Devil's Brand by Len Levinson

Author:Len Levinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: texas, american civil war, wild west, old west, frontier fiction, john stone, searcher, western pulp fiction, cattle ranches, len levinson, josh edwards, colt45
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Six

At ten minutes to eight in the morning, two matched chestnut geldings pulled a buckboard toward the main house of the Triangle Spur. Stone sat on the front seat, the reins in his hands and a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He’d bathed, shaved, wore clean clothing, and felt like a new man, except his hands shook uncontrollably at times, but he was sure those symptoms would pass soon, and he’d be healthy again.

He pulled the horses to a halt in front of the main house, and wished he didn’t have to go to San Antone. Towns were cesspools of sin and temptation for a man, and he had to stop drinking, there could be no doubt about it.

Fortunately, he had no money, and couldn’t afford to drink. He’d just pass the time in the stable, or maybe even go to church and have a chat with Brother Ezra.

The door to the main house opened, and Cassandra stepped onto the porch, wearing a pastel purple dress with a flounce in back, and a matching bonnet. She walked toward the buck-board, carrying a briefcase filled with financial documents.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat, trying to stuff his emotions down his throat, because she looked so much like Marie.

“Morning, John,” she replied. “We’d better get going—we have a lot to do today.”

He climbed down from the wagon and helped her aboard, holding her soft hand in his rough one, easing her up with his other hand on her waist, and she felt just like Marie.

She settled into her seat, laid the briefcase in the boot. He circled the back of the wagon and climbed beside her, let go the brake, snapped the reins, and they were off.

“Have you been fighting, John?” She asked, peering sideways at him.

“Fell down.”

“You know very well you can’t get hurt like that by just falling down. Guess you lost the fight.”

“No, ma’am.”

“You won?”

“A draw.”

“What did you fight about?”

“Don’t like each other.”

“Why not?”

How could he put something that deep and visceral into mere words? “Hard to say.”

“You can’t even explain what you were fighting about, but it looks as though you’ve taken a serious beating. Does that make sense, John?”

“No, ma’am.”

She sighed in exasperation, and they rode out of the yard, onto the open prairie, heading down the trail to San Antone. Stone glanced at her, sitting next to him in the sunlight, holding her hand over her eyes as she scanned the terrain ahead. Her resemblance to Marie was unearthly. She was Marie and not Marie at the same time.

Stone had taken many buckboard rides with Marie in the old days. They’d find a lonely path, tie the horses to a tree, tear off each other’s clothes, and feast upon each other’s bodies.

She turned to him, her features serious as a Sunday school teacher describing the Resurrection. “John, I don’t want to intrude myself into your life, but you’re not like the rest, and you should stop acting like them. You’ve got to pull yourself together.

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