Read Rosa's Land: Western Justice - book 1 Online
Authors: Gilbert Morris
Rosa's Land: Western Justice - book 1 (14 page)
Ringo Jukes said quickly, “I didn’t mean to get on the wrong side of you, Miss Ramirez. I like your grandfather. I’ll be glad to help any way I can.”
Rosa smiled. “Thank you, Ringo, and my friends call me Rosa.”
“I’ll be glad to teach you about horses,” Blinky spoke up.
Ned Little shrugged. “I don’t claim to be no sharpshooter, but I think I can show you how to put a bullet where it will discourage a man. You ready to start?”
“Yes. Blinky, you start teaching Juan about horses while I learn how to shoot horse thieves.”
E
ileen began a letter to Faye late in the afternoon before the menfolk came home from work. She wanted to have time to reread it and make sure it was worded well, for his letters to her always seemed to touch her deeply. She put the letter away in a drawer in the bedroom and went downstairs to make sure dinner was ready.
When the men came in, they had to clean up. Finally they came to the table. Their talk was of the factory and things that she knew little about, but she did sense that there was something about the way her husband did business that seemed cold and calculated. Knowing little enough about the world of business, she picked up on the fact that he was a hard man when it came to business tactics. She knew he did not mind using his power to crush a smaller and more vulnerable business opponent, and this disturbed her. But she could think of no way to change it.
When the meal was finally over and the men went to the study to smoke and finish their talk, she went upstairs, took the letter from the drawer, and then went to the parlor. Sitting down, she unfolded it with hands not quite steady. She was not a woman easily disturbed, but the problems of this youngest son of hers occupied her mind. She prayed for him every day with all the power she could muster and hoped her letters reminded him of the home she longed for him to return to.
Faye blew on the completed letter to his mother to dry the ink and then read it over to check for any errors.
Dearest Mother
,I wanted to get this letter off to you as quickly as possible because I have missed a few days. I hope you have not been worrying about me, as I am absolutely in no danger here. As I told you before, Judge Parker saw to it that I had a job, and the head marshal, Chester Swinson, sees to it that I have plenty to do
.I am learning a great deal about horses. As you know, I have never been comfortable on a horse. To tell the truth I’ve always been afraid of large animals, but that has been changing here. It is my job to take care of them, which includes cleaning up after them, grooming them, and seeing that they are fed properly. I’ve picked up quite a bit from the stable hand here. His name is Josh. He’s a black man and a fine Christian. He’s been after me to go to church with him, and I went last Sunday. It was a black Methodist church, and the preacher was very eloquent. The singing was nothing like we have in our churches. The people all sang at the top of their lungs, some of them raised their hands, some clapped their hands. They had the best time I’ve ever seen any congregation have. I understand the Methodists are like this, the old-time ones anyway. Maybe I can find a Methodist church that has some of the early beginnings in it
.I’ve been getting plenty to eat here. There is no shortage of good food. The marshals come in at all hours after long trips. They’re always hungry, dirty, and tired, so it’s my job to see that they get good meals. I’ve even helped out by cleaning their boots and little things like that. I haven’t gotten to be friendly with any of them because it’s sort of like a men’s club. The marshals make a close confederation and stick together, and I can see that you have to buy your way in with deeds and not just words
.I get up before daylight and work on preparing the breakfast with the cook. Afterward I clean up the dishes. Then Marshal Swinson puts me to some work that usually takes me the rest of the day. As a matter of fact, I hardly ever finish the list he gives me
.As I was saying, I have never been comfortable around horses. I told you about Patsy, the one I rode on vacation. She was a sweetheart, but there’s a horse here that I’ve grown rather close to. Her name is Maggie, and none of the marshals will have her, or at least she’s always the last choice. I found out that she’s gentle, too lazy to buck, and the men think she’s not tough enough to go on the scout with them. That’s what
they call it, “going on the scout.” But I’ve learned she’s very patient and never bucks. I’ve learned how to throw on a saddle and put on a bridle very quickly. I’ve learned to get on a horse without any problem and stay on. Well, there’s no triumph there, Mother, because any ten-year-old could stay on Maggie, but I’ve grown very fond of her
.I must close this letter and get it in the mail. One of the men is going to the post office, and he said he would drop it off for me. I miss you a great deal, and once again I tell you there’s no point in worrying about me. I’m doing nothing more dangerous than washing dishes and cleaning up after horses
.I did make one friend here. A big dog that’s been hanging around, they say, marshal headquarters for a long time. He has one eye, no tail—it’s been chopped off—and three legs. His name is Lucky, which I think is really poignant, but he’s a good dog. I save him scraps from the kitchen, which nobody ever did, and he and I have a good time together
.I’ll close this letter by asking you to continue to pray for me. Sooner or later I will be going on the scout, but I will let you know. Just give my regards to Dad and my brothers, and tell them I’m thinking of them
.With warm regards
,
Faye
Faye quickly folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, sealed it, and went to find Clyde Jordan, one of the marshals, who was headed for town. “Would you mail this letter for me, Clyde? Here’s the money for the postage.”
