The Daughter - C.B. Cooper (most life changing books .txt) 📗

couldn’t ask for better help trackin’ those lowlifes, now could she.”
Sharp took a seat and poured himself another drink. “Sheriff, I left that life long ago and I never planned on going back. Seems fate’s gone and tipped my hand though.”
“Sometimes it’s not easy doing the Lord’s work, is it?”
Sharp grunted, “I don’t think you’d call what I’m about to do, ‘the Lord’s work’, Sheriff.”
The sheriff reached into one of his drawers and pulled out the makings, rolling a cigarette he chose his next words carefully. “A long time ago, I had this old yeller dog. Best damn dog I ever had.” he struck a match and lit his cigarette. Leaning back in his chair, he blew a smoke ring while Sharp waited to see where this story was going.
“He was smart as a whip, and loyal too. That old dog hardly ever left my side, but one day we were out huntin’ and he tangled with she-coon. Boy, she tore that dog up before I could get a shot in. He was a tough ol’ thing though and he was on the mend in no time. A few weeks went by and I had forgotten all about it, till one day he just up and turned on me. He came at me, hair raised, foamin‘ at the mouth, and murder in his eyes.”
“He was rabid?”
“Yep, that damn coon had hydrophobey. I tell ya, it about killed me to put that dog down. But, you see, I had no choice in the matter, and I did what had to be done. Besides that, he wasn’t my dog anymore, he had the sickness and he just went plum crazy in the head.”
Sharp nodded, seeing the distant, painful look on the sheriff‘s face. “I bet that was hard on you.”
“You bet it was, but like I said, it had to be done. Even though it wasn’t his fault, he was sick and he was dangerous.” Looking at Sharp he asked, “I imagine your wondering where this stories going? You said that you weren’t going to do the Lord’s work, but, you don’t know that for sure. Don’t you think that it’s possible that the Lord feels the same way about those men, that I felt about that dog?”
Sharp was thinking on that when the sheriff added, “It could be, that He’s sending you to put down his rabid dogs, before they can bite anyone else and spread their sickness.”
Sam looked at him, studying his eyes, trying to read the sheriffs thoughts. He wasn’t stupid, he had caught on to the sheriffs double meaning. Not only was he saying the killers were rabid, he was also insinuating that Gracie was bit, and therefore infected, and what? That he might have to put her down too? No, if Gracie was acting as strange as the sheriff said, there was only one cure to be had. Justice. Justice and revenge, plain and simple.
Sharp thanked the sheriff and turned to leave. At the door he paused, “You said that Gracie had bought two peculiar things, one was the bear trap…what was the other?”
“Rat poison. Lots of rat poison.” he grimaced.
“Rat poison? What in the hell was she going to do with that?”
Shaking his head, “I can only imagine.”
Shutting the door behind him, Sharp walked to his horse and mounted. Casting an eye to the blue sky above, he was thankful for the break of nice weather. Usually at this time of the year, when the rains came, they came hard and heavy. One good downpour would significantly hinder his tracking efforts, wiping away any trace of the men he was going to follow. And right now, he couldn’t afford to lose any time, Gracie already had a good two or three days head start on him.
He needed to hit the mercantile and get geared up before heading back to what was left of the old farm to retrieve his meager belongings. It was already late in the day, so he would have to wait until morning to head out. He knew he had a long restless night ahead of him, every nerve in his body sang out with urgency, he had to find Gracie, and fast. He wasn’t going to be able to shake the feeling that she was in great danger until he caught up with her.
Riding down the street he was assaulted by many of the good citizens of the town, most of whom attended his church and looked upon him as their reverend. But he was surprised by how easy it was, once he had removed his white collar, to slip into his old self. The transition had felt good, like the most natural thing in the world, and he was finally himself again after all these years. So he was now having a hard time playing Reverend Sharp one last time. The reverend would have been patient and kind to those seeking answers and offering condolences. But Sam Sharp seen past all the pretenses of goodwill and worry, and seen it for what it was- just plain nosiness.
In a town this size, gossip reigned supreme, and the title of Head of the Women’s Auxiliary, was given to the one with the most.
She found him inside the mercantile while he stood in front of the shelf containing skeins of rope in various sizes.
“Oh, Reverend Sharp!” Mrs. O’Leary exclaimed, making her way to him. “How are you doing? You just don’t know what a relief it is to have you back!” she went right on speaking, not giving him a chance to respond to any of her questions. “I take it you’ve heard the awful news about what happened out at the Walker farm? It’s just simply dreadful what happened to poor Ben, to be murdered on the eve of his return from the war! Such a travesty. Oh, we must hold a funeral now that your back in town.” Lowering her voice to a staged whisper, she continued, “I just cant believe what happened to Gracie, but for her to just bury her own father without the benefit of a proper elegy, tsk-tsk, but its no wonder, you know, with her going crazy and all.”
Mrs. O’Leary faltered as she finally noticed that Sharp was no longer wearing his white clerical collar. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face, whatever she saw there, caused a soft ‘oh’ to escape her lips before she slammed them shut. It was at this point that Sharp decided that he easiest way to get rid of a yapping dog, was to simply throw it a bone.
“Mrs. O’Leary, it is with my deepest regret that I have officially stepped down from the position of Reverend. And I shall be leaving town immediately to track down our ‘poor Gracie’ and help her exact revenge on the worth piles of human shit that killed her pa.”
Mrs. O’Leary took a few steps back, her eyes wide, and her jaw resting somewhere in the vicinity of the wooden floor.
“It has been an absolute pleasure knowing you, Mrs. O’Leary, and I trust that you will let the rest of the congregation know of my termination.” Sharp reached out and selected three skeins of rope to add to his collection of gear he would be needing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some men I need to track down before I send them on their merry way, straight to the bowels of Hell. Good day, Mrs. O’Leary.”


