Collection 1989 - Long Ride Home (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour Read Free Book Online Page B

she’s too good for my daughter? Why…!”
    â€œIt ain’t thet,” Jim’s grin spread all over his red face, “on’y the new schoohna’am ain’t a she, she’s a he!”
    â€œWhat?”
    Frank Ewing’s bellow caused deer to lift their startled heads in the brakes of the Rampart, ten miles away. The cowhands stiffened, their faces stricken with disappointment and horror, a horror that stemmed from the realization that anything wearing pants could actually teach school.
    â€œSure thing!” Jim was chuckling now. “She’s a he! He’s waitin’ outside now!”
    â€œWell!” Ma Ewing put her hands on her wide hips, “yuh took long enough t’ tell us! Fetch the pore critter in! Don’t leave him standin’ out there by hisself!”
    Carey got up, still chuckling at the stupefied expressions on the faces of the cowhands and walked to the door. “Hey, you! Come on in an’ set for chuck! Reckon,” he added, glancing around, “I’ll be rollin’. No time t’ dally.”
    He hesitated, grinning. “Reckon yuh boys’ll be right gentle with him. He’s plumb new t’ the West! Wanted t’ git off and pet one o’ them ornery longhorns up the pass!”
    Stretch Magoon’s long, homely face was bland with innocence. “Wal, now! I calls that right touchin’! I reckon we’ll have t’ give him a chance t’ pat of Humpy!”
    The cowhands broke into a chuckle and even Claire found herself smiling at the idea. Then, at the approaching footsteps in the hall they all looked up expectantly.
    The new schoolma’am stepped shyly into the door carrying a carpetbag in one hand, a hard black hat in the other.
    He wore a black suit, stiff with newness, and a high white collar. His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes blue and without guile. His face was pink and white with a scattering of freckles over the nose.
    He was smiling now, and there was something boyish and friendly about him. Claire sat up a little straighter, stirred by a new and perplexing curiosity.
    â€œCome in an’ set,” Ma Ewing declared heartily. “You’re jest in time for breakfast!”
    â€œMy name’s Vance Brady,” he suggested. “They call me Van.”
    â€œMine’s Ewing,” the big cattleman replied. “This here’s my wife, an’ thet’s my daughter, Claire. She’s been teachin’ the young uns, but they’s a passel o’ big uns, too big for her t’ handle.”
    He glanced at Brady. “An’ some o’ them’s purty durned big, an’ plenty ornery!”
    â€œThat’s fine!” Brady said seriously. “There is nothing like the bright energy of youth.”
    Stretch Magoon’s long, melancholy face lifted. “Thet sure touches me,” he said solemnly, “thet bright energy of youth. I’m Stretch Magoon,” he added, “an’ we’ll do all we kin t’ make yor stay onforgettable!”
    Ma Ewing frowned at Magoon, and he averted his eyes and looked sadly down at his plate.
    â€œReckon yuh come a fur piece,” Ewing suggested, chewing on a broom straw. “From Boston, ain’t yuh?”
    â€œNear Boston,” Brady replied, smiling. “Is the school close by?”
    â€œDown the road about ten mile,” Ewing replied, “jest beyond the old Shanahan place.”
    Brady glanced up. “The Shanahan place? Is that a farm? I mean…a ranch? Maybe I could live there, a little closer to my work?”
    Ewing shook his leonine head and tugged at his yellow mustache. “Nobody lives there. Old Mike Shanahan was killed nigh on a year back. If none of his relatives come t’ live on the place afore thet year is up, then it’s open t’ anybody who will claim it an’ hold it.”
    â€œIt was a damn’ fool idea!” Curly Ward said. He was