Far as the Eye Can See Read Online Free PDF Page A

had hair only on the top of his head because he shaved all around his ears and on his face so he looked like he had a black bowl on top of his head. When he wore his hat, he looked as bald as Joe Crane. Preston was broad from shoulder to hip, with runt-like bowlegs. He chewed tobacco all the time, so I would not let him put them brown stained lips on my whiskey bottle. He had to bring that little cup with him.
    We sat a good distance from the fire but I could still see their faces pretty good. Preston stared at the glare of the fire. Joe Crane said, “Where’d you get that repeater?” He pointed at my rifle.
    “Richmond, Virginia.”
    “You a Yank?”
    “I was.”
    “You get that in the army?” Preston said.
    “No army ever give nobody a gun like this,” I said.
    They both had single-shot carbines.
    “It ain’t no Spencer, is it?” Joe Crane said.
    “No. This holds a lot more bullets than a Spencer.” I told him what it was.
    “Evans,” he said. “I ain’t never heard of a gun like that. It just looks like a Spencer.”
    Theo strolled over to us. “A gun like what?” I handed it to him and he hefted it, then aimed down the barrel. “Kind of heavy, ain’t it?”
    “It’s fully loaded,” I said. “Thirty-four rounds.”
    He took his time examining every part of it. I explained how it worked. He held it up before his eyes and shook his head. “If we’d of had these at Vicksburg, the Yanks would still be trying to take it.”
    “And we’d still be at war,” I said. “Who could want such a thing?”
    He looked at me. “Make sure you’re standing up front with me tonight if we have visitors.”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “You expecting trouble?” Joe Crane said.
    Theo had no answer. He studied the rifle a bit more, then handed it back to me. “Handsome,” he said. He poked at the fire with a small stick he took from it, then he said, “I thought I smelled whiskey.” He was too proud to ask, so I handed him the bottle and he took a big gulp of it. He held the bottle for a while, watching the fire. “Good whiskey,” he said, and took another swig.
    “Help yourself.”
    “I want you to ride in front with me tomorrow,” he said.
    “I’ll do that.”
    “Bring that ’ere gun.” He handed the bottle back to me. “Good whiskey,” he said again. Then he stood up and walked back to his own fire.
    “You think he’s expecting Indians?” Joe Crane said.
    “Maybe he’s always expecting them,” I said.
    Preston spit some tobacco juice. “This is the country. This is where Red Top got his start.”
    “Who’s that?” I said.
    “Red Top’s Sioux. The Wahpekute variety. He’s a real killer.”
    I never heard of Red Top and I said so.
    “He had two sets of twins,” Preston said. “Nine wives. He lived in this country and hunted every foot of it. He got along with most folks too. Some have said he was a good neighbor. Got along with white folks.” He went on and told how the cavalry attacked another tribe of Sioux and his wife was among them. They killed her.
    “I heard they killed his whole family,” Joe Crane said.
    “I don’t know about that,” said Preston. “But he’s been on the warpath ever since.”
    “I hope it ain’t Red Top in command of that band we come on today,” Joe said.
    “No, Theo thinks they was Blackfeet,” I said.
    “Them Wahpekutes follow Red Top and do what he says. He’s like a general to them,” Preston said.
    “Ain’t all the chiefs like generals?” I said.
    “Indians don’t have no generals or commanders or nothing like that,” Preston said. “Not like you might think. They fight amongst themselves, and they follow any brave who has what they call ‘good medicine.’ Nobody’s really in charge. It’s the most democratic society you ever seen.”
    Joe Crane laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Savages every one and they’re deemo-cratic. I bet Red Top’s got so many wives, those folks following him might all be his family.”
    “They are