Many a River (Thorndike Large Print Western Series) - Hardcover

Kelton, Elmer

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1410408884 ISBN 13: 9781410408884

Publisher: Thorndike Pr, 2008

Synopsis

Relocating to western Texas with their sharecropper parents in the mid-nineteenth century, Jeffrey and Todd Barfield are separated by a Comanche attack that leaves their parents dead, and are reunited years later on opposing sides in the Civil War.

About this title

About the Author

Elmer Kelton of San Angelo, Texas is a native Texan and author of 50 Western novels. He has won many awards for his work and has been recognized as the Greatest Western Writer of all time by the Western Writers of America, Inc. He is the author of Forge’s Texas Ranger series

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

 

North Texas, 1855

Jeffrey Barfield wondered how much farther Papa would continue to travel before he found a settle-down place that suited him. The family had left Arkansas by wagon two months ago and slowly picked their way across the eastern part of Texas, looking for land Papa would consider to be just right. Mama had seen a dozen sites she would be happy with, but Papa invariably said, "There's bound to be better a little farther west."

Eight-going-on-nine, Jeffrey was beginning to fear the family would still be wandering when he celebrated his next birthday. They had passed through Fort Worth, then moved on westward, stopping hopefully here a day, there a day, and going on. Now they had camped on a pleasant, clear-running creek miles beyond Weatherford. Papa walked in a slow circle, kicking up soil with his boot, then reaching down with calloused farmer hands to scoop up a bit of it. He sniffed at it and let it slowly spill out between his fingers.

Watching from afar, Jeffrey said, "Reckon this is it, Mama? Reckon he'll decide this is the place?"

Mama touched his shoulder gently. She looked tired. "I don't know, son. I've wished so many times . . ." She turned toward her campfire. "You'd better fetch me a little more dry wood."

Jeffrey heard a boyish shout and glanced about for his younger brother. Todd was romping with a brown dog that had accompanied the family as the wagon bumped its way through Arkansas. With a fleeting impatience, Jeffrey shouted, "Hush up, Todd. You'll run off any game that's within hearin' of you."

Todd quieted down for a minute or two but quickly forgot Jeffrey's admonition. He began playing fetch-the-stick with the dog. Jeffrey shrugged. Remaining quiet seemed too much to ask of an energetic five-year-old boy.

He gathered a few small branches from dead brush and broke them across his knee, carrying them back to the .re. Papa had strayed three hundred yards from the wagon. Mama raised her hand to her slat bonnet to shade her eyes from the noonday sun. She said, "Better go fetch him, son. Dinner'll be ready when you-all get back."

"Yes, ma'am. Papa loses all track of time."

He met Todd walking in from his game. Not seeing the dog, he asked, "Where's Brownie?"

"He got tired of chasin' a stick. He took off after a rabbit."

"You better get back to the wagon and wash your face and hands. It'll soon be time to eat."

Todd quickened his pace. He liked to play, but eating pleased him even more.

Jeffrey gave Papa the message. Papa sounded disappointed. "All right, I'm done here. Soon as we've finished eatin' dinner, we'll break camp and move on."

Jeffrey tried not to frown. Mama always said Papa knew best, even when she didn't believe it herself. "This isn't the place?"

"Maybe a little farther on."

They had not seen a soul since they left Weatherford. Jeffrey asked, "Ain't we gotten out pretty far past everybody else?"

"That's the way I like it. We get first pick."

At the wagon, Papa broke the news that they were moving on. Mama took it without comment, but Todd protested, "Brownie ain't come back. We can't just leave him."

Papa said, "If he don't find his way to us, we'll have to go without him."

Todd puckered up. Papa said sternly, "You're too big to start cryin'."

Todd said, "I don't ever cry."

Jeffrey saw the hurt in his brother's eyes. He said, "I'll go hunt for him. He may not have sense enough to follow us."

Papa warned, "Don't waste much time. We'll be startin' pretty soon."

The noonday sun bore heavily on Jeffrey's thin shoulders and sent sweat trickling down his freckled face. He never cussed in front of Papa or Mama, but he was a mile or more from them now. He stated his opinion of the wayward dog in terms he had heard his father use in addressing a team of mules. Papa often relied on profanity for its ability to relieve stress.

"You can stay out here and starve to death for all I care," Jeffrey shouted at the absent animal.

Well, no big loss. Brownie rarely played with him, preferring to rip around with Todd. Jeffrey turned and started back, his feet dragging, his steps shorter than when he had begun. He had not gone far before he heard the dog barking off to his left. He saw a moving cloud of dust and heard the drumming of hooves. Someone was pushing a band of horses in a slow lope. As wind shifted the dust, he counted a dozen or more riders.

He froze in midstride. They were Indians, and they were riding headlong toward the wagon camp.

The shock gave Jeffrey fresh strength. He broke into a run, shouting a warning. His was a boy's voice, high-pitched find too weak to carry far. Remembering terrible tales he had heard about Indian raids, he began crying. He heard a shot and recognized the sound of the rifle. Papa was serving notice that he intended to defend himself and his family.

Several Indians left the horse herd and circled the wagon. Papa's rifle fired once more, then a shotgun blasted. That would be Mama, pitching in. Jeffrey was close enough now to see Papa go down and to hear Mama scream before a warrior crushed her head with a club.

He realized that the Indians could see him if they looked in his direction. He dropped to his stomach and hid himself in the tall grass. Instinct cried out for him to rush to the wagon and try to help, but fear paralyzed him. An inner voice told him it was already too late, that he would only get himself killed.

He heard Todd cry out as an Indian lifted him onto his horse. The boy futilely beat the warrior with his fists. The man swung the hard handle of a rawhide quirt and struck Todd a sharp blow to the side of his head. Todd went limp. Jeffrey then lost sight of his brother and the Indian in the stirring of dust as warriors circled the wagon. He heard them shouting in celebration while they looted it of blankets and foodstuffs. They gathered up the mule team Papa had staked on grass near camp and tried to set fire to the wagon. They succeeded only in burning much of the canvas cover before wind snuffed out the blaze. They rode away, adding the mules to their band of loose horses.

Jeffrey lay on the ground for several minutes, trembling, fearing that some Indians might lag behind and see him. Finally, choking with fear, he forced himself to his feet and trudged to the wagon. He knew what he would surely find, but he denied it to himself. Mama and Papa must somehow have survived. They had to.

But they had not. Mama lay twisted on the ground, eyes open but not seeing. Her head was bloody, her scalp torn away. Wind tugged at her long skirt. Papa lay across a hot cast-iron dutch oven that sat atop live coals. His clothing smoldered, and Jeffrey smelled burning flesh. Papa too had been scalped.

About this edition

• Publisher: Thorndike Pr
• Publication date: 2008
• ISBN 10: 1410408884
• ISBN 13: 9781410408884
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 475