The Daughter by C.B. Cooper (best value ebook reader .txt) 📕

a long night.
Coulter spoke from behind him, "Boss, you want us to leave you alone to go after those men? And leave you here; unprotected?"
Shit. Sighing, he conceded, "Never mind. Let 'em go."
"One more thing…"
Jarvis stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned, "What is it, Tom?" he asked impatiently.
Tom Coulter stared at him, his eyes hard. "You offered to triple those men's pay. I take it the same deal goes for us."
Behind Tom, his men grouped around him, their arms folded, their eyes daring him to refuse.
Jarvis felt cornered, a feeling that didn’t set well with him, but they had him over a barrel. Forcing a smile, he told them from between gritted teeth, "Of course. You and your men are well worth every penny." You heartless bastards.

Sam and Zeb sat beneath the giant oak tree on the backs of their horses. Their hands were bound behind their backs and each had a hangman's noose wrapped around their necks. The men that had strung them up had argued over the type of knot that they would use. They had finally decided on a noose knot, which would slide down and slowly strangle each of the men, as opposed to a hangman's knot that used thirteen coils designed to slide together, snapping a mans neck and killing him instantly.
A large horde of miners had gathered before them, and off to the side, a small group of church women stood by nervously.
Jarvis sat his prancing mount, the large stallion arching his neck and chewing at the bit.
Beside Sam, Zeb spoke out of the side of his mouth, "Wall, I guess yor friends arent gonna show up."
"Guess not. Sorry, Zeb."
"I done tol' ya last night, theres nothin' to be sorry fer."
Satisfied that all of the people who were planning on attending, were there, Jarvis addressed the crowd, "These men have been found guilty of treason." he shouted. "And they've been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. And the same will go for anybody caught conversing with the enemy. In this town, I am the judge, jury, and executioner!"
"He forgot, Grand Prick and Royal Hind-ass." Zeb whispered loudly.
One of Jarvis's men who was holding the reigns of Ol' Ugly, stifled a laugh.
"I own this town!" Jarvis continued. "I own that creek bed, and I own all of the businesses in town…"
"I wish he owned a sharp knife and would use to cut his own tongue out. Somebody needs to shove a sock in it, and get this party started already. His little speech is killin' me faster than this god-damned noose." Zeb grumbled.
Sharp couldn’t help himself, he laughed and so did Jarvis's men who were standing close enough to hear him.
Jarvis heard the laughter and jerked his horse around. "You think this funny?" He pointed to the church women, queing their part in this sick little neck-tie party.
"Swing low, sweet chariot…" they all sang, their voices warbling in nervous fear. They sounded worse than a gaggle of geese, all squawking off key.
"Oh, Jesus Christ! Yer killing me over here!" Zeb shouted. "Get on with it Jarvis, before my ears start to bleed."
Jarvis smiled at his own genius. He had thought up this little number last night when he couldn’t sleep. He threw his head back and laughed joyously, waving his fingers in the air like a conductor waves his wand. He wished Adams were here to see this.
"Faster!" he told the women. "And put some heart into it!"
The women obliged fearfully, tickling him pink. He sang along, his voice booming gleefully. "Comin' for to carry me home…"
As the song came to an end, he signaled his men, "Let 'em swing, boys!"
Zeb called to Sam. "See ya on the other side, Amigo."
Sharp was about to answer, when his horse jumped beneath him, and took off, running side by side with Ol' Ugly.
Sharp struggled against the rope as the noose jerked tight against his throat. His feet kicked in the air, unintentionally swinging him around so he was facing Zeb.
Zeb's legs kicked wildly in the air, his face turning red and his eyes bulging as he stared back at him. His left eye was bruised black and swollen from where Jarvis had hit him the night before. If Sam could have done one more thing before he died, it would have been to take that asshole out.
The sight of that old man doing a death dance at the end of the rope, broke Sam's heart. Zeb deserved to die better than this…


