The Old Wolves Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Come on, Jane. If we do it again, I’ll need a nap before we light out. I ain’t as young as I used to be. Let’s go out and see what Mr. Wong is servin’ up for breakfast these days. Last time I was there, he was cookin’ some right fine huevos rancheros.” He glanced over his shoulder at Jane, who was sitting up and luxuriously smoothing her curly golden hair back behind her pink shoulders. “Don’t that beat all—a Chinaman cookin’ Mescin food?”
    â€œWhat do Chinamen normally eat, Spurr?”
    â€œHell, I don’t know. When I was scoutin’ for the railroad a few years ago—hell, about twenty years ago now!—I saw ’em boilin’ a lot of cabbage with rice and the like. They drank tea, too. Lots of tea.” He glanced back at Jane again—if he remembered right, her real name was Nellie—and admired her firm, pink round ass facing him as she crawled over to the far side of the bed. “Their supper meals smelled—I hate to say it, Miss Jane—but a little like Indian stew.”
    â€œWhat do you suppose was in it?” The girl climbed down off the bed, turning to Spurr and pulling her hair back behind her head with both hands in that sweetly feminine way of hers. As she thrust her shoulders back, her tender breasts jutted forward, still a little red from Spurr’s beard stubble.
    â€œDo you know what’s in Indian stew, darlin’?” Spurr rose, chuckling, and began stumbling around, gathering his clothes.
    â€œNo, Spurr,” the girl said. “What’s in Indian stew?”
    â€œUh . . . well, let’s just say that when a farmer’s missin’ one of his hounds for more than a day, and there’s some Injuns camped out nearby, he might as well figure he’s seen the last of ole Rover.”
    â€œOh, Spurr—please!” the girl intoned, making a face and cupping her hands to her breasts, drawing one knee toward the other one. “You shouldn’t say somethin’ like that when we’re about to light out for Mr. Wong’s!”
    Spurr roared as he sat down on the edge of the bed with his clothes in his lap. “You asked, darlin’! You asked!”
    She threw a pillow at him, and he laughed harder.
    They continued to jaw at each other as they both dressed, the girl stumbling around the room, pulling one article of clothing on at a time, and Spurr trying his best at dressing without having to move around overmuch. His head felt as though several brawny tracklayers had shoved railroad spikes through his ears and poured wood tar down his throat.
    When he’d gotten back from the Nations, a commendation from the governor of Colorado had been waiting for him, on Chief Marshal Henry Brackett’s desk, as well as a fifty-dollar bonus. Spurr had to admit that, while he was normally a relatively humble man, the commendation from the governor as well as the chagrinned smile on the old Chief Marshal’s face had gone to his head.
    And why shouldn’t it have?
    A month ago he had gone out to breakfast with the venerable old marshal, and over omelettes and hash browns, Henry Brackett had once again suggested Spurr retire.
    â€œWhy don’t you head on down to Mexico, like you’ve been threatening to do for the past ten years, Spurr? Leave this lawdogging business up to the younger men. You’ve made your mark. Hell, even old bull buffalos know when their breedin’ days are over. They take it with a stiff upper lip and just wander away from the herd.”
    â€œWander away from the herd, huh, Henry? Sounds a helluva lot like what the Injuns do. Look for some cave up in the hills they can die in alone, so the young folks don’t have to bother with ’em.”
    â€œOh, that’s not what I’m sayin’ at all, Spurr. A bad choice of words.” Marshal Brackett had nudged his small, rectangular spectacles up his nose, laced