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The Jackson Trail
Max Brand
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The Jackson Trail
Max Brand
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Jesse Jackson rode where the law feared to go... but Tex Arnold swore that he would get him!The Jackson Trail is another outstanding western that demands your attention. Packed with enough action and interesting twists to please even the most die-hard fans of the genre, Max Brand leads the reader on a very authentic tale of the Old West the way it was. Written in the thirties, but still fresh and enjoyable today.
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Sujet
LiteratureSous-sujet
WesternsCHAPTER XXII
Talk ebbed and flowed in a leisurely fashion along the veranda of the Sapphire Saloon. There were twenty stout chairs standing side by side along its ample length, and on a Saturday afternoon, such as this, the chairs were mostly occupied.
Only, from time to time, someone would yawn and say, âLetâs liquor,â and with grudging consent the entire line would heave slowly up and trail through the swinging doors of the barroom. There they had their drink, briefly, and came out again, blinking, gasping a little, and seeming startled as owls by the brilliance of the sunshine. Some said that the proprietor of the Sapphire knew just how to startle the oldest drinker in the world, because he put in a dash of lye to give his whisky an added potency.
After issuing onto the veranda, the entire line sank down again, and the talk began to ripple slowly from end to end of the line. As the current flowed along, most men put in a word, a comment, or a whole sentence to swell the course of the gossip.
There was only one break in the smoothly flowing tide, and that was when it reached the slender man at the farther end of the veranda. For he neither commented nor offered remarks.
This was forgiven in him. For one thing, he was reasonably young. For another, he was a stranger. For a third reason, he had half the look of a tenderfoot, although with his slender hands he manufactured cigarettes with a remarkable skill.
But he rarely spoke. He hardly seemed to listen, but gazed with rather melancholy eyes across the misty width of the valley and at the blue and brown of the mountains beyond it.
After the last exodus from the saloon to the veranda, the tide of talk began again, as usual, and flowed up and down the veranda somewhat as follows:
âHenry Clay Tuckerâs got a new cook.â
It was a solemnly bearded man who pronounced this.
âI seen her at the station when she got off the train.â
âIâve heard sheâs a looker.â
âYeah, she can look.â
âTucker never has no she-cooks.â
âMostly he has Chinks.â
âWell, heâs got a she-cook now. Iâve seen her.â
âAt his house?â
âYeah, hanginâ out some dish towels on the line in the back yard.â
âWas she a looker?â
âShe was kind of far away to see her face. She looked made right, though.â
âWhat does looks matter? Looks is the bait, and time steals it.â
âYeah. Take âem at forty and whatâs left?â
âWrinkles and alkali dust!â
âCalico means trouble.â
âYeah, even to Jackson!â
âWho said Jackson?â
âI said calico meant trouble even to Jackson. Thatâs what busted him this time.â
âHe ainât busted.â
âHeâs on the trail again, though.â
âBut he ainât busted. Ask Tex Arnold if heâs busted.â
âHeâll get busted some day, and women has done it.â
âHow have they done it?â
âIt was a girl that started him off this time. He was all settled down.â
âIâve heard about that. It was his wedding day.â
âAnd the girl, she up and slides out a window and runs away on him.â
âShe took the silver with her, too.â
âYeah, and his spare hard cash, too.â
âShe left him flat.â
âHeâll have her hide for doinâ that.â
âNaw. He ainât that kind. Heâs easy with the ladies.â
âJacksonâs smart. He made a clean fool of Arnold.â
âHe ainât smart enough to fool the women. This one, she made a fool of him. He thought he was gunna marry her. Haw, haw, haw!â
The slender man at the end of the line drew hard and long upon his cigarette, but, as usual, he said nothing. He merely narrowed his gaze a little as he looked out across the valley.
âYeah, the women can fool even Jackson.â
âAnd he can fool all the men.â
âThey say that Tex Arnoldâs been asked to resign.â
âNope, but heâs offered to resign.â
âHe oughta!â
âDonât be a fool, son. Nobodyâs much worse off because Jacksonâs beat âem. He beats everybody.â
The slender man at the end of the row of chairs crossed his knees and began to swing his foot with a light, irregular, impatient rhythm.
