War Party (Ss) (1982) by L'amour Louis

Author:L'amour, Louis [L'amour, Louis]
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-12-12T06:26:09.328000+00:00

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A Mule for Santa Fe.

Sell the mules,' Hassoldt advised, "you want oxen. Less water for 'em an' their feet flatten out on the prairie country where a mule's dig in. If you get hard up for grub you can always eat an ox."

"If I get that hungry," Scott Miles replied shortly, "I can eat a mule."

Hassoldt was an abrupt man. He turned away now, his irritation plain. "Suit yourself, Miles. But you'll need another mule and I haven't any for sale."

Bitterly, Scott Miles turned away and went out the door. Rain lashed at his face, for outside the building there was neither awning nor boardwalk. Head bowed into the rain, he slopped along toward the Carter house where young Bill was waiting.

Hassoldt wanted those mules badly, and no wonder. There would be a big demand for them in a few months, and nobody had mules like those of Scott Miles. They were well-bred and well-fed, strapping big mules with plenty of power. If he could get them west there would be money in them.

Everywhere he went they advised against the mules. On roads they were fine. On rocks they were all right. But out on the prairie?

Pembroke advised against them, too. However, after much argument he had agreed to accept the wagon in his company if Miles had a full team of six mules. Four, Pembroke insisted, were not enough. Not even, he added, if the mules were big as those of Miles' team.

There were half a dozen people in the hotel when he stepped in. Pembroke was there, a big, fine-looking man with a tawny mustache. He was talking to Bidwell, a substantial farmer from Ohio who had been the first to sign for Pembroke's fast wagon train.

Miles looked around and found Billy. He was talking to a pretty woman with dark red hair who sat in a big, leather-bound chair.

Bill saw him at once. "Pa," he said excitedly, "this is Mrs. Hance."

She looked up and he was immediately uneasy. She had blue eyes, not dark eyes like Mary's had been, and there was a friendliness in them that disturbed him. "Bill's been telling me about you, Mr. Miles. Have you found a mule?"

Glad to be on familiar ground, he shook his head. "Hassoldt won't sell. I'm afraid I'm out of luck." He was absurdly conscious of his battered hat, its brim limp with rain and his unshaven jaws. He wanted to get away from her. Women like this both irritated and disturbed him. She was too neat, too perfectly at ease. He knew what such women were like on the trail, finicky and frightened of bugs and fussing over trifles. Also, and he was frank to admit it to himself, he was a little jealous of Bill's excited interest.

"We'd better go, Bill. Say good-by to Mrs. Hance."

He walked out, red around the ears and conscious that somehow Bill felt he had failed him. It was not necessary for him to have been so abrupt. Just because he looked like a big backwoods farmer was no reason he should act like one.

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