Wyoming Winterkill
““That good-for-nothing? He doesn’t hardly stir except to stagger out and buy a new bottle.” He resumed his sweeping. “Why the colonel doesn’t get rid of him, I’ll never know.”
The stink was atrocious. Even the horses in their stalls turned their heads away.
At first all Fargo saw was a pile of straw. Then he noticed a foot sticking out. The moccasin had a hole in the sole and was thin from long use. He nudged it.
From under the straw came a muffled oath.
Fargo kicked the foot.
... The straw shifted. “Do that again, whoever you are,” a voice croaked, “and I’ll whip you within an inch of your life.”
Fargo chuckled. “Bold talk for someone who can’t stand up straight, from what I hear.”
The straw did more shifting and a head poked out. A thatch of gray hair stuck down from under a beaver hat and gray stubble sprinkled a pointed chin.MoreLess
The stink was atrocious. Even the horses in their stalls turned their heads away.
At first all Fargo saw was a pile of straw. Then he noticed a foot sticking out. The moccasin had a hole in the sole and was thin from long use. He nudged it.
From under the straw came a muffled oath.
Fargo kicked the foot.
... The straw shifted. “Do that again, whoever you are,” a voice croaked, “and I’ll whip you within an inch of your life.”
Fargo chuckled. “Bold talk for someone who can’t stand up straight, from what I hear.”
The straw did more shifting and a head poked out. A thatch of gray hair stuck down from under a beaver hat and gray stubble sprinkled a pointed chin.MoreLess
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