âThey wouldnât take the resignation of Tex Arnold.â
âThey better not! Heâs a good man, all right.â
âThey donât come much faster than Tex, with a gun.â
âExcept Jackson.â
âAw, leave Jackson be for a while, will you?â
âThatâs what you say. You know what he last done to Arnold?â
âYou mean up in the cañon?â
âYeah.â
âIâve heard about that.â
âI was talkinâ to one of the boys that was there. He told me.â
âWhat did he say?â
âThey had Jackson all ringed around. He didnât have no chance. They had a solid line of bonfires. He didnât have no chances at all.â
âWhat did he do then?â
âWhy, he runs up with a pole and vaults over the fire.â
âGo on!â
âThatâs what you say. But this other gent, he seen it.â
âI donât believe it.â
âThatâs what happened, though. And where Jackson lands is right on top of Tex Arnold. And he rolls off of Tex into the brush. Thatâs how he gets away.â
âWhacha think of that!â
âAnd Arnoldâs hoss is the one that he ride off. A gray.â
âA bay hoss, you mean.â
âNo, it was a gray.â
âIt was a bay hoss. I heard that clear and straight.â
âWhat sort of looking is Jackson?â
âSmallish, Iâve heard say.â
âBiggish. Long and lean. Regular smart Westerner. Texas type.â
âThatâs because he wears highish heels onto his boots. But heâs really small.â
âHe lifted eight hundred and fifty pounds of cast iron junk onto a scales. Thatâs how small he is.â
âHe done it with a trick, then.â
Said the slender man at the end of the row:
âWho is Henry Clay Tucker?â
He said it softly, to his companion, and his neighbor answered:
âAw, heâs the father of a kid thatâs just gone off and joined up with that murdering Doctor Hayman gang. Heâs a rancher, out yonder, on the Dole Road.â
âSeems to me that Iâve heard of him,â said the other.
âYou might of. Heâs the unluckiest man in this here county.â
âUnluckiest?â
âIâll tell a man! First he ups and loses his wife, right young. And then their daughter, she dies. And now the boy, he goes and joins the Hayman gang.â
âWhat for?â said the inquirer.
âWhy do kids go wrong?â replied the other. âMaybe because he got tired of sitting at the table across from his paâs sour face. Which it sure would turn sweet milk with one look, and no mistake.â
Said the man beyond, who had overheard the conversation:
âIt was a gambling debt.â
âGo on!â
âIt was. Young Jack Tucker, he does some gambling with Pete Borrow. And Pete takes him down the line and trims him good. He owes Pete a hundred and fifty bucks. He can only pay half of that. Then he goes home and asks his old man for the rest of the cash, and the old man wonât give it to him. So then he goes and sells himself to Hayman, and Hayman buys him in, and pays off the rest of the cash to Pete.â
âIs that how young Jack rode up Willow Lane?â
âThatâs how. Jack was always wild, but he was always straight. Heâll go to hell now.â
âSure he will. Hayman takes âem all to hell along with himself.â
Said the man at the end of the row:
âHayman is the fellow who robbed the Wells Fargo safe and killed the three guards, isnât he?â
âYeah. Thatâs Hayman.â
âSingle handed?â
âYeah. Thatâs Hayman. Heâs done moreân that, single handed, when his back was against the wall. Heâs sure death.â
Another who had overheard the last remarks broke in:
âThere would be a man for Jackson to tackle.â
âHeâd be too hard for Jackson.â
âYeah, heâd be too hard for anybody.â
âA good pile too hard.â
The man at the end of the row stood up and stretched his supple body, delicately, carefully, as though he wished to test every muscle. He stretched as a cat stretches, limb by limb, and yet without too much gesticulation. Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders more comfortably into his coat.
