It's Your Misfortune and None of My Own (Code of the West) Read Online Free PDF

Everything org anized in neat little velvet bags.
    “Cosmetics. And some fancy perfume? Oooh-weee, if that don’t trap the men, nothin’ will. Good grief, girl, where did you get all this money? You ain’t a bank robber, are you? A Bible? Let me see. It must be in the front. Here it is. Miss Suzanne Cedar, born June 1858, Franklin County, Ke ntucky. Father: Thaddeus S. Cedar. Mother: Mavis Liddon Cedar. Brother: Abel Giles Cedar.
    “That tells who you are, but not why you’re out in the mou ntains of Colorado. You’re about my age, but I don’t think I look nothin’ like you. April has probably been drinkin’.”
    She continued digging in the valise.
    “Would you look at these pretties. Suzanne! A Bible-readin’ girl like you shouldn’t be wearin’ . . . letters? These must be real important. You’ve almost worn the ink off them. You got them numbered on the outside.
    “Number 1. ‘February 23, 1881. Dear Miss Suzanne C edar.’ Who is this guy? He doesn’t even know you . . . oh, knows your brother, Abel. Let’s see, he wanted to write to the ‘golden-haired’ sister. Honey, he’s buttering you up for something.
    “Ah, he’s medium height and build, dark hair, brown eyes. 1848? Suzanne, this man’s ten years older than you. Punchin’ cows .  . . goin’ to drive a herd to Montana and then buy a ranch and settle down. Oh, brother, is he out shoppin’ for a wife? . . . Zachariah M. Hatcher. That’s a handsome name. A man like that could be governor some day.
    “Number 2. She must have wrote back to him. He says the ranch has a good-sized house and barn. That’s it, honey, this old boy’s lookin’ for someone to milk the cows. You didn’t string along with this, did you? ‘I’m drawn irr esistibly once again to stay in this land, a land too vast to describe.’ Oh, you’re gettin’ suckered, Suzanne Cedar.
    “Number 3. He pushed the cattle through .  . . tough times . . . He’s a Presbyterian . . . doesn’t drink? Sure, Suzanne, don’t fall for it. They all make wild promises. He’s got few friends . . . family’s died . . . ‘can only speak to you.’ Oh, brother, get out the violins. She’s a singer? A patient lady? You can say that again, Mr. Hatcher. I would have dumped you a long time ago.”
    Pepper dragged her rocking chair over closer to the la ntern, turned up the wick, and sat back down to read letter number 4.
    “He bought the ranch .  . . still trying to butter her up . . . doesn’t have any cows. What good is a ranch without cows? He wears a .44 but hasn’t shot anyone. He sent a photograph.”
    She dug through the valise, but she found no photograph.
    “Number 5. ‘Dear Suzanne.’ Now he’s gettin’ real chummy. He’s headed to Arizona to look for her brother and buy some bulls. Honey, the whole thing smells like bull. Let’s see, the ranch is on the western slope of the Medicine Bows by the Camp, Village Belle, and Lawrence Creeks. The Triple Creek Ranch? That makes sense. Five thousand acres . . . That’s a nice start. Big, wood-frame house with immense fireplace, small kitchen, one bedroom. But the barn is in good condition. Whoop-te-do, Mr. Hatcher, an engagement ring. Sent through the mail without meeting you? ‘Frightfully bold.’ Boy, ain’t that the truth?”
    Pepper pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and then continued scanning the letters.
    “Number 6. Condolences and prayers? Oh, your father died. . . . You could bring your Kentucky horses. That’s why you have calluses, darlin’. . . . ‘Every beautiful sunset, every crisp clear mountain morning, every smile in a child’s face makes me long to share these experiences with you.’”
    Pepper stared over at the injured woman on the bed. Then she reached up to wipe her eyes.
    But there were no tears.
    “Number 7. He’s in Arizona now .  . . worries that the photograph wasn’t a good likeness of him . . . oh, that’s great. Will meet you in Fort Collins