The Reckoning Read Online Free PDF Page A

at clumps of grama grass, myriad varieties of cactus, and mesquite trees all the way to the horizon. The sky was brilliant blue, and the sun rolled steadily upward toward the peak of heaven.
    â€œWhat brings you all the way from Massachusetts?”
    â€œI didn't want to work in an office, or go to sea. How about you?”
    â€œI want to learn the cattle business.”
    â€œIt doesn't seem very complicated. You brand them, make sure they get enough to eat, and then drive them to market. Have you seen Miss Phyllis yet?”
    â€œI guess every cowboy in the bunkhouse wants to get his hands on her.”
    â€œShe'll probably marry some rich rancher's son one of these days, and merge their holdings in more ways than one.”
    â€œHe'll be a lucky man, whoever he is.”
    â€œMiss Phyllis is the prettiest girl in these parts, but there isn't much to choose from, unfortunately. I thought of marrying somebody back home, and bringing her out here, but Boston girls are accustomed to plumbing, servants, and city conveniences. They think that Southerners, particularly Texans, are barbarians. And then, of course, they wouldn't want their hair to adorn the lodgepole of some Comanche's tent.”
    Duane had many questions, but held them in abeyance for another time. Bad manners to probe too deeply in the beginning, because so many cowboys were wanted by men with badges, and even Duane had certain facts that he hoped to conceal.

    The ramrod's booming voice called to them from the front of the formation. “Where's that tenderfoot? Somebody git him the hell up hyar!”
    Duane nudged Thunderbolt's flanks, and the horse quickened his pace. Duane rode around the cowboys, and wondered what the assignment would be, as he angled toward McGrath. “Yes, sir?”
    â€œWhat you say yer name was?”
    â€œBraddock.”
    â€œTake the point with Ross, here. If either of you sees injuns, ride back and tell me how many, where they're headin’, what they're wearin’, and if any of ‘em's got rifles.”
    Ross had short legs, rounded shoulders, and large ears. “What if they shoot first?”
    â€œWe'll be right there to help out. Now get movin’, and keep yer eyes peeled.”
    Ross spurred his grulla, and the animal burst into a trot. Duane nudged Thunderbolt, and side by side, the two cowboys rode at moderate speed across the open range, their horses kicking clods of dirt. Duane leaned toward Thunderbolt's flowing black mane, to present less resistance to the wind. Ross said nothing, his mouth set in a grim, hard-bitten line. He was in his late twenties, and his face looked like hand-tooled leather.
    The windstream felt good against Duane's cheeks, and he liked the speed. Thunderbolt had plenty of bottom, and Duane felt the animal's strength surge beneath him. They approached Ferguson, a snake-eyed cowboy with a cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth, riding the point. Ross and Duane slowed down as theycame alongside. “See any injuns?” Ross asked.
    â€œIf I did, you would've knowed it.”
    Ferguson drew the rein of his sorrel and aimed him back toward the cloud of dust following in the distance. Duane took his position alongside Ross, and since Duane was a tenderfoot, that meant he couldn't initiate conversation. He kept waiting for Ross to speak, but that knight of the range kept his lips shut.
    Duane scanned surrounding terrain for Indians. He'd observed Apaches at the monastery, when they'd stopped by the well on their travels. The monks prudently kept their distance, but on one occasion, Duane had seen what looked like a red scalp hanging from a warrior's belt. It was their land, but was everybody else supposed to pack up and go home?
    Ross bit off a plug of tobacco, but didn't offer any to Duane. “Where you from, kid?”
    â€œGuadalupe Mountains.”
    â€œWhat the hell's in the Guadalupe Mountains?”
    â€œNot a damn