Lonnie Gentry by Peter Brandvold

Author:Peter Brandvold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2014-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

A cabin sat in another clearing ringed with fir-covered slopes.

It was an old, gray log affair with a shake-shingled roof missing shingles the way an old man misses teeth. The shingles that remained were as gray as the hovel’s weathered logs, and they were blue-green with moss. A dented tin chimney pipe angled up out of the roof, and a rusty coffee can had been turned upside down over the end of the pipe to prevent birds from nesting inside.

The windows were shuttered. A deep, packed-dirt depression lay in the ground before the front door. Rain and snow must have collected in the depression and rotted away part of the doorsill. A backless chair sat left of the door, a rock propping up one of the front legs to level the chair on the uneven ground.

A doorless privy flanked the cabin, and to the cabin’s right squatted a small log stable whose roof had collapsed. Only a few rails remained of the peeled pine log corral that surrounded the stable on three sides.

“Looks abandoned,” Casey said, sitting her chestnut beside Lonnie as they inspected what appeared to be an old miner’s headquarters.

Lonnie said, “Let’s see if it has a stove. If so, I’ll try to snare us a rabbit. Nothin’ like fresh meat to fuel a long ride.”

She glanced at Lonnie who kept his eyes roaming around the dilapidated buildings. “Sounds good to me. I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

Lonnie jerked a surprised look at her.

“You heard me.” She smiled brashly. “I know that wasn’t ladylike, but out here, who’s to wash my mouth out with soap?” She pulled his hat brim down, teasing him. “You?”

“Nah, you can talk however you want around me, Miss Casey. I ain’t no saint—that’s for sure.” Lonnie poked his hat back up on his forehead, and swung nimbly down from the General’s back. “But I don’t reckon we’d best stop here for long. You can dismount and lead your chestnut around, though. If your ankle doesn’t hurt too bad, I mean. Make as many tracks as you can.”

He dropped the General’s reins and walked up to the cabin’s front door.

Behind him, Casey frowned. “Why?”

“Just do as I say, Miss Casey. I’ll tell you later.”

“Hey, I don’t take orders from you, kid,” Casey said, and eased down from her saddle, keeping her cool gaze on him. She was miffed again. “Remember, I’m the marshal. And just because we’re on the trail together, and I gave you that kiss, don’t go thinking we’re married!”

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