Blood Sport by Robert F. Jones

Author:Robert F. Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

33

MY FIRST FEW DAYS with Ratnose’s gang had made it seem that they led a pretty easy life. I mean, plenty of fresh red meat, plenty of dope and wine, no restrictions on screwing, or shooting off guns at any time of the day or night. People just jumped up whenever they felt like it to go galloping off on a horse, say, letting it run wherever it wanted. I had free access to the bike, after my initiation, just as the rest of the band had to the horses. We ate when we pleased, drank when we pleased, played when we pleased, worked when we pleased, and slept when we pleased, with whomsoever was pleased to sleep with us. Or alone, if we pleased. But it only seemed that way. Actually, we worked pretty hard.

The rumors that drift down the Hassayampa with the skulls and flotsam of the spring runoff would lead you to believe that Ratnose spends all his time raiding and raping and burning. In point of fact, we only raided when we were really hard up, like when we needed more ammunition, or horses, or a new lot of women. Ratnose had a good trading relationship with many of the villages on the outskirts of his territory, and whenever we needed the staples like salt or sugar, the cheap things, we would ride on over to one or another of them and swap hides for what we needed. We rarely raided a settlement, since Ratnose figured that settlements were serious things that could call for reinforcements, and at any rate the people in them had long memories. Instead, he preferred to raid the few caravans or wagon trains that crossed his country. That way he could pick his own time and place, and usually wipe out the party to the last man. Also, caravans were “concentrated riches,” as he liked to say, while villages were “concentrated poverty.” Not that Ratnose was any Robin Hood. He had nothing but contempt for such romantic notions as robbing from the rich to give to the poor. You robbed from the rich because they had stuff, and yet let the poor alone because they were a waste of time. Unless you wanted skulls. (“A poor man’s head skins out easier and cures quicker than a rich man’s because he has less fat on his skull,” Ratnose always said.)

No, a raid was a big thing to Ratnose and his people, kind of like a Christmas shopping expedition would be to city folks, except that you did it with guns, though with no less anticipation. We actually went into training for the raids. Men who had grown soft and sloppy on too much crait or eating, too much lying around camp, would hie themselves off into the mountains for a few days of climbing, hunting, and loneliness. Dried meat, raw roots, ice water and solitude would shape them up quick. But few of the men—and very few of the women, for that matter —ever let themselves slide that far into slobhood.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.