Rich Daniel and Job, Book III

The Vessel
1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-1-4835-8675-5
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 300 Seiten

'Daniel and Job, Book III: The Vessel' completes the science-fiction, action-adventure, romantic-comedy trilogy begun with 'Daniel and Job.' This story picks up where 'Daniel and Job, Book II: The Nograv' left off and carries Daniel Johnstone, his amazing dog Job, Daniel's wife Jessie, Captain Kandar of Ionus and General Jerome Bascombe well into the future. Daniel's leather-bound booklets continue to add humor, spice and an interesting backdrop for the developing tale while new characters are introduced and a few familiar faces from the past are blended into the mix.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Rich, William

Leseproben

Chapter 2
The Census
  Before we ever left Boston, my Pa took me on the side and explained to me about the Other People. He knew that on the long trip ahead of us it was inevitable that we would meet some of them so he felt that some sort of explanation was due. Now I had heard of them, and maybe even seen a few of them, but Pa impressed upon me that we were in America and these Other People were not Indians — or Injuns, as it was commonly pronounced — they were actually the original inhabitants of this Great Land and that they deserved our respect. In fact, my Pa strongly believed that these Other People might even be one of the Lost Tribes of Israel! So, not long after Pa's “disappearance,” when the reconstruction of our cabin was nearly completed, it came to pass that I heard the soft patter of unshod horses' hooves approaching. I peeked through a crack between the logs and saw what could only be described as nothing less than an apocalyptic vision. There were four horsemen gathering not fifty feet away and one of them was carrying a torch! Suddenly there were two impacts on the door. Job was aware of the danger, but I was raised to be polite and decided to open it. I immediately spotted two burning arrows stuck well into the wood! I grabbed the ladle from my water bucket and doused the flames, then I stepped through that doorway to confront the instigators of this rude behavior. “Hey! That wasn't nice!” I yelled, while Job followed me out of the cabin. They just stared down at the two of us. Then there was some discussion amongst them, but the sounds that they made meant nothing to me. That's when I remembered what Pa had taught me. “Shalom!” I intoned rather loudly. I wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but I knew that it was some sort of greeting. One of the braves looked at me a bit quizzically. His horse moved a foot or two closer. And, just when I thought that I had exhausted all of my knowledge of Hebrew, I remembered another word. “Synagogue!” I shouted. The apparent leader of the group nodded to one of his companions who immediately launched an arrow straight at my chest. Job wasn't having any of that. He stopped the projectile in mid-air, so that I could reach up and throw it to the ground in front of them. This sequence of events was nearly duplicated when a second brave fired an arrow at me. Job was getting pretty upset, because within a second or two the whole area around those horses was filled with the illusion of rattlesnakes! The horses were in a complete panic — bucking and rearing up — and the Other People were holding on for their lives! “Synagogue!” I yelled once again, then I threw my leg over Job's back and projected the image that Job had become a large white buffalo and so that I appeared to them as an eagle. As soon as the leader saw this, he motioned to the others to put down their bows. He led his horse a little closer to us and then he clasped his right fist to his chest and pronounced: “Sin-uh-gog!” He cautiously turned his horse back towards his companions and then he motioned with his arm from the nearest mountain in the northwest to the closest one in the northeast and repeated: “Sin-uh-gog!” Then, turning his horse a bit so he could indicate the southwestern and southeastern boundaries that he was demarcating, he intoned once more: “Sin-uh-gog!” He then gave me a nod and the raiding party departed at a full gallop. Job and I never had much trouble with the Other People after that, but that was how I was ceded this property by the original owners, and this all happened well before Apple Creek officially became a town. Eventually, I laid claim to this same land that I'd been squatting on from the U.S. government. ***** Now the name “Apple Creek” is a story unto itself. Actually a wagon train came through a year or two after the Other People gave me ownership of my property and the rear axle happened to break off of one particular Conestoga wagon. But what made that one wagon especially noteworthy was the fact that it was being driven west by a young woman and her two female companions. So, when the axle broke off, rather than hire someone to fix it, she decided to stay put and make a living for herself and her friends. There were a