Cottonmouth by Sean Lynch

Author:Sean Lynch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2019-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

“Howdy, folks!” the man with the Henry rifle announced. He stepped into the camp along with three other men also bearing rifles. When one of the men in camp tried to grab a shotgun leaning against the wagon, another of the armed newcomers clubbed him in the skull with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out cold.

It was less than an hour after Pritchard departed the camp when the occupants found themselves again beset by intruders. Small children were once more placed behind their mothers’ skirts, men stood protectively in front of their women, and everyone in camp turned to face the interlopers.

“What do you want?” the camp leader said.

“We smelled the beef cookin’ a ways off,” the first man said. He was old, stooped, and wore a scraggly beard over few teeth. The three men with him were much younger, but appeared just as dirty, malnourished, and disheveled. The heavy odor of moonshine liquor emanated from all of them.

“Your dinner smells mighty good,” the old man went on. “Where’d you steal that calf?”

“We didn’t steal it,” the leader said. “We bought it in Boonville today. Before the people of Boonville chased us away.”

“I heard about that,” the man said, turning his head to spit a glob of tobacco juice. “Evidently they don’t cotton to thieves in Boonville.”

“We are not thieves.”

“Hell if you ain’t,” the man said. He pointed his rifle at the chief. “You look too well fed for an honest man. Me and my boys here are honest men, and we’re barely scratchin’ out a livin’.”

“What do you want?” the leader repeated.

“Impatient, ain’t he, Pa?” one of the other armed men said.

“What we want, we’ll take,” the older man said. “Bring out your money and valuables.”

“We don’t have much money,” the leader said. “If you leave us and hurt no one else, you are welcome to what little we possess.”

“Hear that, boys?” the older man said to the others. “Iffen we don’t hurt ’em, he’s willin’ to give us what money he’s got.”

“That’s right generous of him,” one of his sons said, “iffen you ask me.” They all laughed.

The camp leader, who spoke English in a British accent, said something in a foreign language. One of the women entered a wagon and came out a moment later bearing a wooden box. She silently handed it to the chief and retreated to the fire.

The leader opened it, to reveal a small cache of paper money and coins. He set the open box on the ground and stepped back.

“There is almost eighty dollars,” he said. “It is all we have. Take it, and go.”

“That ain’t all you have,” the old man said, as one of his sons picked up the box, closed it, and tucked it under his arm. “I notice you’ve got women. Have ’em step forward.”

“Our wives and daughters are not for sale,” the leader said.

“I wasn’t askin’ to buy your women,” the old man said with a leer. “Me and my boys just want to borrow ’em for a while.

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