Marshal Jeremy Six #4 the Proud Riders by Brian Garfield

Author:Brian Garfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: death wish, western novels, piccadilly publishing, historical action adventure, the american frontier, brian garfield, brian wynne, best western books
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Eight

When they rode into the town of Arroyo Seco at noon on the twenty-sixth, Tracy Chavis and John Paradise looked like prospectors who hadn’t seen bed or bath in a month. And it was nearly true.

They stopped a pedestrian and Paradise asked, “Is there a doctor in town?” and the pedestrian, nodding his head, pointed vaguely down the street.

The doctor had his shingle out front, hung on rusty chains: E. X. BELDEN, M.D. They drew rein in front of the adobe house. Paradise said, “Want me to go in with you?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Chavis said. “It’s kind of private.”

“I know. But you’re a damn fool. You should’ve come to see the doc weeks ago.”

Chavis didn’t make any reply. He dismounted and hitched his horse—the big palomino stallion—at the rail. The palomino stood gently and settled itself hipshot to wait for him, Chavis patted the horse and climbed the porch. When he knocked on the door, he rested his arm on the wall for support. Paradise, watching him, shook his head mutely.

Someone opened the door. There was a brief exchange of conversation, and Chavis disappeared inside. Thereupon Paradise pulled back on his reins, turned his horse and rode up the street toward the barbershop. When he dismounted he reached into his pocket. The five-dollar half-eagle was still there; there hadn’t been any place to spend it. By the time he bought himself a bath, shave and haircut his stake would be halved, but that didn’t matter; when you were down that low, it was more important to feel clean and neat and dignified than to pinch a few extra pennies. Besides, it was only a day’s ride to Spanish Flat. And as soon as the hearing was over, he’d get his two hundred dollars bail money back. After that maybe he’d sit into a card game and try to build up his stake.

Or maybe he’d bet the two hundred on Chavis to win the horse race. You had to hand it to the big rancher. Bruised and battered, never giving himself enough time to eat or rest, Chavis had plowed into each day with the stubborn grim energy of driven determination. Paradise, a gambling man and fighting man, was no horse-trainer; all he could do was watch, and help tie the palomino down again after it threw Chavis off.

There was no counting the number of times Chavis had gone pitching off the hurricane deck of that madly bucking stallion. It was, to Paradise, nothing short of a miracle that Chavis hadn’t broken any bones. In fact Paradise was half prepared to believe that Chavis had indeed broken a bone, but wasn’t telling. That was ridiculous, of course, but the fact that the idea could have occurred to him at all was some indication of the way Paradise regarded his friend.

There was no question that Chavis was an incredible fighter. Time after time, Paradise had seen him climb to his feet and stagger back to the horse after it pitched him off.

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