp staccato of John Doe's hoofbeats and wondered why Lone had not waited for another word from her.  It was as if she had told him that Frank was in some terrible danger,--yet she had merely complained that he was late.  The bunk-house door opened, and Sorry came out on the doorstep, stood there a minute and came slowly to meet her as she retraced her steps to the house.

 

"Where'd Lone go so sudden?" he asked, when she came close to him in the dusk.  "That was him, wasn't it?"

 

Lorraine stopped and stood looking at him without speaking.  A vague terror had seized her.  She wanted to scream, and yet she could think of nothing to scream over.  It was Lone's haste, she told herself impatiently.  Her nerves were ragged from nursing her dad and from worrying over things she must not talk about,--that forbidden subject which never left her mind for long.

 

"Wasn't that him?" Sorry repeated uneasily.  "What took him off again in such a rush?"

 

"Oh, I don't know!  He said Frank should have been here long ago.  He went to look for him.  Sorry," she cried suddenly, "what is the matter with this place?  I feel as if something horrible was just ready to jump out at us all.  I--I want my back against something solid, all the time, so that nothing can creep up behind.  Nothing," she added desperately, "could happen to Frank between here and the turn-off at the ford, could it?  Lone saw him turn into our trail over an hour ago, he said."

 

Sorry, his fingers thrust into his overalls pockets, his thumbs hooked over the waistband, spat into the sand beside the path.  "Well, he started off with a cracked doubletree," he said slowly.  "He mighta busted 'er pullin' through that sand hollow.  She was wired up pretty good, though, and there was more wire in the rig.  I don't know of anything else that'd be liable to happen, unless----"

 

"Unless what?" Lorraine prompted sharply.  "There's too much that isn't talked about, on this ranch.  What else could happen?"

 

Sorry edged away from her.  "Well--I dunno as anything would be liable to happen," he said uncomfortably.  "'Tain't likely him 'n' Brit'd both have accidents--not right hand-runnin'."

 

"Accidents?"  Lorraine felt her throat squeeze together.  "Sorry, you don't mean--Sawtooth accidents?" she blurted.

 

She surprised a grunt out of Sorry, who looked over his shoulder as if he feared eavesdroppers.  "Where'd you git that idee?" he demanded.  "I dunno what you mean.  Ain't that yore dad callin' yuh?"

 

Lorraine ignored the hint.  "You do know what I mean.  Why did you say they wouldn't both be likely to have accidents hand-running?  And why don't you do something?  Why does everyone just keep still and let things happen, and not say a word?  If there's any chance of Frank having an--an accident, I should think you'd be out looking after him, and not standing there with your hands in your pockets just waiting to see if he shows up or if he doesn't show up.  You're all just like these rabbits out in the sage.  You'll hide under a bush and wait until you're almost...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 1.3.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Anthologien
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Klassiker / Moderne Klassiker
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 1-4554-2751-9 / 1455427519
• ISBN-13: 978-1-4554-2751-2 / 9781455427512