Sunset Trail Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Wayne D. Overholser
from him.
“I won’t hurt you.”
“I know you won’t,” she cried, a hand clutching her knife. “I’ll get more than buckskin this time if you move out of your
tracks. Or if you ever tell anybody what you’ve found out.”
“You’re saying nobody knows you’re a woman?” Bruce asked incredulously.
“Curt Glover. No one else. Dad wanted a son, so he made a boy out of me. It’s the only way I could be safe on the trail with
the kind of men we had around us.”
“You’re not going to Santa Fé?”
“Certainly,” she said, as if no other course had ever entered her mind. “Half the business is mine, and Dad would want me
to run it.”
Mick Catherwood was very much a woman with her hair shiny bright under the morning sun. She had seemed small and fine-featured
for a boy, but now she was exactly as she should be, and Bruce smiled in appreciation when he thought of her in a dress.
“What are you smirking about?” she demanded.
“I was putting a dress on you.”
“You can take it off,” she blazed. “I’ll run the Catherwood half of the business as a man would run it. Don’t think. . . .”
She paused, lips tightening as she remembered what Bruce had said. “Why did you tell me you thought Glover had killed Dad?”
“Maybe because he smokes cigars.”
“Of all the. . . .”
“Did your dad believe in separating New Mexico and making an independent republic?”
“No. He was trying to stop it. Glover was the one who was working with Wade Flint and Pancho Lopez.”
“That’s right strange,” Bruce murmured. “Glover told me and Purdy the opposite.”
“You’re lying again,” she challenged.
“Ask Purdy.” He gestured wearily. “Ma’am, this is the biggest year the United States has had since we fought the British and
signed the treaty of Ghent. Inside of a month we may be fighting both Mexico and England. The War Department knows that Catherwood
and Glover ordered a large shipment of guns and powder, and if they get to. . . .”
“That’s another lie,” she said hotly. “Dad never took any more guns than we needed to fight off Indian attacks.”
“How many wagons have you usually taken?”
“Fifteen.”
“This time there are twenty-five.”
“That’s wrong. We’re using the same. . . .” The girl paused, biting a lip as if a new thought had come to her. “Dad went to
the mule market yesterday and was going to stay all day. Then he got into an argument with Glover, and I thought they were
going to have a fight. He told me to stay and buy ten more mules. He went with Glover, and that was the last time I saw him
alive.”
“Have they had trouble?”
“They’ve quarreled from the moment Glover showed up in Independence with Flint. He was supposed to stay in Santa Fé, and Dad
didn’t know he was coming East until he rode in.”
“What about Flint?”
“He was in Santa Fé all last summer and fall trying to organize a revolution against Armijo. The only wealthy Mexican who’s
with him is Lopez, but there are a number of Americans like Glover who want it to go through.”
“Then your father and Glover may have had a ruckus over this separatist movement. Or maybe your dad wouldn’t stand for the
shipment of guns.” “Glover isn’t a murderer, Shane. He’s a smart trader, but he doesn’t like violence. He’s even afraid of
the trail.”
“Mick, I hope you’ll believe I want the man who murdered your father.”
“You haven’t proved to me you didn’t,” she flung at him.
“Then think of what four thousand guns distributed among the Comanches will do. Or among the Pueblos and renegades who are
in with Flint. Or suppose Armijo gets his hands on them for his soldiers?”
“I know,” she said tonelessly. “Before we left Santa Fé, we had reasonable proof that the Comanches had been bribed to attack
American caravans bound for Santa Fé.”
“The War Department had a high regard for your father,” he
“I won’t hurt you.”
“I know you won’t,” she cried, a hand clutching her knife. “I’ll get more than buckskin this time if you move out of your
tracks. Or if you ever tell anybody what you’ve found out.”
“You’re saying nobody knows you’re a woman?” Bruce asked incredulously.
“Curt Glover. No one else. Dad wanted a son, so he made a boy out of me. It’s the only way I could be safe on the trail with
the kind of men we had around us.”
“You’re not going to Santa Fé?”
“Certainly,” she said, as if no other course had ever entered her mind. “Half the business is mine, and Dad would want me
to run it.”
Mick Catherwood was very much a woman with her hair shiny bright under the morning sun. She had seemed small and fine-featured
for a boy, but now she was exactly as she should be, and Bruce smiled in appreciation when he thought of her in a dress.
“What are you smirking about?” she demanded.
“I was putting a dress on you.”
“You can take it off,” she blazed. “I’ll run the Catherwood half of the business as a man would run it. Don’t think. . . .”
She paused, lips tightening as she remembered what Bruce had said. “Why did you tell me you thought Glover had killed Dad?”
“Maybe because he smokes cigars.”
“Of all the. . . .”
“Did your dad believe in separating New Mexico and making an independent republic?”
“No. He was trying to stop it. Glover was the one who was working with Wade Flint and Pancho Lopez.”
“That’s right strange,” Bruce murmured. “Glover told me and Purdy the opposite.”
“You’re lying again,” she challenged.
“Ask Purdy.” He gestured wearily. “Ma’am, this is the biggest year the United States has had since we fought the British and
signed the treaty of Ghent. Inside of a month we may be fighting both Mexico and England. The War Department knows that Catherwood
and Glover ordered a large shipment of guns and powder, and if they get to. . . .”
“That’s another lie,” she said hotly. “Dad never took any more guns than we needed to fight off Indian attacks.”
“How many wagons have you usually taken?”
“Fifteen.”
“This time there are twenty-five.”
“That’s wrong. We’re using the same. . . .” The girl paused, biting a lip as if a new thought had come to her. “Dad went to
the mule market yesterday and was going to stay all day. Then he got into an argument with Glover, and I thought they were
going to have a fight. He told me to stay and buy ten more mules. He went with Glover, and that was the last time I saw him
alive.”
“Have they had trouble?”
“They’ve quarreled from the moment Glover showed up in Independence with Flint. He was supposed to stay in Santa Fé, and Dad
didn’t know he was coming East until he rode in.”
“What about Flint?”
“He was in Santa Fé all last summer and fall trying to organize a revolution against Armijo. The only wealthy Mexican who’s
with him is Lopez, but there are a number of Americans like Glover who want it to go through.”
“Then your father and Glover may have had a ruckus over this separatist movement. Or maybe your dad wouldn’t stand for the
shipment of guns.” “Glover isn’t a murderer, Shane. He’s a smart trader, but he doesn’t like violence. He’s even afraid of
the trail.”
“Mick, I hope you’ll believe I want the man who murdered your father.”
“You haven’t proved to me you didn’t,” she flung at him.
“Then think of what four thousand guns distributed among the Comanches will do. Or among the Pueblos and renegades who are
in with Flint. Or suppose Armijo gets his hands on them for his soldiers?”
“I know,” she said tonelessly. “Before we left Santa Fé, we had reasonable proof that the Comanches had been bribed to attack
American caravans bound for Santa Fé.”
“The War Department had a high regard for your father,” he