Destiny Of The Mountain Man Read Online Free Page B

the overturned wagon. Ramon’s right arm was hanging down by his side, his pistol dangling from a crooked finger. His left hand was covering a wound on his right shoulder, and blood was spilling through his fingers.
    By now, the sound of gunfire was receding as the attackers had passed through the herd and rode off on the far side of the valley. The cattle, spooked by all the shooting, were milling around, but had not stampeded.
    â€œI think they are gone,” Barrett said.
    â€œEmil,” Ramon said to Barrett, his tight voice evidence of the pain of his wound. “Ride back to the big house, tell Mr. King what just happened.”
    â€œAll right,” Barrett replied. He nodded toward the wound. “But you better get yourself into town and get that bullet hole looked at.”
    â€œI’ll see that he does,” Carter said to Barrett. “You better get started.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Richard King had never done anything on a small scale. When he was eleven years old, he became dissatisfied with his apprenticeship in New York and stowed away on a schooner. Discovered, he had to work for his passage. After a few years learning the shipping trade from the bottom up, including becoming a captain, King took a partner and formed his own shipping company. By the late 1840’s, his company was shipping supplies for General Zachary Taylor along the Rio Grande.
    Enamored with Texas, Captain King settled there, started ranching, and by 1860 he and his new bride, Henrietta, had grown their various enterprises into an 860,000-acre ranch along the banks of the Santa Gertrudis River in Texas.
    Ever the businessman, King invested in building railroads, icehouses, packinghouses, and harbor improvements in Corpus Christi, Texas, which was just forty miles from his ranch.
    Now, the ranch owner was planning the logistics of a cattle drive to Dodge City, Kansas. He had considered shipping them to Kansas by rail, but the circuitous railroad route it would require to make all the connections would take two weeks, and it would cost him approximately four dollars per head, or forty thousand dollars. Driving the herd to Dodge would take eight weeks, but it would only cost him about three thousand dollars total.
    King was sitting at his desk, working out the logistics of the drive, when Emil Barrett came in to see him. Standing in front of the big oak desk, holding his hat in his hands and nervously rolling it by the rim, he made his report to his boss. Barrett’s jeans and shirt were covered with dirt and dust and he smelled of sweat and cows, but Captain Richard King took no notice of that. He did wonder why the young cowboy was here, instead of out on the range, helping with the roundup.
    â€œWhat are you doing here, Barrett?”
    â€œCap’n, we got trouble,” Barrett said, addressing him as Captain, as did all the cowboys.
    â€œWhat sort of trouble?”
    Barrett told of the predawn attack.
    â€œHow about you, Barrett, are you all right?” he asked.
    â€œYes, sir, I’m fine. I would’a still been out there with the others iff’n Ramon hadn’t’a sent me back to bring you the news.”
    â€œRamon was right, and you did well. Go to the kitchen, get yourself some coffee and whatever you want to eat.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” Barrett said.
    After Barrett left, King stood up from behind the enormous oak desk in his study. He was an imposing figure of a man. Almost six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and heavily muscled forearms that made the paunch he was developing in his later years seem smaller. His hair was streaked with gray and was beginning to thin out a bit on top, but his mustache was thick and black and still full.
    He walked over to a clothes tree in the corner where there hung a right-handed holster rig. Taking it down, he buckled it around his waist with the familiar motion of someone who had worn a gun before. He pulled the Colt Peacemaker from the