Train From Marietta Read Online Free PDF Page A

Tate even more eager to get home.
    “You make the sale, señor?” Jorge asked.
    “I made the sale. We couldn’t have asked for a much better deal. The problem was that the commander of the fort was away, and I had to wait a week for him to return. That’s why it took me so long.”
    “Still … it is all very good.” The foreman’s grin grew even wider. “When they want them?”
    “We’ve got to have them ready by the first of the month. The commander’s sending a detail down to drive them back to the fort. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
    “That we can do, señor.”
    They walked outside the station and stopped in front of a battered old pickup truck. Tate set the large sack and his satchel in the back and climbed into the cab. Jorge slid behind the wheel. When he started the motor, it backfired, sounding like a pistol shot. The engine sputtered once, twice, and then came to life. Jorge put the truck into gear, and they started to move.
    “We’re going to have to work on this old thing,” Tate said.
    “She noisy, but she run once she started. She get us where we go.”
    “We’ve got to make her last for a while yet. After we get the money from the fort for the horses, we’ll trade her in on something better.”
    The truck bumped down the road that led out of town. The houses they passed were set farther and farther apart, and soon nothing lay ahead of them but the Texas prairie land. Tate tilted his head toward the open window and breathed in the fresh scent of prairie grass.
    The two men were silent, comfortable with each other. They had been friends for many years. Jorge and his wife, Yelena, were with Tate before Emily’s birth. Looking back on all that had happened, he didn’t know how he would have managed without them.
    “Did the fetlock on that old Hammerhead heal up?” Tate asked.
    “It heal, but he run into a fence and got a big scratch down his side. I cover it with pine tar. He look a mess, but he always rarin’ to go.”
    “Maybe we shouldn’t have called him Hammerhead; he’s living up to his name.” After a few moments, Tate continued. “Have you seen that spotted stallion lately?”
    Catching the spotted stallion had been a desire of Tate’s since the moment he first saw him five years ago. What a beautiful, proud animal! He wanted to catch him to breed his mares, but, more important, he didn’t want any harm to befall him.
    “Sí, I have seen him,” Jorge said. But I’m not the only one. Señor Wilbur from over east came by the other day.”
    “What did he want?”
    “He want to know if I seen the wild herd that is led by the stallion. I say no.” Jorge laughed. “I see him, but I don’t tell.”
    “I’m glad you didn’t,” Tate said with a tight face. “Wilbur wants the stallion. But I don’t like the way he plans to go about getting him. I don’t believe in creasing a horse to stun him. Not many men are that accurate, and most of ’em either kill the animal or miss, scattering the
manadas.”
    “Señor Wilbur is stubborn man. He not going to worry about killing or scattering the mares.”
    “He’s a dang fool if he thinks he’s a good enough shot,” Tate said through gritted teeth. His fist was curled into a tight ball. “Another thing, where do you aim? A place close to the withers? A foot behind the ears? A vertebra a little forward of the hips? No, I won’t have Wilbur trying to catch that horse by creasing him. He has a herd of nice mares and produces good foals. I wonder why he doesn’t go after the loose stallions. There are ten or twelve of them following his mares. They’re the ones the spotted stallion has run off.”
    “Yelena and little one baked a cake for your return,” Jorge said, turning the talk from the stallion.
    “I bet Emily liked that.”
    Jorge smiled. “She sat on table and stir.”
    Tate knew Jorge and his wife were very fond of his little six-year-old. They didn’t have any children of their own and had taken to