Bohanin's Last Days Read Online Free Page B

wasn’t sure he could down a third mug without getting sick.
    â€œWhat did you do with her?”
    â€œI gave her ten dollars and sent her down the road. Last I saw of her she was heading for Dodge City. I figure she’ll make her way down to the Nations and find herself a feller with an empty tipi.”
    â€œYou don’t regret it?”
    Gunnison took a drink of his beer. “Well, sometimes. I mean she was ugly as sin but I did have her to help with the chores and such. You saw that kid out back. A damned train orphan. I don’t know where he came from. Just showed up at the door one day, a blubbering about being hungry. Ain’t got all his marbles, ya know. He ain’t no fit company. Can’t even fry bacon without burning hell out of things. But he’s more respectable to them crows in Kinsley. You know what I think?”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œI think them crows was afraid old Prairie Dog Woman was a beating their time with their men folk.”
    â€œWas she?” Bohanin smiled.
    Gunnison smiled wickedly. “All a feller could stand for a quarter. But they was wrong. I doubt if she turned more than four or five dollars that way in the last two years. Seems a shame.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œThings just ain’t the same. The buffs is gone, the trail trade’s gone to blazes. Railroad crews is elsewhere. Why a man can’t even step out the door and relieve himself without somebody a raising a ruckus.”
    â€œTimes change,” Bohanin said as he downed his beer. “I suppose it’s for the best. Hell, Buck, who’d want to go back to the old days. Injuns just waiting to lift your scalp, living in bug infested dugouts, sweating your balls off in the summer, freezing them off in the winter. Wishing you could even smell a plate of something besides beans and back fat. Hell, I went a year there without even seeing a woman, Injun or otherwise.”
    Buck Gunnison nodded.
    â€œI guess you’re right. But them was shining times. I look out my door and what do I see? Damned farm machinery parked out there for sodbusters to screw the land up with. Used to be I could see for miles up that way without nothing to perplexicate my mind.”
    Bohanin didn’t particularly agree or disagree with Gunnison. He was glad it was over and yet he would miss the wildness of the early days. He had a purpose. He could find himself in the same situation as his friend. There was no retirement pension for Buck. Buck’s refusal to change would mean that his business would slowly fail and eventually he would be just a lonely oddity scraping out an existence in a world that would neither understand nor appreciate him.
    â€œFeel like a game of rummy?” Bohanin asked.
    Buck Gunnison nodded and smiled. “Sure, I’ll draught us another round of beer and get my cards.”
    â€œThat’ll be fine,” Bohanin said. “We’ll swap lies and talk of better times.”
    No one entered the post that night. They played cards and told stories until well past midnight. Finally, Bohanin made his way to the room. After inspecting the place, he thought it better to sleep in an old rocking chair in the corner.

Chapter IV
    Springfield, Colorado was situated on the open plains a hundred and fifty miles northeast of Fort Garland. Without the railroad, Springfield would not have existed. The only town of any size in the southeast corner of the state, it served established ranches and farmsteads for hundreds of square miles of dry open grasslands. Composed of rude frame buildings and a few scattered adobes it took on the look of frontier towns throughout the West. Bohanin had been on the trail for three days without even passing a homestead. His mare needed grain and water, and he needed a bath and a shave. As he stopped his rig in front of the local livery, a sturdy man in his forties stepped from the entrance to hold his