Leon Uris Read Online Free PDF

war, one eye and all, and marries the most beautiful girl on the western slopes. I knew his yahoo days were over, right, Pedro?”
    “I don’t even miss it,” Pedro answered.
    “Pedro talked me into letting him run the place until after the war, when I could find a buyer. We’re going to stake Pedro to a couple hundred acres somewhere.”
    “I’ll let you two gentlemen have at it,” Pedro added. “I’ll be down at the diner, Sergeant Dan.”
    There was talk between Dan and Dancy about the size of the ranch—well over two thousand acres with bits and pieces all over the mountain, and the waterrights were clean. The house, worth at least eleven thousand dollars, would be part of the deal. They shillied and shallied, Dan’s service and decorations making their own impact. Dancy had hoped to save the ranch for some Mormon boy returning from the war, but this had a hopping good flavor to it.
    “What’re the numbers?” Dan gulped.
    Dancy studied the ledger. “It’s a good ranch and expandable, except for where those crazy Slavs started fencing each other off and cheating with the water.”
    “How much?”
    “Can’t tell precisely. There’s almost thirty thousand still on the books. I’d have to research the county records, particularly the government land abutting the south. Forty-some thousand would swing it, I’d say.”
    Dan’s heart became a cannonball.
    “You were a cop in New York?”
    “In the three days I’ve ridden with Pedro, I find I can ride a horse without too much discomfort.”
    “Wounded?”
    “Yes, sir. Saipan.”
    “How much can you put in?”
    “I have over nine thousand cash and probably can raise another four or five from my family.”
    “But you don’t know doodly egg roll about cattle.”
    Dan lowered his eyes and shrugged.
    “I have an idea,” Dancy said. “Do you like Pedro Martinez?”
    “I’d have him in my platoon anyday.”
    “He used to be a hell-raising kid, too generous with money he didn’t have, and Mexicans have no inherited family money. Fact is, Sergeant, we have already turned him down for a large loan. They are not too dependable, if you know what I mean.”
    “He’s honest, isn’t he?”
    “Honest as Jesus. He was in the hospital for almost a year, mostly blindfolded with sandbags holding his head still. If you don’t find God that way, He isn’t there for you. Right now I pay him ten percent of the net and housing. If you were to, say, give him twenty percent, you’d have one of the best cattlemen in Colorado.”
    “Let me talk it over with the wife.”
    “Confidentially, Sergeant, you and I can make a deal, but only if you have someone to train you.” Dancy leaned over close. “I’m a man of God,” he said, “and God tells me the two of you together are well worth the risk.”
     
    It took time for Daniel Timothy O’Connell to transform from Brooklyn cop to rugged Coloradan. All of about a week. His attitude was a force, a force that wakened him every morning, led him to his knees to thank God for bringing them to this place.
    Dan loved boots and cowboy hats and leather chaps. He loved to rope and brand and train his new border collie. He loved life during a challenging blizzard.
    Dan loved the rodeos and the B.S. that went with cattle trading. He loved the respect. He was a tough man in a tough valley.
    Saturday night in the old mining town, Troublesome Mesa came to life at the Bottomless Mine Saloon. For all the hurrahs, it was peaceful enough to bring the women folk. Dan taught the band a repertoire of Irish ballads to augment the sadass country and western songs.
    “It’s Irish time!” and Christ, Dan O’Connell moved you to tears with his “Danny Boy.” If he only had Justin Quinn singing with him, he always thought.
    As trust developed between Dan and Pedro, they made a hardworking, clever, aggressive team. Dan had been a platoon sergeant, and men learned to listen to him. He did not have to be told to listen to Pedro.
    For