The Mustangers by Andrew J. Fenady

Author:Andrew J. Fenady
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2019-04-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Pepper sat at the dinner table that night, along with James Deegan, Jimmy, and Joe Higgins, plus Rover.

“These days I don’t know whether I’m more uncomfortable in the saddle or at the dinner table—besides this food tastes different when I don’t cook it.”

“Pepper, your old bones’ve absorbed enough punishment today. I thought you deserved some time off and let the kitchen help do the cooking and serving tonight.”

“Tastes different, like I said, Mr. D, I don’t cook it . . . and that saddle feels different to this ol’ stove-up bronc twister than it used to. Next thing I know, you’ll have me reclinin’ on an ol’ rockin’ chair.”

“Pepper,” Deegan smiled, “why don’t you just quit you bellyaching and . . .”

“It’s not just my belly that’s achin’.”

“Well, quit anyhow. Jimmy, how do you like ranch life on the Big Brawny?”

“It’s neat, Dad, and I’m getting to know all about horses, even those wild ones we saw out there.”

“M’boy, there’s a lot more to ranching these days than horses.”

“There sure is,” Higgins agreed. “Things have changed since I was your age.”

“I guess so, but I like horses the best. Ben says that he . . .”

“Well, that’s a start,” James Deegan interrupted. “The Big Brawny’ll be yours someday, son, and so will a lot of other things. I’m just a few . . .”

The phone on the small side table rang.

Higgins rose.

“I’ll get it, Mr. Deegan.”

“Thanks . . . Jimmy, you’ve got to decide whether this is part of the life you want . . .”

Higgins had picked up the receiver.

“Hello . . . yes, yes, he is . . . Just a minute. Long distance for you, Mr. Deegan.”

“Okay.” Deegan rose and took up the receiver. “Hello.”

“Hi, Jim, this is Tom Drury. I’m at the Osage County Cattlemen’s Association up at Grandview . . .”

“Yes, I know about it.”

“Well, there’s something about it you ain’t heard, and you’ve got to come up here, pronto.”

“Hell, Tom, I can’t. My son just got here, and it’s important that . . .”

“This is important, too, damn important!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your old pal Sam Birthistle, that giant independent, that road company Theodore Roosevelt, is up to one of his old tricks. Amongst other things, he says he’s going to introduce a resolution to dissolve our cattlemen’s association, says it’s a waste of time and money during this Depression, and he’s gathering a passel of votes . . .”

“Tom, you’ve got my proxy. You know how I’d vote.”

“Not good enough. These ranchers have got to hear you say it the way you only can, and help me do some strategizing. Jim, I’m desperate. A lot of us are. This could blow up everything we’ve fought for . . .”

“You’re the chairman and . . .”

“And you’re the vice chairman, and you’ve got the voice and the smoosh. I can stall till you get here or else . . . no cattlemen’s association. Get it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I already got a room for you.

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