“I reckon so.” Clyde was a big, bulky man, good-natured, and not as standoffish as some of the other marshals. “This to your sweetheart?”
“In a way. It’s to my mother.”
Clyde nodded approvingly. “That’s good, Riordan. You can have lots of sweethearts, but you only have one mother, and I’ll bet she’s a dandy.”
“Yes, she is. Thanks a lot, Clyde. I’ll save you some pie tonight before the gluttons eat it all up. What kind do you like?”
“Any kind.” Clyde took the letter, and he left.
Almost at once Faye ran from his room, which was nothing more than a space above one of the stables. He had made a fairly good bed there and kept his belongings nearby. He came down the steps quickly and went to help with the breakfast. The cook was a fat, greasy man, good-natured enough except when someone crossed him. His name was Davis Beauregard. He was a French Cajun and a pretty good cook.
As soon as Riordan entered, Beauregard said, “Get started on them pancakes. You know how these sorry lawmen eat ‘em up quicker than we can make ‘em.”
“Sure thing, Beauregard.”
The men came trooping in, and Riordan put plates down and big cups. They were all hollering for breakfast, and he carried in a huge stack of pancakes and divided them up. He went back and brought another stack in and then filled their coffee cups. He ran back and forth, and finally, when the last pancake had been devoured and the last marshal had left, he drew a sigh of relief. “Well, I guess that will keep ‘em fed, until noon anyway, Beauregard.”
“They ain’t got no manners. You sit down and eat something, Riordan. You’ve got to be hungry.”
“I’ll fix it.”
“Shut up and sit down. I’ll bring it to you.”
Riordan grinned, for beneath the crusty manner of Beauregard was a heart that was fairly good. He ate five pancakes along with fried ham and downed several cups of coffee. He got up, took his dishes back, and said, “You make the best pancakes in the world, Beauregard.”
“You’d think I was feedin’ ‘em hog feed, them marshals. Back where I come from in Bastrop, Louisiana, we had a few manners. We’d tell the cook he done good. They never say a nice word.”
This was true enough, so Riordan always made sure he managed to say something nice about the food to the cook. “I’d better get these dishes washed,” he said. For the next hour he worked hard scrubbing the plates and the silverware and putting them away. He was just finishing when Chester Swinson came in.
The marshal’s face was red, as it usually was when he was upset—which was most of the time. “Quit loafing here, Riordan! You got to clean out the stables. Take the refuse over to the judge’s garden. I’ll be watching you to see that you don’t go to sleep.”
“Sure thing, Chief Swinson.”
As always, Riordan was careful to give a quick word to the marshal. He had done that ever since he had been there. Never once complaining. Always ready to go.
He went out at once, and for the next hour and a half he shoveled the stalls of the horses.
He whistled and continued to work, and when he finally finished, he walked over and washed his face and hands but knew there was no point in changing his clothes, for Marshal Swinson would have another dirty job for him.
The judge and Swinson were talking over the cases on the docket and deciding which men to send out on the scout. After they had settled all this, the judge suddenly asked, “How’s that boy doing? Young Riordan?”
“Well, Judge”—Swinson scratched his head, and a puzzled look came into his face—“I’ve treated that boy like a dog. He should have hit me and left here. He’s got determination if he ain’t got nothing else.”
“Well, I thought he would have quit by this time, Chester. Just keep pouring it on.”
“His ma still worried about him? I don’t think she has to worry. He’s good at mucking stalls and washing dishes and other dirty jobs, but that ain’t what we need out in the Territory.”
The judge was thoughtful for a while. He tapped his chin with a pencil then ran his hand over his hair. “I’ll tell you what, Swinson. Heck is going out to serve a paper on Sudden Sam Biggers. Why don’t we send Riordan along?”
“Why, he ain’t ready to go out on the scout.”
“It’s not much of a scout, as Biggers is pretty small-fry. He won’t give any trouble. And you know how Heck wears his partners out. Riordan might get worn down to the knees trying to keep up with him and give up this idea.”
“But he could get hurt. He might meet somebody worse than Sam.”
“Well, you tell Heck to look out for him.”
“Maybe you’re right, Judge. Maybe a taste of what marshals have to do will discourage him. It makes me nervous when a grown man don’t get mad when he’s put on the way I put it on Riordan.”
“Okay. You talk to Heck. Be sure you make it plain. We don’t want him shot up.”
“No danger of that. Sudden Sam never shot nobody. Ain’t nothing but a two-bit thief.”
“Well, there are other rough ones out there besides Sam. Just make it clear to Heck I don’t want the boy hurt.”
“All right, Judge. Maybe it’ll work.”