Chapter 4


That night he opened the wooden truck at the end of his bed and studied its contents. Running his fingers over the smooth leather of the well oiled gun belt, he heard Thou shall not kill, immediately followed by, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.
Two separate but equally important passages from the bible.
Wrong vs. right, good vs. evil, ying and yang and tit for tat. He knew that man had struggled with that probably since the beginning of time. It was an age old debate, but one he settled easily after asking himself one important question. Could he just sit back and do nothing? No. Hell no. He could have fought with himself all night, but decided to just go with what felt right. Kill them all and let God sort them out later.
The thought both repulsed him and excited him. Dueling banjos popped into his head, and he immediately started humming the tune as he took the gun belt to his bed and sat down. Slipping a pistol from the holster he felt the cool weight of the gun in his hand. He would of thought after so many years that it would of felt weird to hold them once more, but he was wrong. They felt good, they felt right.
Slipping the gun back into its holster he went back to the chest to study the rest of its contents. His eye landed on an old leather sheath that housed his Sheffield Bowie; the famous Arkansas toothpick. His father had given this to him on his tenth birthday. It had a dog bone handle with a nickel silver wrap, and a thirteen inch blade that that had never seen a dull moment in its life. From the time Sam had received it, he had kept it honed razor sharp. He smiled as his fathers words drifted through his memory.
“Son, never be caught with yor pants down, yor knife dull, or yor powder wet.”
His way of telling Sam to always keep his guard up. Growing up in the midst of the Comanche nation, it was an everyday part of life just trying to stay alive. Along with keeping the thieving bastards from stealing them blind. It had become a big game among the Injuns to see what they could steal from the Sharp family. So it was almost an everyday occurrence that some brave would try and sneak close enough to the farm to get their red hands on anything that didn’t belong to them. They stole everything from dish towels off the clothes line to buckets left out by the hog trough. Stupid little things that wouldn’t be missed until you needed them. Mama had thought that she was going crazy at first, misplacing everything, until the family caught on to what was really happening.
Sam thought back to a particular day, not long after he had gotten his new knife, his father had sent him to fix a leaky shingle on the roof. He had carried a pole ladder, hammer, and a bucket of nails to the backside of the cabin and set his tools down while he positioned his ladder up against the house. Sam had turned around to gather up his things before climbing up on the roof, and damned if his hammer wasn’t missing. He’d not turned his back for twenty seconds, and the red thieves had snuck up behind him and took his hammer.
Knowing that his father would be furious that he had lost their one and only hammer, without any thought for his own safety, Sam had charged into the woods. He caught a glimpse of the culprit about twenty feet in and took off after him like a shot. Sam was still growing into his long legs, and some days they liked to get into his way and trip him up, but not that day. They worked just like they were supposed to and within a matter of minutes, Sam had caught up to the Injun and launched himself through the air to land on the braves back. Down they had went, hitting the hard dirt and sliding to a stop a few feet away. Sam had then struggled with the