Ralph Compton Comanche Trail Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Carlton Stowers
marshal.
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Brantley Thorntree was slight and bony, half a foot shorter than the man who had already interrupted his morning sleep once that day. An unruly beard hid much of his face, and his clothes hung on him like a scarecrowâs as he rose from hischair on the boardwalk in front of the jail. Only the deep growl of his voice hinted at the authority one might expect of a lawman.
âMighty short trip,â he said. He looked westward toward the approaching cloud bank. âI reckon youâve come to seek shelter before the storm arrives.â
âTruth is, Iâm in need of your help,â Taylor said as he dismounted.
âCome have a sit and tell me whatâs troubling you.â
Taylor recounted his journey and its purpose, ending his story with the fact that he was certain the watch heâd seen in John Benderâs hand belonged to his missing father. âMarshal, thereâs something strange going on down at that foul-smelling place,â he said, his words coming more rapidly. âSeems to me everybody there is half-crazy or worse. Thereâs a dim-witted son and a sister who claims to have special powers to talk with dead folks. The old woman barely speaks the language and the old man, he seems to just do whatever pleases her.â
âTheyâs a lot of strange folks moving out this way these days.â The marshal spat into the street. âCanât say what youâre describing is all that unusual, though I have heard tell of the pretty young woman who offers a variety of special favors. Not that I know about them firsthand, mind you.
âLet me think on it,â he said. âCanât do nothing till this storm clears anyway. Best you hurry on down to the livery and get you and your horse a dry place to stay the night. My old bones tell me we got us a frog-strangler coming our way.â
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The storm hit with a vengeance. Loud claps of thunder rattled the walls of the stable where Taylor lay, head resting on thesaddle heâd removed from Magazine. Though he was weary and distraught, rest evaded him as his horse nervously paced the small stall. Outside, the sky had blackened long before sundown, and the rain beat against the roof with a roar.
He could not rid his thoughts of the scene that had played out at the way station.
Or of his father. Was it possible that an educated man like him could have believed the claims of a young woman boasting powers to reach out to those who had passed? Had he, in desperation and sadness, been convinced that, for a dollarâs price, he might hear the comforting words of his wife one more time? And, if so, had it led to yet another family tragedy? What, he wondered, would he say to Sister upon his return if his dark concerns proved true? If there was real truth to the dreams sheâd told him about?
The questions raced through his mind late into the night.
There was a squeak of the hinges on the livery door and a figure appeared, a lantern flickering at his side. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat and down the slicker he wore. âYou in here, boy?â It was the voice of Marshal Thorntree.
âI figured the thunder was most likely keeping you awake,â he said. âMe, I donât get much sleep nights, no matter what the weather. I reckon thatâs why you caught me snoozing earlier in the day. We need to do some more talking.â
Taylor rose, brushing hay from his pants, but made no response.
âTruth is,â the marshal said, âyou ainât the first to come to me with a concern for lost kinfolk. People been disappearing along the trail now for some time. I didnât give it much mind, thinking there was all manner of explanation. Maybe they lost their pioneering spirit and turned back or fell ill or gotthemselves killed by savages who still take leave of their reservations now and again.
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â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
Brantley Thorntree was slight and bony, half a foot shorter than the man who had already interrupted his morning sleep once that day. An unruly beard hid much of his face, and his clothes hung on him like a scarecrowâs as he rose from hischair on the boardwalk in front of the jail. Only the deep growl of his voice hinted at the authority one might expect of a lawman.
âMighty short trip,â he said. He looked westward toward the approaching cloud bank. âI reckon youâve come to seek shelter before the storm arrives.â
âTruth is, Iâm in need of your help,â Taylor said as he dismounted.
âCome have a sit and tell me whatâs troubling you.â
Taylor recounted his journey and its purpose, ending his story with the fact that he was certain the watch heâd seen in John Benderâs hand belonged to his missing father. âMarshal, thereâs something strange going on down at that foul-smelling place,â he said, his words coming more rapidly. âSeems to me everybody there is half-crazy or worse. Thereâs a dim-witted son and a sister who claims to have special powers to talk with dead folks. The old woman barely speaks the language and the old man, he seems to just do whatever pleases her.â
âTheyâs a lot of strange folks moving out this way these days.â The marshal spat into the street. âCanât say what youâre describing is all that unusual, though I have heard tell of the pretty young woman who offers a variety of special favors. Not that I know about them firsthand, mind you.
âLet me think on it,â he said. âCanât do nothing till this storm clears anyway. Best you hurry on down to the livery and get you and your horse a dry place to stay the night. My old bones tell me we got us a frog-strangler coming our way.â
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
The storm hit with a vengeance. Loud claps of thunder rattled the walls of the stable where Taylor lay, head resting on thesaddle heâd removed from Magazine. Though he was weary and distraught, rest evaded him as his horse nervously paced the small stall. Outside, the sky had blackened long before sundown, and the rain beat against the roof with a roar.
He could not rid his thoughts of the scene that had played out at the way station.
Or of his father. Was it possible that an educated man like him could have believed the claims of a young woman boasting powers to reach out to those who had passed? Had he, in desperation and sadness, been convinced that, for a dollarâs price, he might hear the comforting words of his wife one more time? And, if so, had it led to yet another family tragedy? What, he wondered, would he say to Sister upon his return if his dark concerns proved true? If there was real truth to the dreams sheâd told him about?
The questions raced through his mind late into the night.
There was a squeak of the hinges on the livery door and a figure appeared, a lantern flickering at his side. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat and down the slicker he wore. âYou in here, boy?â It was the voice of Marshal Thorntree.
âI figured the thunder was most likely keeping you awake,â he said. âMe, I donât get much sleep nights, no matter what the weather. I reckon thatâs why you caught me snoozing earlier in the day. We need to do some more talking.â
Taylor rose, brushing hay from his pants, but made no response.
âTruth is,â the marshal said, âyou ainât the first to come to me with a concern for lost kinfolk. People been disappearing along the trail now for some time. I didnât give it much mind, thinking there was all manner of explanation. Maybe they lost their pioneering spirit and turned back or fell ill or gotthemselves killed by savages who still take leave of their reservations now and again.
âI