Canyon Song Read Online Free PDF

idiots, he had no tolerance at all.
    Hamby started visibly, and his good eye’s gaze slid dangerously downward . The lazy one, as usual, stared off in some indeterminate direction. He’d be thinking of going for his revolver about now, Ward guessed. Hamby might be the idiot that Ward had named him, he might stink like an old skunk carcass, and he would certainly kill with no more compunction than a rabid dog. But even so, the man still had some crude sense of pride. Ward decided he’d better defuse the lunatic right now. After all, despite his vile nature, Hamby was more useful than one dead sheriff.
    “Sit down . Have a drink of something better than that poison you boys swill.”  Ward gestured toward a well-padded leather chair in the office of his grand home. His hand glided over his luxuriant brown mustache, smoothing both the whiskers and his lingering misgivings about Ned Hamby’s temper.
    Clearly, there was no cause to worry . He’d proven to Hamby long ago that he was the superior man, the one who had risen above base origins instead of sinking to their depths. Cameron’s books, his education, even the cut and cloth of his suit marked his mastery over Hamby’s sort as indelibly as a brand of ownership.
    Ward took special pride in the fineness of both this office and his respectable frame home, an anomaly better suited to an elm-lined avenue in Connecticut than a pine-studded hill in northern Arizona . Certainly, his abode was beyond his means as a simple territorial circuit judge. But Ward had no intention of remaining stuck in this backwater post much longer. The home he’d built and the trappings of wealth that he’d acquired only served as portents of the future for which he was destined.
    His gaze swept across the room, and he tried to imagine how intimidating it would be to filth like Hamby . A stark memory rippled through him like a sick chill. Himself as a young boy, invited into the home of his Connecticut burg’s mayor and his wife, the parents of a schoolmate. The stunning realization that not every house had floorboards gnawed by rats nor walls lined with newspaper advertising. Not every mother reeked of cheap liquor, sour sweat, and vomit. Not every father’s fists swung whenever a son ventured into reach. Even now, though years had passed and he’d come so very far, the old shame rose, a bitter shade.
    He vanquished it as always, by surveying the elegant paintings of racehorses that graced his paneled walls . In addition to the expensive chairs, a huge, black walnut desk gleamed, polished to a luster by his housekeeper, Elena. Nearby, a long, matching table held an engraved silver tray. Atop it stood a crystal decanter of smooth Tennessee whiskey and a sextet of crystal glasses.
    Ward felt pleased at Hamby’s look of confusion, as if the offer of a rare boon after the insult had thrown him off balance . Ned nodded and dropped into the chair.
    Ward smiled as he turned toward the long table . He could almost picture his civilized offer extinguishing Hamby’s anger like a heavy snowfall smothering the flame of a lit fuse.
    His outstretched hand had nearly reached the decanter when he heard a sound that froze the breath inside his lungs . The sound of boot heels striking precious wood. He wheeled about and glared at Hamby, whose feet now rested atop the dark river of the desktop. A small, moist clot of horse manure clung to the right sole.
    “Were you sired by a boar hog and dammed by a burro, boy ? That’s furniture , right there.”  God in heaven, he didn’t need to deal with this oaf now, not after the mess he’d unearthed earlier this afternoon. His head was still reeling with the news that his claim had been denied because the land already had an owner.
    Something in Hamby’s face tightened . With studied nonchalance, he removed his feet, one at a time. Crumbs of droppings remained atop the desk, but he ignored them. “I didn’t ride out here to be chawed on, Cameron. I come to