The Daughter by C.B. Cooper (robert munsch read aloud .TXT) 📕

down, Zeb pulled the lid off the pot and grabbed the spoon to give it a stir. “What else ya got in here?” he asked.
“Water.” Sam admitted weakly. He been out of salt pork for a week, not to mention that he didn’t have any onions or seasonings of any type, and he’d drank the last of his coffee that morning.
“Let me go to my pack, see what else I can rustle up to go with these fine beans of yer’s.”
Sam watched Zeb come back with his arms loaded. Twenty minutes later they were drinking hot coffee and watching venison fry over the fire. The smell from the pot of beans was making Sam’s mouth water. Zeb had added a small chunk of salt pork, a generous amount of wild onions, salt, and fresh cracked pepper. In another pot, he was simmering a can of peaches with some honey and a part of a cinnamon stick. It was a feast fit for royalty in Sam’s hungery eyes.
“Now that we’s all settled in, why don’cha tell me what yer doing out here on foot, son.”
It was so embarrassing that Sam entertained the thought of lying for a second. But looking across the fire at his new found friend, he just couldn’t do it. “Well, I’m ashamed to say, that I lost my horse. Damned thing spooked, got away from me and left me on foot.”
Zeb didn’t laugh, but he did smile, his blue eyes twinkling under his bushy grey eyebrows, “Wall, I figured it was something like that. I run inta a small band of Kickapoo hunters yesterday evening’. They was stringin’ a shod horse baring a saddle imprint in its hide. Bet that was yer’s. To bad too, that was a nice lookin horse.”
“That it was.” Jerking his chin, he motioned towards Zeb’s animals, “That’s a fine animal your riding, too.”
Zeb laughed, “Ya mean ol‘ Ugly, o‘er there? Don’t look so surprised there, boy. You think I don’t know ugly when I see it?” he laughed. “Ya shoulda seen my third wife, she belonged to the flathead tribe up North, but that’s a different story. But, Ugly right there, he’s pert’ near the best hoss I ever had. Pretty sure he’s got some jackass in his line somewhere… but that damned thing will go anywhere, an aint afraid of nothin’. ’Sides, an ugly hoss is better’n no hoss, wouldn’t ya say?”
Both men laughed good naturedly at Sam’s expense. “You got me there, Zeb.”

After supper was done and the dishes were cleaned and put away, they sat by the fire drinking the last of their coffee.
“Ya know them Kickapoo that stole yer hoss? They was all worked up when I ran inta them. It was the strangest damn thang, they told me a story I couldn’t hardly believe at the time.”
Sam waited to hear the rest, he knew what Jeb was probably getting at, but let the old man get there in his own time.
“Word travels like wild fire through the Indian tribes. If one Indian knows it, they all know it, you can be sure of that. Them Kickapoo were on their way of getting gone from around here, and you know, them Kickapoo don’t run from much. But this had them damned injuns scared shitless.” Zeb cut his eyes, trying to read the look on Sam’s face, but they might as well of been holding cards in their hands. He had his poker face screwed on tight.
“Seems evil’s among us, boy. According to them, that is. They’s claimin’ the devils loose and runnin’ amuck,” he laughed “And they say he’s disguised as a woman, of all things.” He waiting for Sam to reply.
“Is that right?”
“Yes sir-ee. They told me a devil woman was on the prowl, and some crazy white man seemed to be chasing her. They claim she kilt a whole passel of men down along the Brazos. Kilt them in a horrible way, they didn’t go into detail mind you, but I got the jist of it. And they said the evil she left in them was killin’ the animals that ate off’n ‘em for miles around.”
“Huh.” was all Sam said.
“Then they said that that white man came along and burnt those bodies, releasing their souls from the Devil and sending them along to the Great Spirit in the sky. Now, what do you make of all of that?”
“Sounds pretty crazy to me.” he said, not meeting the old mans eye.
“That’s what I thought. Then they tol’ me that the horse they had with them escaped from the white man, ‘cause he didn’t want to chase the Devil down anymore, so he sought refuge with them. Now, what do you think of that?”
Sam smiled and shook his head, “I’d say that those damned Kickapoo talk to much.”
Zeb chuckled, then stroked his beard thoughtfully, “I figure, your that white man they were talkin’ bout, so you wanna tell me what’s going on that has the whole Indian nation in an uproar?”


