Читать книгу To Seduce a Texan - Georgina Gentry - Страница 7

Late September 1864

The Texas side of the Red River

“So we’re gonna rob a bank.” Waco McClain leaned his tall frame on his saddle horn and tilted his Stetson against the bright September sun.

“What?” All three of his compadres started in their saddles and stared at him.

“You heard me,” Waco snapped. “We’re ridin’ up to south Kansas. I’ve been told there’s a fat bank in the town of Prairie View on the Arkansas River.”

Zeb, the younger but taller of the grizzled old Webb brothers, spat tobacco juice in the river and looked north. “That’s a mighty long way from Texas. We got to cross Indian Territory with them Yankee and Reb troops everywhere.”

“It ain’t as though we got a lot of choice, considerin’ what happened.” Waco sighed, not wanting to remember, then he shifted his lanky body on his restless bay stallion, Amigo, and began rolling a smoke. In his almost thirty years, he’d never been in this much trouble before. Zeke Webb ran his hand through his ragged beard and looked down at his denim shirt and pants. “I was wonderin’ what we was doin’ in these duds.”

“Wonder no more,” Waco drawled in his deep voice. “Besides, these clothes feel good after all this time.”

Young Tom shook his red head doubtfully. “We get caught dressed like this, we might get shot.”

Waco finished rolling his cigarette. “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

Zeb looked at the rolling red water. “There’s a ferry downriver.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “I don’t fancy gettin’ wet.”

“Do you fancy gettin’ caught?” Waco stuck the smoke in his mouth and scratched a match on his pant leg. “Don’t want anyone to see us; gossip travels faster than a skunk at a ladies’ garden party. We’ll swim it.”

“Oh, hell,” grumbled Zeke, the older brother. “To think I could be settin’ in a rockin’ chair back at the ranch, playing my fiddle.”

“Oh, shut up,” Zeb said. “It’s this or get hung. You can play your mouth organ.”

“Sorry, boys.” Waco took a deep puff. “This mess is my fault.”

“No, it ain’t. We wouldn’t have done it any different,” Zeb assured him, and the other two nodded in agreement.

“You know, this might be fun.” Tom grinned.

The other three frowned at him.

“Fun as rasslin’ a bobcat,” Zeb said with sarcasm.

“Just tryin’ to look on the bright side.” Tom’s freckled face turned red as a whore’s drawers.

“Young’uns!” Zeke snorted.

“Enough jawin,’” Waco ordered, tossing his smoke away. “We got a long way to go and a short time to get there. I’ll lead out. If your horse balks, get off and hang on to the saddle.”

“I can’t swim,” young Tom admitted.

“Oh, hell,” Zeb said. “Fine time to tell us that.”

“Gawd Almighty! Shut up, all of you,” Waco snapped. “Remember, if we run across any patrols, Yank or Reb, our story is we’re just four cowboys from Texas tryin’ to sell some beef. Now let’s go.” He took his gold watch out of his pocket, rubbed it for good luck, and took off his hat. He put the watch under his hat and pulled the Stetson firmly down on his sun-streaked hair. “Don’t want it to get wet,” he said. “My grandpappy give me that watch. I set a heap of store by it.”

“Them fancy silver spurs of your’n,” Zeke nodded, “the reflection is liable to catch a patrol’s attention.”

“I’ll give you that.” Waco reached to take off his ornate silver spurs, then put them safely in his saddlebags. “We can’t be too careful.” Then he turned his fine bay into the swirling water and it waded out hesitantly, then began swimming toward the far shore.

He glanced back. Behind him, his three friends strung out in a line, plunging their horses into the Red River and swimming toward Indian Territory. He’d gotten them into this mess and now he’d try to get them out. It all depended on robbing that fat bank in south Kansas.