The Diary of Jerrod Bently, J.W. Osborn [the false prince series TXT] 📗

story book prince and built like a warrior. In a way he was royalty. His father was Wolf Standing, the acting leader of his clan back in Texas and his younger brother, Little Fox was out somewhere in the Texas planes trying to round up mustangs so he could get married, Blackfoot style. Kane shook his head and smiled as he thought about his brother. He knew Scrub Pot well and was wise to his plan of wanting a bride price of forty horses for his granddaughter.
“What is so funny?” Victoria asked as she set a cup of steaming hot coffee down in front of him. Kane looked up at her and grinned. “I was thinking about my little brother,” he said “He is on a quest to find a wife, but an old friend of my father’s has sent him on a wild goose chase instead.”
“You have family in Texas?” Victoria asked. “I have not heard you mention anyone before.”
“I grew up there,” Kane replied “A place called Bear Claw. Near Grants Creek. I went to school in California. That was were I met my wife.”
Kane flashed a grin “There are many pretty girls around here too,” he said “and since I opened my shop, business has been booming. I think I have met every farmer’s wife and daughter and shod or trimmed everything from race horses to Jake Titus’s mule and the school teacher’s goat.”
“I have seen quite a line forming outside your shop in the morning when I come to open my kitchen.,” Victoria commented.
“Darned if I can figure it out,” Kane replied as he sipped his coffee “Some of those horses I worked on less than on a week ago.” Victoria smiled. She knew the answer. She herself had stood in line to get her Fancy Lady’s new shoes. She had heard the talk and the sighs among the women as they waited their turn and watched the handsome young farrier at work at the forge and with the horses. Though Victoria appreciated the privilege doing business with this handsome prince of the planes, her thoughts always returned to the hazel eyes and cockeyed grin of the attractive gun fighter who had come to frequent her shop. She smiled warmly at the thought of him. “It takes him nearly a hour to finish his coffee,” she thought to herself.
“Now you are smiling, Vic,” Kane said “What is on your mind?”
“Someone I recently met,” she said to change the subject. “Doc Stevens is his name.”
“Oh yes,” Kane replied “The new sherrif.”
“I hope he will stay and be our sherrif,” Victoria replied “God knows, we need a man like him and Jake Titus can not go on doing it all on his own.”
“Titus is a survivor, Vic,” Kane replied “He’s done a good job keeping the peace since Sherrif Dunham up and left.”
“Yes, he has,” Victoria agreed “But I am sure J.W. gets worried about him.”
“You seen the elusive Mrs. Titus?”, Kane asked.
“Not recently,” Victoria replied “When she is gets to writing those stories of hers, nobody sees much of her.”
“I can’t wait to read her new one,” Kane said “That last one was good ! I read it twice.”
“So did I,” Victoria answered “Now, what else can I get for you Kane?”
“You got any of that apple sauce cake left from yesterday?”, he asked.
“Sure,” she replied as she looked up and saw Doc standing outside the door of her shop. She smiled at him and he waved back as he reached for the door knob. Victoria went behind her glass counter and took out the apple sauce cake and cut a piece for her customer.
“Good morning, Doc,” she said. The bell jingled as he closed the door behind him. “Mornin’ Miss Victoria,” he drawled as he removed his black hat.
Victoria smiled warmly as she looked back at him. “Sit right down, Sherrif, and I will be with you in just a minute.,” she said. She liked the way he made her feel when he strolled into her shop and smiled at her. She liked everything about Elliot Stevens. Could she be falling in love with the man?

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“At least Watson is all right,” Sam said after hearing Floyd’s account of the trail boss’s return. I saw Scrub Pot’s face blanch and his expression go sour when he heard that Watson had returned with Bird That Talks in tow. I was never good at reading the old man, but I could tell the news did not set well with him at all.
“Miss Sam,” Floyd said “Mr. Watson seemed to be in a daze of some kind. I don’t think he wants his job back either. You might ought to come back to camp with me and talk to him.”
“I will,” Sam replied “Our business here is settled. As for Watson. He doesn’t get his job back.” At that she got up from the bench she had been sitting on and picked up her hat from the edge of Doc’s desk. She placed in squarely on her head and then turned to me. “You want to stay a while Jerrod?,” she asked “I think you could use a break. But remember, we have got to move out in the morning and I will need you back by night fall.”
I felt a little jealous over Sam riding back with Floyd Jax, but pushed the thought aside. I had no right to feel as I did. Sam Dodge could well take care of herself. “Sure, Sam,” I replied “I’d kind of like to look up J. W. Titus while I am here.”
“Who is that?”, Sam asked as she crossed to the door to leave.
“A writer I like,” I said “Been reading his books since back in New York and I heard he lives around here somewhere.”
“You believe that stuff in those books?” Sam asked with a scoff in her tone.
“Some of it maybe,” I replied “But a lot of it is just fiction, Sam.”
She smiled at me. “You are no where near as green as you were when we started out , Jerrod.” she said “I’ll see you back at camp.”
“Send one of the men back with the wagon, Sam,” Scrub Pot interjected “I have to get a load of supplies myself. It seems Doc has a new job.”
“May be Doc is where he needs to be,” Sam said “I’ll send the wagon and you two stay out of trouble. Scrub Pot scowled at her and grunted something in the Blackfoot language and Sam laughed as she walked out the door. I began to think. If Sam was going to be in my life and I in hers one day, maybe I should learn a few words of her Grandfather’s language. I started to the door. “Where you off to, Scrub Pot?”, I said.
“Mercantile,” he replied “Doc ain’t seen the inside of that place since he go here, so I guess I’d better.”
I laughed. “I’ll see you later, and try the bake shop. The food is really good.”
I heard the old man grumble as I walked away.


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Since the day I had purchased my first dime novels about adventures in the Wild West I had become a devoted fan of J. W. Titus’s work. Ned Buntline was a real good story teller, but J.W.Titus was, in my eyes, even better. Maybe he was not as well known as Buntline, but that didn’t matter to me. I read every chance I got and I had learned that Portersville in the Oklahoma Territory was where J. W.Titus was supposed to be living and writing his books. I imagined that he must be a seasoned rancher, cowboy and gun fighter, maybe a bit like Doc Stevens was. So when I crossed the dusty street that morning and saw J. Titus, Attorney at Law painted on the window of the building across from the sherif’s office, I was sure I had found my favorite story teller. The man who had inspired me to go West , well sort of inspired me, but there had been other facts involved as well. I stepped up onto the creaky boardwalk and looked into through the window. I saw the man I had met earlier when we’d brought Ned Travis in. He was seated behind a huge desk, with papers and books spread around him and a pretty young girl, standing in front of the desk arguing with him. May be this was not a good time to introduce myself to J. W. Titus.
“Daddy, I want to go to the social with Hap.”