Caress of Fire Read Online Free Page B

saddlebag for the piece of wood he’d been whittling at home and sat in front of the fire to lose himself in his hobby; his knife gouged a chunk from the oaken bluejay. He tossed the half-finished piece into the orange glow.
    The bowlegged cookie advanced on the triangle suspended from the chuck wagon, then rang it. The sound pounded in Gil’s head like a hammer against a nailhead.
    He listened in vain for the approach of feet.
    Yates groused, “Ungrateful varmints. Ain’t a one of them hasn’t complained about having a meal set under their ugly noses. I just don’t know about people,” he spat. “Wish I’d stayed in Missoura, that’s what I wish. Folks, they be civilized in that part o’ the country.”
    â€œThe men will get used to your cooking.”
    â€œThey sure better.” Again Oscar Yates rang the dinner bell, getting no response.
    All of a sudden, Gil had had enough. He charged from the ground, stomped over to the bell, and rang the damned thing for a solid minute. The cowboys began to appear, yet to a man they kept their distance–including the turncoat Sadie Lou.
    As was his right as sultan of the chuck wagon, Yates hollered, “Come and get it.”
    They didn’t.
    Gil hoisted his voice to where it could probably be heard all the way to Abilene. “If you intend to be part of the Four Aces outfit, line up and fill your plates. And I do mean now, God damn it!”
    Matthias and the collie were the first to reach the chuck fire, and it consoled Gil, his strawboss’s show of loyalty, forced though it was. Yet the big German didn’t speak as he spooned food onto a tin plate. Yates offered Sadie Lou a piece of charred beef which she dropped as if it were a hot potato.
    â€œUngrateful bitch,” Yates bellyached. “I oughta skin ya and serve ya up for breakfast.”
    Her chin hanging almost as low as her tail, Sadie Lou whimpered and curled up at Gil’s side.
    The other men fetched their food. Each ate about as much as a whiny three-year-old. Gil frowned in disgust. He had never expected grown men to act like children. In turn, he glanced at Ernst Dietert, Dinky Peele, and Wink Tannington.
    These men had been with him for the last three years, since Gil had made his first trip between San Antonio and the Rio Grande to round up the unbranded cattle which thickened that largely unpopulated area of Texas.
    â€œI vould not feed tis zlop to zvine,” Ernst Dietert said.
    â€œSlop, Ernst? I seem to recall you’ve a hankering for pickled pig’s feet and blood sausage. And you’re calling good red beef–slop?”
    â€œRichtig! Zlop.”
    Gil shook his head in disgust. He’d made Ernst’s acquaintance in San Antonio, had cottoned to the immigrant from Nassau-Hesse. This time last year, Ernst had been the one to suggest that Matthias be hired as strawboss, then he’d pointed out the For Sale sign on the Four Aces.
    For all three years, Ernst Dietert had been the epitome of loyalty and acceptance–until now.
    â€œIt be right awful,” Dinky added, scratching his nappy crop of hair. “Makes these ole bones pine for plantation food.”
    Gil’s face clouded. As for the diminutive Dinky, he had known him even longer than Ernst. Back in Natchez, when Dinky Peele had been under the yoke of slavery, his ribs had been the first thing a person noticed. On the day Gil and his company of Union soldiers had freed him, Dinky had grabbed a half-raw pork shoulder right from a cookfire and had gobbled the meat down in less than a couple of minutes.
    And he was pining for plantation chow
    Wink Tannington poured his fare into the fire. “I ain’t hungry.”
    Besides Matthias, Wink was the best cowpuncher Gil had ever met. And the Mississippian did his job without the left arm he’d lost at Shiloh. When he reached his home in Biloxi, Wink had learned that each of his four brothers had