Storm's Thunder Read Online Free Page A

you.”
    â€œNope. Had no idea. I asked around for a fella what sold property. Barkeep down the way sent me to you.”
    â€œI don’t believe in coincidence, Mister Two-Trees. It was divine providence that sent you to me. Jack and Alma had their savings stolen along with everyone else’s and you, sir, are the man to thank for that money’s return. I consider it an honor to express my gratitude for your bravery by finding you the highest possible price for your land.”
    â€œObliged.”
    â€œMister Two-Trees, you signed over power-of-attorney to a man you didn’t know. Had you knocked on the door of any other agent in Santa Fe, he would’ve sold your property, kept all the proceeds for himself and then vanished. That, or found a way to have you arrested.”
    â€œI suppose you coulda done that. But spending my money while also dead would prove difficult.”
    â€œIt was never an option, Mister Two-Trees.” Garber rests his hands on his hips and looks me square. “Despite what anyone says about my tribe , Milton J. Garber doesn’t swindle heroes.” He downs the rest of his coffee and continues. “With the issue of title settled, I took a trip up to the Bend to take a look at this eighty-five acres. I can’t rightly sell a parcel if I can’t describe it.”
    â€œYou rode all the way out to the Bend?”
    â€œOh, with the new railroad it’s an easy hour. Alma and Jack were there to collect me in the buggy. I must say, your property is a lovely spread. Plenty of flat ground, perfect for crops or grazing, with that delightful stream down the middle. I’m frankly surprised that you want to let it go.”
    â€œTime I moved on.”
    â€œYes, California, you mentioned. Not looking for gold, I hope. I hear it’s bust.” I let the words hang there and he keeps looking at me, expecting me to talk. But these days I find myself less inclined to tell a man any more of my business than I need to. “I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that . . . they don’t want you to go. There, I said it plain.”
    â€œWho don’t?”
    â€œJack. Alma. Just about every person I spoke to in the Bend. Hell, sir, they want you to come back and be sheriff.”
    â€œBig Jack’s wearing the star now.”
    â€œOh, God bless my sister’s husband, but Jack is no sheriff. A deputy, maybe. And for you, he’d gladly step aside. Told me as much himself. You have the trust of the people. You earned it.”
    â€œIf you stood on my land, then you saw what they did.” A dark memory flickers behind Garber’s eyes. But now my own memory flares—searing heat, a blanket of smoke, the stench of burning livestock. I feel my blood start to boil. “They burned my house down, with me in it. My barn too. Only thing survived was me and that stallion.”
    â€œWhoever burned you out should be hanged, no question. If you were sheriff, you could do it yourself.”
    â€œFolks may see the white in me when the cotton is high, like now—everybody sitting flush—but come the first whisper of trouble, they don’t see nothing but red. You think White Men are gonna take kindly to an Indian stringing up one of their own, or telling people what they can and cannot do? No, sir. You pin a star to my front side, you might as well pin a bull’s eye to my back. I’m not interested.”
    â€œWell, I told them I’d ask. Can’t blame a fellow for trying.”
    It is his trying that sits funny with me. Why this man who don’t know me from Adam would angle his own brother-in-law out of steady work—thus taking bread off his sister’s table—while steering me toward a job that would get me shot faster than five aces, only adds to the conundrum that is Milton J. Garber. He pulls a handkerchief from his vest and dabs a droplet of sweat from his forehead and all at once the answer hits