Zeb sat quietly, staring thoughtfully into the flames of the fire, while Sam explained the whole situation. He started with himself being a Reverend in their small town, and renting a room in Gracie’s barn when her momma got sick, and ended with her spiking his coffee with some sort of sleeping agent, and running off on him.
Zeb occasionally grunted, shaking his head, but waited until he was sure Sam was done before he spoke.
“That girl a yourn, is hunting a world of trouble. Damn good thing the injun’s think she’s the Devil, even if she aint, it’ll guarantee her, and you, safe passage. As it is, they wouldn’t touch her with a hundred foot tee-pee pole. Tomorrow we head for Fort Worth, it’s only about a half a days ride from here. We’ll get you outfitted again, then I’ll show you the way to the Oregon trail.” Seeing Sam was about to protest the offer, Zeb continued, “Now, you aint putting me out none, I was a headed that away, anyhow. I heard the railroad’s paying good wages to keep the hostiles a bay while their a layin’ track, and I aim to git me a piece a that. ‘Sides, you’d be doing me a favor, we wouldn’t git messed with, on account the injuns think your a God.”
Sam about choked on his last drink of coffee, “They think I’m a what!”
“Their a thinkin’ you’re a God of some sort. Sent down to fight the Devil himself. And I tell you what, they aint gonna mess with you.” Zeb chuckled, “They were a little peeved though, said something about the Great Spirit sending a white boy to do a warrior’s job. But that’s neither here nor there. Bottom line is, you and that girl, both got a free pass through Indian territory, and that don’t happen very often.”
Sam couldn’t hardly believe his ears, a free pass through Indian territory? Well, that certainly took a load off his mind. Trouble was, if they ever found out what he had done in his past, all hell would be breaking loose. But Sam didn’t want to think about that, his main concern right now, was riding into Fort Worth. Before Zeb had come along, he’d planned on skirting the settlement and heading towards Johnson Station, he told Zeb as much.
“Hell fire, boy! That’s another good twelve, thirteen miles past Fort Worth. They probably aint got the hoss selection that The Fort do. I bet you could git yourself a fine war hoss there, Johnson Station aint got nothing’ but old farm nags. Take it from me, that’s where I picked up ol’ Ugly over there, ‘bout three years back.”
Sam doubted that Zeb wanting to go to Fort Worth, instead of Johnson’s Station, had anything to do with the quality of their horses, as opposed to the quality of their whiskey. Forts, as a rule, tended to serve good, store bought liquor, where as bars in small towns usually served homemade rot-gut out of old rotten water barrels.
Smiling, Sam said, “Your right Zeb, Fort Worth it is.”

Later, after they were under their blankets, laying beside the low burning fire, Zeb said, “Boy, I jest cant wrap my head around you being a preacher.”
Smiling in the dark, Sam answered, “Was a preacher.”
“Is that something that you can jest… quit being?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know, Zeb. But I did.”
“You gotta do some sort a ceremony for that?”
“I didn’t.”
Zeb laughed quietly, “Did you tell yer Boss you was quittin’?”
Sam thought about that, “Well, now that you mention it, I guess I didn’t.”
“Well, mayhaps your still workin’ and you jest don’t know it.”
Sam chuckled, “Maybe, but I doubt it.”
“You never did say why you took up that particular profession…”
That was something Sam wasn’t ready to talk about, even to the old mountain man that he’d taken such a liken to. Though their friendship was only a few hours old, he felt like he’d known Zeb Tucker for a very long time. “I think I’ll save that story for another night, Zeb. I’m pretty bushed.”
Zeb wasn’t no dummy, and he took the hint. “That’s alright, boy. I’m pretty tired myself, and we best be gittin an early start in the morning’. I’m looking forward to hittin’ The Fort tomorrow, catch up on all the local gossip and maybe have a drink or two at the local waterin‘ hole. Boy, I aint had me a descent sip of whiskey in a long while.”
Sam smiled under his covers, “Sounds good to me. G’night Zeb.”
“’Night, boy.”
Zeb was snoring almost immediately.
Sam lay listening to the slow quiet cadence of the old man sleeping across from him, and let his mind wander. He wasn’t looking forward to reaching the Fort, nearly as much as Zeb was. Mostly, he was hoping he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew from his past. But since most of the residence were likely Texas Rangers, the prospect wasn’t good. A lot of soldiers from the Mexican-American war had signed up to be rangers after the war.
Sam let out a big sigh. He guessed he couldn’t run away from his past forever. Besides, if everything went well, they would be at The Fort for less than twenty four hours. What’s the worst that could happen in a day?


“Look alive, Clancy! You got yourself a gen-u-ine American hero in your midst, you big dumb bastard!”
They had been at the Fort for less than two minutes, and Zeb had already let the cat out of the bag.
“Is that what you call, ‘keeping a low profile’, Zeb?” Sam growled.
The mountain man smiled at him mischievously, “Sorry, Sam. I guess I already plum forgot, damn memory just aint what it used to be.”
Turning back to the stocky Irishman standing at the door of the livery, he hooked a thumb towards his riding companion, “I forgot, me and Sam Sharp here, we were gonna lay low while we were in town. If’n there’s one thing Sam Sharp doesn’t like, it’s a bunch of god damned gawkers, asking a bunch a dumb questions.”
Clancy, as Zeb had called him, looked Sam over carefully. Spitting a brown stream of tobacco juice into the dirt, he asked skeptically, “Are you really Sam Sharp?”
Sam was about to answer when Zeb cut in, “Wall, hell yes, he’s Sam Sharp, you big buffoon! You don’t recognize a livin’ legend when you see one?”
“Settle down, Zeb. The man just asked a question. Clancy, is it?” He waited for the big man to nod his head in acknowledment, “Well, Clancy, maybe I am and maybe I’m not, but one things for sure,