Walk Proud, Stand Tall by Johnny D. Boggs

Author:Johnny D. Boggs
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781428518438
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

CHAPTER 13

He had punched cattle, too, Garrett remembered as he tossed another piece of wood on the fire, holding his hands out toward the dancing flames. Behind him, over the whipping wind, came Corbett’s snores. Paine had also fallen asleep, or passed out, and Daric Mossman had finally drifted off. Surprisingly, Garrett felt wide awake. Doc Steinberg and that Muller X-ray tube-wielding Eli Meredith had cautioned Garrett that he would probably become more and more drowsy, that he’d become difficult to wake, but none of that had happened. Nor had other symptoms, leading him to believe, partly, that those sawbones were as worthless as the Union medical corps he had seen during the rebellion. Sure, he didn’t have much of an appetite any more, especially compared to Ol’ Corb, but he felt alert, and he certainly thought clearly, especially when he remembered those old times.

Holly had told him that he’d be a fine, honest cowboy, and he had been, for a while. Then Ollie Sinclair had ridden back into his life, talking Corbett and Garrett into punching other men’s cattle with a wide loop and a running iron. That had brought Sheriff Bob Clagett into their lives, turning Corbett and Garrett into lawmen and sending Ollie Sinclair on the run.

He slept fitfully that night, tormented by the cold and his memories, and, perhaps, an uneasiness about what the morning would bring. When the others began stirring in the grayness before dawn, Corbett tossed off his bedroll and began stoking the dying embers, putting the coffee pot on top while checking to see that the contents had not frozen during the night.

“Up,” he said, kicking Ol’ Corb’s boots. “We’re burning daylight.”

“You sound like old man Johnston,” Corbett grumbled, but slowly climbed to his feet, stretching and yawning, his breath frosty.

The first thing they had to do, Garrett told them, was to get Daric Mossman’s truck out of that ditch, see if it would still run, and they had better tackle that pronto. Snow would be melting fast today, turning the road into a Missouri swamp. It would be a lot easier to drive that International Harvester while the road was still frozen.

Mossman chuckled. “You’ve never driven on ice,” he said.

“I’m not sure we need to be taking that truck with us,” Paine said. “If the Sinclairs are still at this kid’s ma’s, the truck will give us away. Horses are quieter. Faster, too. That thing can’t run more than twenty miles an hour, and that’s not over an ice-coated road.”

“Barely reach fifteen miles an hour, maybe sixteen,” Mossman said.

Both Mossman and Ol’ Corb looked at Garrett, seemingly agreeing that Paine had a legitimate concern, and the point was valid—if the Sinclairs remained at Red Mountain.

“Ollie’s not taking a vacation,” Garrett said, irked by their doubts. “My guess is he saddled up and headed north about the time we were leaving the train yesterday morn. If he even stopped at Holly’s. My thinking is this. We send in the boy here in his truck.

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