The Outlaw of Navaho Mountain by Albert R. Lyman

Author:Albert R. Lyman [Lyman, Albert R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781839745829
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Barakaldo Books
Published: 2020-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN—A DARK PASS

In July 1893, love and peace reigned in the little Paiute camp at Peavine. The camp consisted of the renegade Chee-poots, tottering and white-haired with age; the surviving one of his two squaws; Posey, Toorah and her two little boys; Scotty and his young wife.

They had venison, buckskin, flour, bacon—every-thing needful in abundance. They hunted and rested as they pleased, every day a holiday. Their goats with bulging paunches gave milk aplenty. Their sleek ponies carried them over the trails in ease and style. They had Bitseel’s invincible sorrel to inspire special chuckles of exultation, and they had in mind a cherished list of attractive horses to take away and exchange for their winter supplies.

In August, according to their lately established custom, they went to spend a week feasting on fruit and melons at Bluff. They camped under a spreading cottonwood on the river bank below town, and drove their horses out on the sand hills to the west. Bitseel came by, and although he wouldn’t deign to look at any one of them openly, he secretly scrutinized every animals in their outfit. But, of course they had brought with them no horses which might be replevied.

Into their cool cover of green limbs they brought sacks of peaches and melons, slyly appropriated from town, and relaxed to enjoy these refreshments as a pleasant change from the fruits of the wilderness. Then in a state of well-fed good nature they stretched on the cool earth surrounded by scattered melon rinds and exchanged little pleasantries as the occasion demanded.

Posey liked to put on a sham quarrel with his wife wherein he bantered and pretended to scold her with unreasonable demands. He loved her face and her voice, and she returned his banter in the same vein, always with a keen relish. She was beautiful, that was conceded by all who knew her whether white man or Indian. She was still the girl who loved him and went on loving him in spite of her grizzly-bear brother.

In mock sternness, Posey ordered her to go bring the horses in from the sand hills. He didn’t want the horses—she knew that—and she knew he wouldn’t ask her to get them even if he did want them.

“Go on, bring in the horses. Bitseel will be driving them off. Tooish apane!” Posey ordered again.

Toorah understood perfectly the familiar element of love in his unreasonable order. Pretending to defy him she refused to move from the blanket where she lay at his feet.

“Go on,” Posey repeated in tones she had enjoyed in their love-quarrels before. “Go bring in the horses or I’ll shoot with this pistol!” He knew that it was empty. Still she refused to move as he flourished it above her. Posey thrust it menacingly towards her in mock anger and pressed the trigger. There was a flash, a sharp explosion! Toorah shrieked and tried to rise.

Posey gasped in horrified disbelief and let out a wail of anguish. Dropping the hateful pistol and grasping his beloved Toorah he sobbed wildly.

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