Bandit's Hope Read Online Free Page A

the stacks got taller.
    "Wooeee!" Sonny cried. "Would you look at that?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Tiller, you struck a wide vein this time."
    The blissful men jostled closer with outstretched hands to get their share while Hade divided the spoils. Reaching deep into the bottom of the bag, he brought up a leather-bound book, its pages crimped and worn. Opening the cover, he smiled and cleared his throat. "’This Holy Book is the property of Otis Gooch of Tallahatchie County, Mississippi.’" Beaming, he tossed it into the doused campfire where it landed in a smoky cloud of white ash. "Much obliged, Mr. Gooch. We’ll spend your money wisely." He cocked his head. "Well, quick anyways."
    The camp erupted in riotous laughter.
    Chuckling, Hade lifted his chin at Tiller. "Come get your money. I gave you the extra five dollars."
    Hade’s wide smile blurred into the traveler’s toothless grin.
    Cursing, Tiller whirled for his horse.
    "Hey, where you going?" Hade spun on the stump. "Come take your split. You earned every cent."
    Ignoring him, Tiller swung into the saddle. "What I’ve earned is some time off. I’m going away for a few days."
    Nathan smirked from the ground. "What about your cut?" He snatched the wad of cash from Hade and held it up to Tiller. "A man on a spree could have a high time with this kind of dough."
    Tiller plucked Nathan’s slouch hat from his head and put it on. "I’ll take this to even our score for now. You keep the money. Share it with the boys." He nudged the horse with his heel. "Lay it on those ashes and use it for kindling. I don’t rightly care."
    Sonny pushed to his feet and came to stare up at Tiller as he passed. "Where you going, Tiller? When will you be back?"
    "I can’t answer those questions, Sonny. I don’t know myself."
    "Kin I come?" He waved a wad of cash in both hands. "We could have us a high old time down in Natchez."
    "Not this time."
    "When will we see you again?"
    With a halfhearted salute at the circle of gaping men, Tiller rode out of the clearing. Out of earshot, he drew up his shoulders and jutted his chin. "Tell you what … look for me when you see me."

THREE
    Choctaw Nation, Oklahoma Country, Indian Territory
    J oseph Nukowa Brashears stilled in his tracks. With the ruins of Fort Towson at his back, he gazed northward along the old military road toward Gates Creek, as sure as spit that a fat buck rabbit had just scurried past. The taste of Myrtle’s stew teasing the back of his tongue, he held his breath and trained his gun on the brush.
    "He’s gone, Joe."
    The barrel leaped toward the sky, along with his surging heart. Spinning, he gaped at his woman.
    Myrtle stood a few paces behind, her fingers toying with the plaited black hair over one shoulder. Her skirt moved as she swayed, the turned-in toes of her moccasins peeking from under the hem. She looked like a naughty child instead of his wife of many moons. She shrugged. "I saw him go. Don’t waste your lead."
    "You saw nothing." Joe sniffed and turned up the wide brim of his hat. "And you just loud-mouthed yourself out of a fine supper."
    She gave an answering snort. "I know what a cottontail’s behind looks like, old man. Something’s gone off with your vision, and I suppose it’s old age. Once you were a lively young brave, one who wouldn’t let a meal slip through his fingers." With a strangled laugh, she tugged on his sleeve and pointed. "Hop through in this case."
    In the distance, the long-eared critter bolted past a pawpaw tree, bounded thirty yards, and ducked into a knot of flowering staggerbush—stopping once along the way to nibble a dandelion.
    "Forty years is not old, wife. My eyesight’s keen. There’s a pressing weight on my shoulders today, is all."
    Myrtle made a sunshade with her hand and gazed at the horizon. "It’s early to be wound so tight, Joe. The day has hardly begun."
    "Never mind." He yanked his arm free and shouldered the gun. "His furry behind will be mine yet. Wait