After that, he made himself a fresh cigarette, lighted it, and, crossing the veranda, went down the steps between the two watering troughs. He went down the line of the horses and paused behind a tall, finely made gray gelding.
âLook out there!â bellowed the man of the large beard. âWatch yourself when you go in there. That buckskinâll kick the hat off your head!â
âYou mean this buckskin?â said the slender stranger.
And with wonderful ignorance, he laid his hand actually upon the hip of the buckskin in question.
âThatâs the one!â thundered the bearded man. âHeâll have your head off you in another second.â
The stranger smiled.
âIt doesnât seem to be his kicking day,â said he, and, pressing in carelessly between this horse and his own, he untied the lead rope, mounted, and passed off up the road.
A little silence spread along the veranda.
âNow, whoâs he?â asked the bearded man, muttering.
Heads were shaken, and someone muttered, heard by all in the silence:
âWell, heâs somebody!â
CHAPTER XXIII
When Jackson was free of the village, he put the gray into a long, raking canter and did not draw up until he approached a nest of poplar trees at a culvert. There he drew rein and whistled.
Red-headed Pete immediately stepped into view and blinked at the rider.
âHow are the boys?â asked Jackson.
âSleepinâ,â said Pete. âTheyâre done in. Iâd be sleepinâ, too, except that my nerves have got the jumps. Iâd like to have about a quart of red-eye to quiet me down!â
âBoy,â said Jackson, âyouâre going to have enough jack to buy a whole tank full of red-eye, before youâre through with this. Have you got everything else that you want?â
âAy,â said Pete, âexcept a free trail!â
âYou want the world with a fence around it,â said Jackson. âWhatâs the matter with you, Pete? If thereâs a marshal and a posse looking for the three of youâand meâitâs all the more reason why we should enjoy our riding. Thatâs the salt in the egg, Pete. You canât eat eggs without salt, can you?â
Pete grinned dubiously back at his employer.
âAll right,â he said. âI know you, Jackson. At least, I know the title page and how the first chapter begins of you. I guess nobody else knows much more. Whatâs the news?â
âI think that Iâve located the girl again,â said Jackson.
âHey! Near here?â
âYes. At a place owned by a fellow named Tucker. Out yonder on the Dole Road. I may be wrong. Iâm taking a long step. But I have an idea that Iâm right.â
âYou mostly are,â said Pete. âI never thought that youâd pick her up again this quick. But if sheâs there, maybe the marshal is there, too.â
âNo, not as soon as this,â said Jackson, with conviction. âNot unless sheâs told him where she went.â
âDo we ride that way with you?â
âWait till the boys have had their sleep out,â said Jackson. âThen you trail along up the road. Cut over yonder off the main trail. I can see cowpaths through those hills. Ride over yonder, and Iâll try to pick you up before dark.â
Pete scratched his head.
âListen, chief,â said he. âMostly youâre right. But whacha gain by trailinâ around after a girl thatâs turned you down? Ainât it better sense for you to take the three of us and turn us onto a job where thereâs real money to play for?â
Jackson listened in patience. Then he said:
âLet me work my own trail, Pete. Do what Iâve told you. Do you want higher pay?â
âMe?â said Pete. âHigher pay for just settinâ around with nothing to do but to dodge a few slugs of lead, a couple of times a day? Why, Jackson, weâve hardly got enough to do to keep us warm. All weâve got to do, mostly, is to keep from beinâ turned cold forever.â
Jackson smiled.
âDo what I said,â he suggested. âRemember, Pete, that thereâs a bonus for you, all three, when I finish with you, and a bonus that will make your head swim.â
He left Pete with these instructions and sent the gray at the same long canter sweeping up the road. Where it branched, he turned onto the long, meandering stretch of rutted, hoof-beaten gray which had been pointed out to him as the Dole Road. And so he came to the ranch house of Henry Clay Tucker.
It was not an ordinary ranch house. It was inhabited by people who had not deliberately cut down all of the trees around the place for the sake of getting easier firewood. Instead, the trees had bee...