Boswell's Luck

Boswell's Luck by G. Clifton Wisler Page A

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Authors: G. Clifton Wisler
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Oakley cried. “Not Rat Hadley!”
    â€œWell, I never knowed anybody else to lay claim to such a name,” Rat countered.
    â€œColey, you run along to the house and fetch Mr. Hanks,” Oakley instructed the boy behind them. “Tell him the worst excuse for a wrangler to come out o’ Texas’s come to see him.”
    â€œSir?” Coley asked.
    â€œTell him J. C.’s boy is here,” Oakley added. “And be quick ’bout it. This particular fellow is apt as not to slip through our fingers. Was forever rid in’ off to swim a creek or run some horses when I set him to some other task.”
    â€œSounds familiar,” Coley said, grinning at Rat. “I’ll be tellin’ him, Payne.”
    Oakley waved his other companion back to work, then escorted Rat to a water tank. They left their horses to have a drink. Then Rat passed ten minutes filling in the ranch foreman on two years of growing and wandering.
    â€œRoad’s made you hard, Rat,” Oakley observed.
    â€œRoad’s been hard, Payne.”
    â€œThat’s a blessin’, son. Later on you’ll see it so yourself. Easy path leaves a man soft. And this country ain’t one to forgive a man’s shortcomin’s. No, sir. It buries ’em.”
    â€œBuried Pa.”
    â€œAnd he was never short o’ the mark, Rat. Best kind o’ man.”
    â€œSo I guess bein’ hard’s not enough. You got to be lucky.”
    â€œWell, that helps,” Oakley confessed. “But in the final accountin’, that ain’t enough, neither. Man’s got to stand tall when the winds blow.”
    Rat grinned and shook his head. J. C. Hadley had been a man to talk that way. But hard and tall didn’t land a man a job. It was Orville Hanks that would decide that.
    Hanks appeared on the broad veranda of his house with two of his sons. Rat hadn’t known any of the Hanks boys very well, what with their being older, and he merely shook their hands politely and agreed to taking after J. C., especially in the face.
    â€œBandy-legged, too,” the elder Hanks observed. “Likely from all them cactus spines you put in your seat mustang huntin’.”
    â€œFigured that’d be a long time forgotten,” Rat said, laughing. “ ’Cept by me, o’ course.”
    â€œWas the day we lost J. C.,” Hanks muttered. “Ain’t likely to be forgotten ever. They still call you Rat?”
    â€œWith this nose?” Rat asked. “Cursed permanent, you could say.”
    â€œWell, it’s fittin’ not everything’s changed. Come walk a way with me, Rat, and tell me what’s brought you all the way out here. We don’t get many visitors, and most o’ them’s bill collectors or salesmen.”
    â€œI’m neither.”
    â€œNor’s it likely after bein’ back in these parts weeks and just now comin’ here that you come to swap old stories.”
    â€œNo, sir,” Rat admitted. “If you know I’ve been here, I guess you also know I’ve been cuttin’ telegraph poles and helpin’ Sully Dawes string wire.”
    â€œAin’t got so old I don’t know what’s happenin’ in this county, Rat.”
    â€œLine’s finished.”
    â€œKnow that, too. Know you’ve been doin’ some ridin’ hereabouts as well.”
    â€œLookin’ for work,” Rat explained. “Got some money put by, but not enough to keep me fed through winter. And a man needs somethin’ to put his hands to.”
    â€œI can’t help you, son.”
    â€œYou know, Mr. Hanks, ain’t anybody I’d give leave to call me that. Not with Pain his grave. But you, and Payne, and maybe Sheriff Cathcart all done a share o’ puttin’ me on my feet once. You give me a chance to get past hard circumstances and prove myself.”
    â€œIt’s no small pride I take in it, Rat,”

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