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Book Of The Month


 

It wasn’t much . . . but it was his!

Taggert’s Mountain

 

“What’s the name of this piece of dirt we’re standin’ on, boy?”

“Taggert’s Mountain.”

“That’s right,” came the terse response as the old man turned to go. “Taggert’s Mountain. And you’re a Taggert!”

“Yeah, but—”

“You got a right to be here, same as me. I’m goin’ to shoot a turkey for supper.”

And he was off, striding away with his shadow dancing at his side, not a real giant anymore, Jory thought, but still mighty tall. He sighed. He supposed he should have figured that after ten years a lot could have changed, although he had hoped the old man might be a tad more sympathetic. But he would show him.

Jory swung down off his horse, and instead of riding back to the cabin, he walked. He only just made it, had to rest up an hour before he could even fix himself coffee at the stove. Yet he’d done it and would continue to do it. Life might have sapped his juices temporarily but he wasn’t a cripple.