Boswell's Luck by G. Clifton Wisler Page B

rail spur at Albany or up from Weatherford. There’s a stage line stops here.”
    â€œSaw the hotel.”
    â€œTown’s growin’. Fine pickin’s on the card tables.”
    Rat nodded sourly. It didn’t seem fair that some should find an easy way to prosperity while others had to claw and scratch money for supper. He couldn’t begrudge Mitch, though. Was only fitting one of them should have some good fortune.
    â€œGuess yer cousins still man the counter,” Rat mentioned as he followed his old friend toward the mercantile.
    â€œOh, they’ve come and gone. She’s hired herself the youngest Plank boys now.”
    â€œThe Planks?” Rat gasped.
    â€œRandy and Vesty. Efrem went and shot the old man last summer. Runs with the Oxenberg brothers.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œRoad agents,” Mitch explained. “Got ’emselves quite a name hittin’ freight wagons and stagecoaches.”
    â€œHereabouts?”
    â€œNo, nothin’ much happens in Thayerville,” Mitch said, sighing. “West o’ Albany.”
    â€œStrange how things turn out. I never figured Ef for a bandit. Nor killer, either.”
    â€œGuess you can’t hang a fellow more’n once, and he’s wanted for his pa’s shootin’.”
    â€œDon’t see any jury callin’ that murder,” Rat grumbled. “Ole man’s time was overdue.”
    â€œWell, enough talk ’bout Plank. Come along. You just won’t believe the new place. Got our own house outside o’ town, too.”
    Mitch went on and on as they marched down the street to the new mercantile. Upon arrival, Mitch called for his mother, and Mrs. Morris, true to form, greeted Rat with a bear hug.
    â€œLord be praised!” she shouted. “I thought you fed to the winds, Rat Hadley. Come meet my new helpers.”
    â€œMet ’em before,” Rat said, nodding to the Plank boys. They’d grown some, and filled out on Mary Morris’s cooking, but Randy’s dark, shy eyes were as always. As for Vesty, he dashed over and slapped a husky hand on his one-time defender’s back.
    â€œWent and growed up, Vesty,” Rat observed as he turned the sixteen-year-old around on his heels. “Miz Morris here workin’ you ’nough?”
    â€œWell, she keeps us busy, Randy ’n’ me,” Vesty answered. “But then you know I never been a stranger to work, and we get to go off to the schoolhouse some.”
    â€œYeah, I worked here myself, you know.”
    â€œAnd at our place, too,” Vesty said, dropping his eyes. “Guess you heard Pa’s dead. Ma passed on last winter, and he only got worse. Broke Randy’s arm and would’ve kilt him sure if Ef hadn’t taken up a shotgun.”
    â€œWell, it was a long time comin’ by my thinkin’,” Rat said, noticing the silent Randy cradling his arm.
    â€œThat’s about enough serious talk for one day,” Mrs. Morris announced. “This is a happy occasion. Come along and see Pa, Rat. He’ll never believe you’ve come home. Wasn’t two Sundays past he was remarking how you’d surely got your own ranch by now and a pretty wife to boot.”
    â€œGot neither,” Rat said, sighing. “Ain’t even come by a job.”
    â€œWell, that’s certain to work itself out,” she declared. “Pa knows folks with work to be had. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover he knows of something fit.”
    But Mary Morris’s optimism was misplaced. Her husband welcomed Rat warmly enough, but he offered faint hope of finding employment.
    â€œEven a month back there was building going on, but just now it’s the lean time of summer, Rat,” John Morris reminded the young man. “We hardly do enough business ourselves to merit help in August. In the old days things would pick up once the trail crews came home, but now all the cattle