few miner's cabins around, some trappers and a few scattered homesteads and, eventually, she figured business might pick up even more. Anyway, she wanted to have a sign made to advertise her new establishment and her field of expertise, but the only craftsman available on that expedition wanted fifty cents for a sign-board plus a penny for each letter. So, being a keen business-person herself, she asked to see a sample of his work and it just so happened that he had an excellent example in the back of his wagon. The sign proudly boasted “Miss Congeniality's Tea Room — Fortunes Told.” The young lady liked the sign, but she couldn't understand why this artisan was toting a large wooden sign clear across the country. He explained that the original Miss Congeniality had ordered the sign made with a fifty cent deposit and never came back to pick it up. So, when this young lady offered him another fifty cents to take it off his hands, she became the new Miss Congeniality and her broken-down wagon became the foundation for her original cabin on what eventually would be known as Main Street. ***** Anyways, when enough of the locals got together and decided to make this burgeoning area officially into a town, the first thing that they had to do was to decide on a name. One particular fellow named Horace Montague Adams was the take-charge sort and he decided to conduct the selection and voting on the issue. So, firstly he informed everyone present that they should choose a name that described something that they liked and something that would be acceptable to the church-going folk whom they wanted to attract. One fellow immediately suggested that, in view of the fact that Miss Congeniality's was the oldest establishment in town, by all right the town should be called “Congeniality.” Now, Horace Montague — he always addressed himself as “Horace Montague” and insisted that others did as well (although more often than not they referred to him as “High and Mighty” behind his back) — thought it was a nice-enough name, but, much like Miss Congeniality herself, he refused to pay for more than ten letters on a sign. So, he asked if there was anything else that people liked. A second fellow yelled: “Whiskey!” There was a lot of agreement and general revelry to accompany this candidate, so Horace Montague suggested “Wisky Crick.” And it seemed to be a done deal, but then somebody informed him that that was more than ten letters. Horace counted it out on his fingers as he insisted: “No, it ain't! It's W-I-S-K-Y, C-R-I-C-K!” A miner yelled out: “There's two 'E's in wiskee!” Horace hollered back: “Ain't no 'E' in wisky!” Then, one of the few ladies present corrected them: “It's W-H-I-S-K-E-Y, C-R-E-E-K.” To which Horace responded: “There ain't no aitch in wisky!” “Yes, there is!” a small group replied in unison. “No, there ain't!” he insisted. The lady, who originally raised the objection, shouted: “The 'H' is silent! You just don't say it!” Horace bellowed back: “Well, I'm not payin' for no damned letter that I can't hear!” “Don't you dare curse at me, High and Mighty!” she screamed. “I'm not cussin' you, Woman!” he retorted. “Well, I ain't livin' in no town with whiskey in its name!” another woman objected. “That's fine with me, you Ol' Bat!” her husband joined in. “Go right ahead and git out of town!” There was a lot of laughing and elbow-nudging when a voice yelled from the rear: “Kitty-Kat!” “What'd you say way back there?” Horace asked with his hand cupped around his ear. “You said to say something that we like and I like Miss Kitty-Kat!” the old miner insisted. “Yeah!” another miner shouted. “Let's name the town after Miss Kitty!” There was a lot of yelling and laughing until Horace finally had to consider the option. “Miss Kitty, what is your proper name?” he asked. She stood up so as to be heard and softly announced: “My name is Kitiyanna Katrinka Konjugabovsky.” “Well, with all due respect to Miss Kit-Kat, that mouthful sounds like a whole lot more than ten letters,” he intoned with some reluctance, but then he noticed a homesteader sitting quietly off to one side. “Karl?” he called out. “Ja?” the man responded. “Now, Karl, you've been awfully quiet just sittin' there. So, tell me: what do you like?” “Apfel,” the man replied and he pulled a great big red one out of his pocket and proceeded to buff it against his plaid shirt until the light glinted off its skin. Then he produced a whittlin' knife, cut off a slice of that delicious crimson pome and ate it right off the blade! Now most people hadn't seen an apple since they left back East, so they were ogling and envying this man and his “apfel.” Even Horace Montague was salivating at the mere sight of it. “Apples,” he muttered. He looked around at all of the folks gathered before him and noticed that they were all entranced by this simple German farmer and the fruit of his labors. “Apple Crick it is then!” he pronounced with all the seeming authority that he could muster. “Apple Creek!” a woman yelled back. Horace gave her a nasty look and a rude hand gesture, but...