The Trailsman #396 by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

13

Three days after the bloody cartridge session in Doomed Domains, another act of apparent sabotage plunged the camel caravan into its worst crisis ­yet—­one bullets couldn’t remedy.

It happened just when Fargo had started to hope the violent deaths of Ham Rogers and Pinchito Montoya might have dissuaded the Scorpion from his latest plan. With the exception of light water rationing, caused by the slitting of ten water bags earlier, things had started to look up.

Two days west of Doomed Domains they had successfully resupplied a remote army observation post and rescue station at a dreary, ­wind-­scoured elevation called Saddleback Summit. The expedition was now slogging through the vast, desolate basin between the Old Woman Mountains and Joshua Tree, and now and then Fargo spotted the ­ermine-­capped Sierra Nevada range projecting above the horizon.

Much of the terrain now seemed as level and flat as a billiard table. But sand hills occasionally formed tall headlands with plenty of good hiding places above the trail. At such points Fargo was ever mindful of the Scorpion and Chief Tasenko’s aggrieved Mojaves. He usually found an alternate route even if they lost a little time.

On the morning of the third day west of Doomed Domains the expedition went into its usual daytime camp. Fargo, Deke, Grizz Bear and Private Jude Hollander lingered near the chuck wagon waiting for their coffee to cool. Nobody drank it hot in the Mojave.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Grizz Bear suddenly shouted. “Another glorious day nursing hunchback horses in God’s sandbox! I got the prickly rash so bad on my ass cheeks I hafta stand up in the stirrups.”

“If you hate the job so much,” Fargo said, “why’d you join up? Nobody put a gun to your head.”

“Fargo, I ain’t greedy for money, but it quiets my nerves. Two dollars a day and your eats ain’t such bad pay for an old fart with no pension.”

“Dang,” Jude said. “I only get twenty dollars a month, and it ain’t even real money.”

“Kid, a man can’t make a fist of any kind in the army,” Deke said, “unless he goes to West Point. Look at ­Robinson—­that worthless chunk of suet would be collecting buffalo bones for a living if he didn’t have the army. Now ­if—”

He abruptly fell silent as all three women emerged from their tent.

“I think I just felt my cod move,” Grizz Bear said.

Deke snorted. “Must be the wind nudged it, you old relic. Boys, lookit how Bobbie Lou is ogling Fargo.”

Grizz Bear shook with silent laughter. “She’s so jo-fired hot for’m her petticoat is charred. Fargo, it’s been comical as a puppet show watching you two tryin’ to figure out how to sneak off and do the black deed.”

“What’s the ­black—?” Jude fell silent when he caught on.

Grizz Bear hooted. “Does your mother know you’re out, infant?”

“You see that blanket Rosalinda’s carrying?” Deke said. “I seen how they do it. Two of the gals holds up the blanket for a screen while the third does her business.”

“’Cept for Miss Bradish,” Jude corrected him.

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.