The Diary of Jerrod Bently by J.W. Osborn (large ebook reader TXT) 📕

even rebuilt. She could breed and raise her horses, but his grand daughter had no idea of the property’s true value. Rumors of a lost treasure of Spanish sliver had come and gone for years, but Scrub Pot knew the truth and he had kept silent about the treasure he and his son had found near what was now the Flying S Ranch many years before his grand daughter had been born. It was a tiny opening in a rock wall that led into a large hidden cavern. A huge black boulder set in the middle of three others at the edge of the Grants County line marked the place where the treasure had remained hidden for hundreds of years. The opening was completely concealed by the rocks around it and for one to get inside, one would have to be no bigger than a small child. It was a very long time ago, when Scrub Pot and his son Joseph had been caught in a terrible storm. They found their way into the rocks looking for shelter from the inclement weather. Joseph was just a boy of nine years, and his father fearing for the life of his son, saw a small opening in the rocks and insisted the boy crawl inside. Protesting and not wanting to leave his father in the storm, the boy crawled in. Scrub Pot managed to build a fire among the rocks in a place where it was dry and handed his son a torch. That was when they discovered the treasure. Old deteriorated wooden boxes spilling sliver and gold coins out onto the floor of the cave, and several still sealed coffers of what Scrub Pot assumed was even more that what he could see while Joseph held the burning torch. A child could enter, but a man could only get his head and shoulders in for a look. They marked the place in a manner only they would understand, remembering the rock formation that resembled a buffalo and swore they would keep silent about the lost treasure they had stumbled on that stormy night long ago. Time passed, life went on, rumors went on but no treasure was discovered. But the old man knew exactly where it all was for all of these years and smiled every time he’d heard the rumors fly. The cave was too well hidden and no one had been able to find it. Yes, it was real, and it was there waiting to be rediscovered. But after Joseph’s death and Sarah too, less than a year later, Scrub Pot was determined to keep the secret and one day, he would tell Sam about it and the treasure would be hers and her future would be set . He smiled to himself as he mixed the ingredients for his biscuits and hoped that his baking stone would be hot enough soon.
Sam pulled on her jeans and buttoned her boy’s linen shirt, the reached for her hair brush.
So far her masquerade was going well. No one even suspected who she really was. They were all so impressed with her knowledge and talents with horses and herding cattle that no one suspected that Sam Dodge of being nothing less that the cowboy she presented herself to be. She pulled on her boots and stepped out of the back of the wagon into the cool early morning air., her long dark hair falling over her shoulders and down her back. She froze, looking around to make sure on one had seen her. She could not be so careless she told herself as she retreated back into the wagon and braided her hair and put on her hat, pulling the brim down. There, she was ready. Scrub Pot had his coffee pot boiling over the fire and the trial boss had all ready joined him as Sam picked up her blue enamel cup. “‘Mornin’ to ye, Dodge,” Angus Watson said “How far are we going today?”
“I hope to be closer to the Oklahoma Territory by night fall,” Sam replied as Scrub Pot poured coffee into her cup. “But who knows what can happen between now and then.”
“ I am riding point with you today,” Angus said “What can you tell me about the savages that came into camp last night? You spoke to them in their language. “
“In this part of the country, most everybody knows a few Indian words,” Sam lied “All they wanted was some food.”
“Aye, and that surely was a handsome woman with them,” Angus replied. Scrub Pot nearly dropped his coffee pot. “What woman?”, he asked.
“Why the one with the long braid and that colorful dress,” Angus said “I saw her talking to you and started over to ask for an introduction. She was fair of face, I’d say.. Who is she?”
Suddenly Scrub Pot saw an end to his problem with Bird That Talks.. “She is an old friend,” he said “From my past. She is sad, husband is dead.“
”I surely would like to make her acquaintance, lad,” he said “She is a handsome woman and I have thought of nothing else since I laid eyes on her.” Sam nearly choked on her coffee and sent it spewing everywhere. Trying to control herself, she apologized, saying she had a tickle in her throat. Watson looked at the baking biscuits with anticipation in his blue eyes, “ I want to tend to my horse,” he said “I will be back in a few minutes and don’t be forgetting my boysenberry jam.”
Scrub Pot merely grunted his answer. But in his mind, he was making plans. Yes, he could introduce Watson to that pesky squaw and he could take out his bible and marry them himself if need be. After all that was his calling and he was and ordained minister. The old man smiled. Bird That Talks would soon have a husband and it wouldn’t be him. They watched Watson walk away. “There is a town on the route to the border,” Scrub Pot confided to his granddaughter. “We will be needing staples in a few days.”
“Good,” Sam replied as she finished her coffee and put her cup into the wash bucket.
“Can you spare a man to hunt deer for us,” Scrub Pot asked as he removed his biscuits from the baking stone and put them in a metal bowl.
Sam grinned “No more rattle snake?”, she said wryly.
“Only if we have to,” Scrub Pot replied “Bentley commented about the “chicken stew” just the other night. Let us not push our luck.”
“He’s a green horn, “ Sam stated in annoyance “He would not know the difference between a rattle snake or a deer.”
“You must give the man credit, grand daughter,” Scrub Pot defended “He learns fast and never gives up, like many others have and will. He is a good man.”
“So you say,” Sam replied “I will see what I think of him when this drive is over and I am moving into the Flying S. Do you recall the name of this town that is supposed to be on the route we have planned?”, she added to change the subject.
“It was called Portersville, “ Scrub Pot replied “I was there when it was nothing more than a stockade and a trading post.”
“How far?” she asked.
“May be two days if the weather holds.”, Scrub Pot answered. Sam nodded, tugging down the brim of her hat. “We will plan to over night there and give everyone a break,” she said. Then off she went to assume her role as Sam Dodge , Ram Rod and Wrangler.


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That morning, Scrub Pot had breakfast ready for the men and Sam Dodge was again conferring with our trail boss and looking a little grim. Scrub Pot seemed annoyed but went about his work as he usually did, trying to ignore the fact that Bird That Talks and her companions were set to follow us. That seemed to be the concern among the drovers as we prepared to get the herd moving. Everyone agreed that they would have enjoyed hearing Ely Jax play his guitar and sing along had it not been for that “buffalo’s”, constant chattering the night before. It would seem that the woman had set her mind on snaring a husband in anyway she could, and Scrub Pot was the object of her affections. From his sour mood and demeanor, I figured he was not pleased at all. Bird That Talks probably thought that by trailing him, she would wear him down.

The day began, hot and dusty as usual. The herd moved slow and at this pace we might make five of the fifteen miles Watson had wanted before sundown. He looked official and very much as I thought a trail boss should look as he dashed about issuing orders from the back of his bay gelding. It seemed though that he had forgotten that cattle need to eat, especially this scrawny herd, and grazing was what they needed before we got to market. Any weight they’d gained during our first stop would be walked off if we kept the pace Watson wanted. We were almost a week into the drive when Angus realized that he might not ever see the Kansas border if it weren’t for Sam Dodge and decided it would be to his benefit to remain on good terms at all times. The boss always talks to the ramrod and the ramrod gives the orders. Fat cattle fetch a better price I heard, so graze we would and often. We were still in Texas and it was hot as blazes and the lowing and moaning the cattle made was about to drive me mad. Mud plodded along, content to be just walking. The dust was thick and I would be