Return of the Outlaw by C. M. Curtis Read Free Book Online

orphaned boy in and housed him, fed him and clothed him, and he never mistreated him, but he insisted Jeff call him by his first name, and seldom concerned himself with the boy’s education or upbringing. Jeff was wise enough now to realize it had been better that way. John Havens had not resented him as he undoubtedly would have had he been forced to do more than he was willing to do.
    Fortunately for Jeff, Amado had been there and had voluntarily stepped into the role of father. It was Amado who set the limits beyond which Jeff was not to go, and who meted out fair punishment when Jeff exceeded those limits. It was Amado who praised him for his accomplishments and all the little steps of growth he took as he grew into a man. Amado taught him and wisely counseled him. If Jeff felt any guilt for having stayed away so long it was because of Amado.
    The mare had her head down grazing, and Jeff realized he had sat too long in this spot with his melancholy thoughts. He chided himself. He was a man now; he would not act like a boy. This was home , and he had missed it. He would enjoy being back he told himself. He would not let ghosts and memories clutter his mind. He realized he was hungry, and the thought of a tender beefsteak came into his mind. He decided to go back to town and get a meal, rather than taking his chances on leftovers in the cookshack when he got to the ranch. 
    By the time he was on the trail again the desert night was illumi nated by a large yellow moon. The mare had no difficulty keeping to the trail, and Jeff allowed her to follow it at her own pace as he moved in the saddle to the rhythm of her rough gait. He avoided looking at the Hammond farm as he passed it, and likewise resisted the call of the grove of cottonwood trees, knowing there was only pain for him there.
    The sounds of riders behind him interrupted his nostalgia , and he wondered who they might be. They were probably Rafter 8 hands, he reasoned—this trail led to the Rafter 8 and ended there—but Jeff had learned to be cautious so he stopped and pulled off the trail into some tall brush where, holding the mare’s head, he waited to see who passed.
    There were four riders in the group , and by their talk and their state of inebriation, Jeff knew they had spent an evening in town. They passed, not noticing him, but leaving him curious. He had seen their faces well in the moonlight, and though he did not recognize any of them, he knew their kind by their conversation and their brand of humor. Cowboys were rough and reckless types, but as a rule there were some things they held in respect and would not profane. These men were of an ilk Jeff knew well. He had seen them in every town he had entered. Hard men, possessing no scruples, holding nothing in reverence, who polluted, by their mere presence, every town they rode through and every building they set foot in. They were men of the gun, and it bothered Jeff that they were riding in the direction of the Rafter 8. He did not believe his grandfather or Amado would hire men like these, so what was their business on this trail?
    He followed but not too closely. When he crested the last hill and had the ranch headquarters in sight, he halted the mare and watched to see what the riders would do. It was pleasant to sit there and gaze upon his home again for the first time in seven years.
    By moonlight the ranch appeared vastly different from the last time he had seen it. The main house, which had been small, had been extended on one side, and a second story had been added. All around it were outbuildings that had not been there when he had last ridden away. There was a newness about it that bespoke hard work and progress and it was pleasing to Jeff. Amado and John had done well. They had built something. What he didn’t understand was why they had seen the need to expand the house.
    The four riders dismounted in front of the tack shed and unsaddled their horses. This accomplished, the horses were led