The Man from Shenandoah Read Online Free PDF

by the likes of you.”

    Brindle promptly knocked him over, sprawling him into the mud and water. He scrambled up, soaked and sputtering, and went back to work, wiping his hands on his pants.

    “I reckon I’ll milk you, so you’d just as well surrender, you crazy cow.” Carl set his jaw and grabbed a handful of teat. Brindle turned her head and rolled her eyes, unconvinced of Carl’s prowess. He went on the attack, and the cow mooed with fright.

    When he had a half-pail of milk, Carl figured he’d won the battle, and let the calf have its breakfast. He straightened his back, then probed the sore spot on his side where the cow had kicked him, but decided it was nothing to worry about.

    Carl took the milk to the house and washed up with the water he’d left heating. Checking the wood box, he found it half empty and returned to the yard for an armful. From the looks of the stack of firewood on the left edge of the clearing, James had made more than one trip to the mountain for wood. Carl pulled some logs from the center of the pile where the wood was dry, and took them into the house.

    Julia was up, tending the fire and baking bread for the day. She looked up at Carl, then down at his feet.

    “Hush, Ma, I’m sorry. I forgot to wipe ‘em. I ain’t used to living in a house, but I’ll try to keep the mud in the yard where it belongs.”

    Albert came into the room, yawning and stretching, and looked accusingly at Carl. “You left me a-sleeping. I got critters looking to be fed.”

    “You was up late, and looked like you were relishing your sleep. I took the liberty of doing your chores this morning. Set and eat.”

    “Thanks, Carl. Don’t mind if I do.” Albert sat and attacked his breakfast.

    Rod came into the room, looking pleased with himself. He carried a list of purchases to make as soon as the Yankee money passed into his hands. He sat and greeted his family.

    “Morning, Julia, boys. Fine day. Carl, you make ready to ride into town with me after breakfast. We’ll fetch back your sisters to help your ma get the foodstuffs together.” Rod paused to chew a mouthful of cornbread, then turned to his youngest son. “Albert, who did you say was willing to leave the Valley on account of his place was wrecked?”

    “That would be Andy’s pa, Angus Campbell.”

    “Pa,” Carl broke in ahead of Rod’s next speech. “How are we going to get out to Colorado? Me and my outfit blew up so much track hereabouts, I reckon the railroad’s useless.”

    “I been studying on that, son. We’ll take wagons, like those who went to Oregon in the early days, and the Mormon folk in the forties. I reckon we’ll keep off the northern trails. I can just see a Yankee farmer taking pot shots at us, calling us wild Rebs. Likely we can get through Kentucky and Missouri on the back roads and hit the Santa Fe Trail at the city of Kansas. We’ll follow it along the Arkansas River into Colorado, then turn north and strike out for Denver City to find your uncle.”

    “We’re getting a mighty late start.”

    “I know, and wagons are slow, but I figure we can haul more goods for less cost that way. I reckon we’ll need four, five months on the trail, but the weather should hold pretty fair until then.” Rod turned his head to his wife. “We’ll take that old box of Jonathan’s to him.”

    Carl’s gaze shifted from his father’s face to the leather-covered strongbox on the mantel. Uncle Jonathan brought it with him when he returned from his trip to the Territory in ‘Fifty-nine. He told his sister it was hers if they ever got word of his death. Then he went back west to his gold fields. The box had never been opened, and sat, padlocked and dusty, where he’d placed it.

    “How long since you heard from Uncle Jonathan, Ma?” asked Carl.

    “It’s been a couple of years, but mail has been real chancy with the war on.”

    “It’ll be good to see him again.” Carl rose from the table. “I’ll saddle the