The Busted Thumb Horse Ranch Read Online Free PDF Page A

He was a friend of my mother’s
a long time ago.”
    “Well,” Turner said, “all this legal horseshit is
in order, far’s I can tell. What’re you gonna do
with the place?”
    I launched into my dissertation on how we were
going to breed, raise, and train the best working
horses in the West.
    “You been out to look things over yet?”
    “Nope. We figured we’d have a decent meal
and a decent sleep ’fore we rode out to it.”
    “You won’t get a whole lot of hay or grain out
of it—it’s awfully rocky and the good soil is shallow.
You might better sharecrop it out an’ take
your cut in hay an’ oats. I know a couple families
who’d be right interested.”
    “Fine. I’d like to talk with them.”
    Turner nodded. “I’ll send them on out in a day
or so.” He took a long drink. “You got a good
number of free-range beef out there—you ain’t
gonna starve. But you watch yourself and your
horse around them. Those goddamn longhorns
would just as soon rip a horse’s gut as he would
graze sweet grass. I was you, I’d pick one off from
a good distance off with that Sharps an’ then
drag him in to butcher.”
    “We’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
    Turner set down his empty mug and stood.
“One more thing. Like I said, Mr. Dansworth
runs Hulberton. He’s got me an’ a good number
of others to help him out. He’s a horseman—you
might both be lookin’ for the same thing.”
    “Lotsa horses aroun’,” I said. “Enough for
everybody.”
    “Sure,” Turner said. “Long as Mr. Dansworth
gets the best there won’t be no trouble. But don’t
ever mess with him. Hear? You’ll end up dead,
you do.”
    “Thass a threat?” Arm asked.
    “You bet it is. An’ it’s a bet you boys can’t win.”
    “Boolshit,” Arm commented.
    “We don’t take to threats real well,” I said.
    Turner’s entire demeanor changed from friendly
cowhand to dangerous enemy. “Doesn’t seem to
me either of you is real smart, then. You cause us
any grief an’ you’ll regret it real quick.”

Chapter Two
    Tiny walked in a few moments after Turner left.
The blacksmith nodded at and greeted most of the
men in the bar and pulled up a chair at our table.
“Damn,” he said, “after a day wrestling with
horses, a man gets a strong thirst.”
    Arm waved his arm over the just-replenished
mugs on the table like a magician drawing attention
to a feat he’s just performed.
    Tiny drank mugs of beer like other men down
shots of whiskey: he picked up the mug, brought it
to his mouth, tilted his head back, and swallowed
the beverage all in one smooth, well-practiced
move. He performed this four times and then
waved to the tender for more beer. “Ahhhhh,” he
sighed happily. “If that don’t go down nice, I sure
don’t know what does.”
    “Our horses check out good?” I asked.
    “Oh, yeah. There were some minor quarter
cracks on the Appy, but I took care of them. The
packer’s okay, ’cept for his age. He’s probably older
than God. It looks like he still has some years left
in him, though.”
    Tiny told us what he knew about the place I’d
inherited. “Ol’ Ven Gelpwell ’cropped out most of
the land, which ain’t a bad idea. You’ll need to dosome
fencing. But hell, the barn an’ house are
good. I’d say you boys lucked into a real sweet
spread.”
    He downed another beer. “Say—a ranch gotta
have a name. Wadda ya gonna call yours?”
    I scratched my head. “I haven’t given it any
thought,” I said. “But you’re right.” I was quiet for
a moment. “How about ‘Hulberton Fine Working
Horses’?”
    Armando laughed. “Ees stupid. Me, I like,
‘SantaMaria Best Horses.’ ”
    “That’s awful, Arm. Why do we need to advertise
your family name? An’ the ‘Best’ isn’t right,
either.”
    “Bullshit. I theenk…”
    I waved Arm’s next idea away and spoke directly
to Tiny. “Did Ven Gelpwell have a root cellar
or a place to hang beef? I’m gonna fetch in a
head of those free-rangers