chapter
From between slitted eyes he watched as an arrow pierced through the rope above his friends head, slicing through the fibers. Slowly the rope unraveled, then broke, dropping Zeb onto the ground.
Sam was vaguely aware of people screaming and running, as several arrows flew through the air, and Indian war cries rose above the sudden chaos .
On his feet, Zeb struggled to get his breath. The noose, once tightened, didn’t loosen easily, and with his hands still tied behind his back, he was only able to get little gasps of air by flexing the muscles in his neck.
Staggering over to Sam, he ducked, shoving his head through Sam's legs, so that he was sitting on Zeb's shoulders. His legs shaking, Zeb tried to stand to take the weight off of Sam's rope.
Sam was so heavy, however, that Zeb was only able to hold him up for just a few seconds at a time. Crying out in exersion, Zeb heaved Sam up again, while in his mind, he cursed his old, frail body.
Above him, Sam gulped in a mouth full of air while he could. But he knew that his time was short lived. Poor Zeb wouldn’t be able keep it up for very long.
The rope slowly tightened around his neck again as Zebs shoulders lowered, then disappeared completely from beneath him. He knew the old man would feel guilty for not being able to save him. He wished he could tell him that it was alright. That obviously it was his time to go, and he was okay with that.
Sam's vision was starting to grow dark, when another set of shoulders replaced Zebs. Strong shoulders that could easily bare his weight, lifted him high into the air.
Suddenly a spotted horse appeared out of nowhere, sliding to a stop beside Sam.
Buffalo Hump grimaced as he reached an old gnarled hand out and cut the rope above Sams head with the flick of his bone handled knife.
Free from the hangman's noose, Sam dropped to the ground. As soon as he hit, there were hands there, untying the rope that bound his hands and slipping the noose from around his neck.
In utter exhaustion, Sam collapsed.
"You don’t listen, White Worrior. I told you, that if you came, you and your friend would die. It is good that I had another vision after you left my village."
Still breathing hard, Sharp asked him, "And what was in that vision?"
"This." he heard the Indian chief say. "Me saving you."
Struggling to his knees, Sharp grinned up at the old chief, "Well, you sure took your sweet time getting here."

They were in Buffalo Hump's camp, about a mile away from town, sitting in front of a small fire.
Zeb sat huddled, a wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Sam looked worriedly at the black bruise around his neck. He had also noticed that Zeb hadn't turned his head since they were cut loose from the noose.
Reaching over, he gently squeezed the old mans shoulder, "How are you feeling, Zeb?"
"Fine as frogs hair." he croaked, his voice hoarse.
"Our medicine man, Waters That Fall, is making you a poultice for your neck and eye. It will help with the pain and bruising."
Zeb nodded his head, the slight movement causing him to wince, "I'd be much obliged."
Sam frowned, "I sure wish you and your men would of killed that crazy bastard, Jarvis."
Buffalo Hump shrugged, "We could have easily. But we were given strict orders not to touch him, White Warrior."
"What! By who?"
"By me."
Sam turned, watching Gracie stroll out of the forest and make her way to the fire. Somewhat amusedly, he also watched all of Buffalo Humps finest, bravest warriors and a couple of squaws, run to the opposite end of the camp, their eyes fearful. Only Buffalo Hump remained where he was.
Once Gracie was seated, Buffalo Hump chuckled, "You make my men run like girls. But I will forgive them, because you are a strange one."
Gracie, or Angel, ignored the comment, getting right down to business. "Don’t worry Sam, Jarvis will be dead before sunrise tomorrow."
Sam studied her dark eyes. He never thought it would happen, but he was getting sort of used to them. They were completely black, the surface shiny and tinged with a metallic dark blue, almost like the back of a black ground beetle.
"So tonights the night."
"Yes. I left word in town for anybody not wanting to be killed, to get out of town by sundown."
Sharp didn’t even want to ask how she managed that one. But he was curious about something… "How come your calling me Sam, all of a sudden. You always called me, Reverend."
She looked at him curiously, "You don’t know?" Turning, she asked, "What about you, Buffalo Hump. Can you tell?"
A smile appeared in the cracks and creavices that lined the old Indians face, "Yes, I can tell. The reverend is gone, and the old Sam Sharp is back."
Staring at the ground, he mulled over their words. Was it true? Was he really back to his old self? He remembered the night before, when Jarvis had hit Zeb— he had felt it then, in that moment. But what about now?

They spent the day in Buffalo Humps camp. Zeb received the poultice and after only an hour he was able to move his head freely from side to side again, but the bruise had grown considerably, it looked like he was sporting a new black scarf around his neck.
After their short conversation earlier, Gracie had gone to the edge of the camp and sat by herself. She had been sitting with her back to them, staring into the woods in a deep trance ever since.
As the late summer sun began to set in the sky, dark clouds rolled in from all directions. As the wind picked up, Buffalo Humps warrior's began preparing for battle. Their long black hair was braided by the few squaws that had accompanied them on the trip. Feathers and beads were placed strategically along their thick braids, while black and white war paint was applied to their stoic faces.
Once all of the men were ready, more wood as added to the fire in the middle of the camp. As the flames reached the height of a full grown man, Buffalo Hump was escorted to the North side of the pyre to take his rightful place and begin the ceremony.
The buffalo robe was thrown from his shoulders as he raised his arms high in the air and began chanting, "Aaahhee haatahhee oohhoowah."
Inside the circle of the camp, the wind died down and was still, but outside of it, the wind picked up, tearing through the trees, making the tall cedars along the edge of the camp, swing and sway and dance along with the rhythm.
The medicine man, Waters That Fall, sat on a piece of downed log, and began beating on a rawhide drum, while the women stood and danced in place, their leg rattles keeping time with the beat.
The warriors