HT02 - Sing: A Novel of Colorado by Lisa T. Bergren Read Free Book Online

run. “We need to get those horses away from the others!”
    Odessa turned to Tabito, who placed his wide-brimmed hat atop his head. “Been some time since this ranch has seen a case of strangles.”
    “What does it mean? What will they do?” Odessa said.
    “Shoot the ill, separate the exposed.”
    Odessa’s eyes widened, understanding now. “How contagious is it?”
    “Very.” With that, he exited and gently shut the door behind him. Odessa stood there for a minute, thinking of what to do. She wanted to go to the stables, make sure Bryce did not do anything rash, but there was a man in her front parlor who needed tending. The water was boiling atop the stove, but now there were no men left to bathe the stranger.
    “We’ll do what we can for him,” she whispered to Samuel. She started to carry him into the front parlor and then paused in the doorway, thinking of the horses and the contagion they carried. What if this man had a fever that Samuel could catch? She returned to the small sitting room beside the kitchen, spread out a blanket and handed the child his favorite tin cup. Then she hurried back to gather rags and water and lye soap to clean the stranger who had brought a plague upon her home.

    Apparently the old man wanted to tell his tale to more than Reid, making Reid doubt the authenticity of it. But the monotony of life in prison made him lean a little closer to hear as the man shared the story with anyone in reach of his stage whisper. Reid glanced down the hall between their cells and made eye contact with the guard. The young man looked away, probably as bored as they were, eager to hear any tale anyone wished to tell, even if it was against the rules at this hour.
    “My granddaddy, he was runnin’ for his life, the Ute tracking him all the way.”
    “I’d heard tell it was the Apache and Cheyenne a man had to look out for in those days,” protested a man in the cell beside him. “Not the Ute. They were peaceful folk.”
    “They were, unless a man refused to take a chief’s daughter as his bride, like my granddaddy did.”
    The men let out a collective laugh and roar of approval and then settled, waiting for the rest of the man’s story.
    “Fortunately for my granddaddy, he knew his way about the Sangres and beyond. He moved high and fast, even through the night. He was stumbling forward, aware that a few strong braves still trailed him, but it was the third day, late, you see. And he was plumb wore out. He tripped, and fell down a ravine, rolling and rolling until he came to rest inside the mouth of a cave.”
    “Did they find ’im then? In that cave?” asked a man.
    “No, he holed up in that cave, his gun across his arms, waitin’ on the braves to arrive. But after three days, he knew they’d lost his trail, and thirst drove him out.” He looked around, as if to see if he still had their attention. “He stood up to go, wobbling on his feet. And that was when he saw it.”
    “Saw what?” asked a young man, biting at the bait.
    “A genu-wine conquistador breastplate. Like what they wore for armor and such? Almost missed it, it was so covered by three hundred years of dust. He blew it off—” the old man pretended to pick up an object and slowly blew on it, and Reid sighed wearily—“and a great cloud of dust set him to coughing. He collapsed and thought he’d take his death right then and there, but in time, he regained himself.”
    “And?” said yet another man.
    “When he stood again, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before. Peeking out, behind a pile of rocks, was a stack of gold bars.”
    The men erupted into a mixed cacophony of disbelief and wonder. Roused, the deputy at the end of the hall came toward them, striking the end of his gun on each bar. Every prisoner scuttled back to his cot, unwilling to pay the price of a lost meal for the story. But when the deputy reached the old man’s cell, he paused. “Did he haul the gold out?” he whispered. “Your