Blood and Gold by Ralph Compton

Author:Ralph Compton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.

I woke with a start as the darkness died around me, probing fingers of dawn light forcing open my eyes.

I stood, stiff and weary, and studied the land around me. The plains and sentinel hills lay still, bathed in brightness from broken clouds that looked like someone had dipped a giant brush in gold paint and stippled them across the vast blue canvas of the sky.

Many people believe the sky is a thing separate from the earth, but it’s not—it’s part of it. And soon we’d be traveling, not under its arching canopy, but through it, golden light stretching out all around us.

Last night I’d feared to build a fire, but now, wishful for coffee, I gathered a few sticks of dry wood from the hillside, then filled the pot from the wash, where I’d seen the buffalo.

The fire I kept small, just enough to boil the coffee, and when it was done I poured a cup for Lila and brought it to her. The girl woke and smiled at me and I felt my heart thud in my chest. Lila took the coffee gratefully, handling the hot tin cup with care.

I poured coffee for myself, squatted beside her and built a smoke. I thumbed a match into flame and lit the cigarette.

“We should wake Pa,” Lila said.

I nodded. “Soon. He had a pretty restless night, crying out in his sleep an’ all. I reckon we’ll let him rest for a few more minutes.”

Lila glanced over at her sleeping father. “He’ll be just fine when we reach our farm,” she said, a wistfulness touching her voice. She looked at me, almost challenging me to say different. “I know he will.”

Me, I let it go. I’d said all I needed to say on the subject of Ned Tryon and I’d no call to speak further. Deflecting any possible questions, I said: “I reckon we’ll cross the Brazos tomorrow about twelve miles north of Round Timbers. Before then we’ll reach the headwaters of the Little Wichita and then Deepwater Creek.” I drew deep on my cigarette. “It’s good country down there, plenty of grass and wood.”

Lila picked up her cup gingerly, holding it with her thumb and forefinger by the rim. “The farm has been my dream and Pa’s dream for months,” she said. “I can hardly believe it soon will come true.”

I tossed away my cold cigarette butt. “Best we get moving,” I said.

Thirty minutes later we took to the trail again, but this time I rode the black, scouting just ahead of the wagon.

The sun was straight above my head and the day was warm when the three riders came.

And there was no mistaking the huge, yellow-haired man who rode grimly at their head, a scoped rifle across the horn of his saddle.

It was Lafe Wingo.

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