The Outlaw Josey Wales Read Online Free PDF

guerrilla, Union Cavalry… once he had even ferried a contingent of Jo Shelby’s famous Confederate riders. He could whistle “Battle Hymn of the Republic” or “Dixie” with equal enthusiasm, depending upon present company. Morning and night these many years, he had berated the old lady, “Them regular army ones ain’t so bad. But them Redlegs and guerrillas is mad dogs … ye hear! Mad dogs! Ye look sidewise at ’em … they’ll kill us all… bum us out.”
    With cunning he had survived. Once he had seen Quantrill, Joe Hardin, and Frank James. They and seventy-five guerrillas were dressed in Yankee uniforms. They had questioned him as to his sympathies, but the old man’s crafty eyes had spotted a “guerrilla shirt” under the open blue blouse of one of the men… and he had cursed the Union. He had never seen Bloody Bill or Jesse James… or Josey Wales, and the men that rode-with them, but their reputations transcended Quantrill’s in Missouri.
    Only this morning he had ferried across two separate posses of horsemen who were searching for Wales and another outlaw. They had said he was in this area and all south Missouri was up in arms. Three thousand dollars! A lot of money… but they could have it… fer the likes of a gunslingin’ killer sich as Wales. That is… unless…
    Cavalry would be coming down the road any minute now. Carstairs looked around. It was then he saw the horsemen approaching. They had come out of the brush along the river bank, an alarming fact in itself. But the appearance of the lead horseman was even more alarming to Carstairs. He was astride a huge roan stallion that looked half wild. He approached to within ten feet and stopped. High top boots, fringed buckskin, the man was lean and had an air of wolfish hunger about him. He wore two holstered .44’s, and the guns were tied down. Several days’ growth of black beard stubbled his face below the mustache, and a gray cavalry hat was pulled low over the hardest black eyes old man Carstairs had ever seen. The old man shuddered as from a chill and sat frozen, the fish basket suspended outward in his hands … as though he were offering it as a gift.
    “Howdy,” the horseman said easily.
    Well, how… howdy,” Carstairs fumbled. He felt numb. He watched, fascinated, as the horseman slid a long knife from his boot top, cut a wad of tobacco-from a twist, and fed it into his mouth.
    “Figgered we might give ye a mite of ferryin’ business,” the horseman said slowly past the chew.
    “Why shore, shore.” Old man Carstairs stood up.
    “But…” the horseman caught him short, in the act of rising, “so’s there won’t be nothin’ mistooken, I’m Josey Wales… and this here’s my partner. We’re jest a hair pushed fer time and we need a tad of things first.”
    “Why, Mr. Wales.” Carstairs rose. His lips trembled uncontrollably, so that the forced smile appeared alternately as a sneer and a laugh. Inwardly he cursed his trembling. Dropping the fish basket, he managed to step toward the horse, extending his hand. “My name’s Carstairs, Sim Carstairs. I’ve heard tell of ye, Mr. Wales. Bill Quantrill was a good friend of mine… mighty good friend, we’uns…”
    ‘Taint a sociable visit, Mr. Carstairs,” Josey said flatly, “who all ye got hereabouts?”
    “Why nobody,” Carstairs was eager, “thet is ’cept the old lady there in the house and Lemuel, my hired band. He ain’t right bright, Mr. Wales … runs his mouth and sich … he’s there, in the store.”
    “Tell ye what,” Josey said as he pitched five bright double eagles at the feet of Carstairs, “me and you will amble on up to the house and the store. I got a tech of cramp … so I’ll ride. When we git there, ye don’t go inside … but ye step to the door and tell the missus that we got to have CLEAN bandages … lots of ’em. We got to have a boiled-up poultice fer a bullet wound .. and hurry.”
    The old man looked askance at Josey, and