The Savage Curse by Jory Sherman Read Free Book Online Page A

tobacco. Ben’s cheeks caved in as he drew on the stem.
    â€œThanks,” he said.
    â€œYou don’t smoke, John?” Crudder said.
    â€œNever picked up the habit.”
    The other men laughed.
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re missing,” Mead said.
    â€œYeah,” Ward said, “a sore throat, a morning cough, a bad taste in your mouth.”
    All of the man laughed.
    â€œIt all goes away with a swaller of whiskey,” Mead said, and the men laughed again.
    â€œWe got us a kind of storehouse over yonder,” Crudder said, pointing to one of the adobe dwellings. “You get yourself some candles and pick out an adobe to sleep in tonight.
    â€œThey can bunk with me,” Ward said. “I’ve got candles, plenty of room to lay out their bedrolls.”
    â€œAll right,” Crudder said. “If they can stomach your snoring, Jake.”
    More laughter from the group.
    â€œI don’t snore,” Jake said. “Those are rats you heard.”
    â€œRats don’t sleep at night,” Mead said. “They’re too busy gnawing at my nuts.”
    The men laughed some more.
    John thought they were pretty much at ease in the dark canyon with its brooding walls and total isolation. They didn’t act like outlaws, but maybe that was because none of them possessed a conscience. Like Hobart’s men. He couldn’t understand how such men could live happy lives, always on the run, always looking over their shoulders. No jobs, no homes. Maybe the life appealed to certain kinds of men, but not to him. He wanted to get rid of Hobart and hang his gunbelt on a wooden peg and grab a pair of plow handles, turn the earth, and plant seeds. Maybe find a nice girl, marry her, and raise cattle and corn and such. He wasn’t much better off than these owlhoots right now, he thought. He was on the run, too, homeless, rootless, chasing a murdering man who had caused him so much grief.
    At the moment, he thought, he was no better than any of the men around him. He just had a different purpose in life, that was all. But maybe he wasn’t any better than they. He wanted to kill a man, rob him of his life. The line between him and the outlaws wasn’t so thick after all. In fact, it was as thin as a reed.
    â€œWell, I’m going to turn in,” Crudder said, dropping the last of his cigarette to the ground. He pressed it flat with the heel of his boot and started walking toward one of the dark adobes.
    â€œGood night, Cruddy,” Mead said.
    â€œYeah, good night,” the others chorused.
    â€œCome on, John and Ben,” Ward said. “We’ll get your bedrolls and get us some shut-eye.”
    The group broke up. Horky and Mead slept in the hogan where the cook fire basked, keeping the fire alive during the night. John and Ben carried their bedrolls to Ward’s adobe. He lit candles and they found places to sleep.
    Jake lit three candles, handed one each to Ben and John.
    â€œWe won’t talk tonight,” Jake said. “Our voices carry too much in this canyon. See you in the morning.”
    â€œGood night, Jake,” John said.
    â€œGood night,” Ben said.
    â€œI wouldn’t try to run off if I were you,” Ward said. “For all his joviality tonight, Crudder would kill you as soon as look at you.”
    â€œWe’re not going anywhere,” John said.
    â€œYou wouldn’t get far.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAnd one more piece of advice, John. Don’t take your boots off tonight. I killed a bark scorpion yesterday morning in here. Shake out your bedroll in the morning and check it tomorrow night if we’re still here. The little buggers like to hide in blankets, boots, and dark places.”
    â€œThanks, Jake,” John said. “I never saw a scorpion before. Did you, Ben?”
    â€œYeah, back in Missouri. Little bitty things. They got a stinger on their tails.”
    â€œThey’re as