Robert E. Howard
The Greatest Westerns of Robert E. Howard
The Breckinridge Elkins Stories, The Pike Bearfield Tales & Other Stories of the Wild West
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Advanced Digital Solutions & High-Quality eBook Formatting
[email protected] 2017 OK Publishing ISBN 978-80-272-3884-2
Table of Contents
The 'Breckinridge Elkins' Saga
The Conquerin' Hero Of The Humbolts
The 'Buckner Jeopardy Grimes' Saga
The 'Breckinridge Elkins' Saga
Mountain Man
I WAS robbing a bee tree, when I heard my old man calling: "Breckinridge! Oh, Breckinridge! Where air you? I see you now. You don't need to climb that tree. I ain't goin' to larrup you."
He come up, and said: "Breckinridge, ain't that a bee settin' on yore ear?"
I reached up, and sure enough, it was. Come to think about it, I had felt kind of like something was stinging me somewhere.
"I swar, Breckinridge," said pap, "I never seen a hide like your'n. Listen to me: old Buffalo Rogers is back from Tomahawk, and the postmaster there said they was a letter for me, from Mississippi. He wouldn't give it to nobody but me or some of my folks. I dunno who'd be writin' me from Mississippi; last time I was there, was when I was fightin' the Yankees. But anyway, that letter is got to be got. Me and yore maw has decided you're to go git it. Yuh hear me, Breckinridge?"
"Clean to Tomahawk?" I said. "Gee whiz, pap!"
"Well," he said, combing his beard with his fingers, "yo're growed in size, if not in years. It's time you seen somethin' of the world. You ain't never been more'n thirty miles away from the cabin you was born in. Yore brother John ain't able to go on account of that ba'r he tangled with, and Bill is busy skinnin' the ba'r. You been to whar the trail passes, goin' to Tomahawk. All you got to do is foller it and turn to the right where it forks. The left goes on to Perdition."
Well, I was all eager to see the world, and the next morning I was off, dressed in new buckskins and riding my mule Alexander. Pap rode with me a few miles and give me advice.
"Be keerful how you spend that dollar I give you," he said. "Don't gamble. Drink in reason; half a gallon of corn juice is enough for any man. Don't be techy—but don't forgit that yore pap was once the rough-and- tumble champeen of Gonzales County, Texas. And whilst yo're feelin' for the other feller's eye, don't be keerless and let him chaw yore ear off. And don't resist no officer."
"What's them, pap?" I inquired.
"Down in the settlements," he explained, "they has men which their job is to keep the peace. I don't take