"Stuart, Dee - Easy Mark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stuart Dee)

EASY MARK
By Dee Stuart

I open my eyes and sure enough, I'm laying in a berth with the sun climbing in
the window and them Kansas plains rushing away under me.
"Floyd," I says to myself, "you're sure high-classing it for a old mule
dealer."
This all come about when spring come along. When coons start mating and their
hide gets rubbed from scratching at old fur falling out; when coon hunting's
slow and mule trading falls off.
I tell old Will Grigsby, a printer fella I do bidness with, "Man I'd sure like
to take me a little vacation. Sure gets tiresome living in the van and hauling
them mules along behind. I'd like to take me a ride on that fancy new Amtrack
train goes acrost the country and see the U. S. of A. Trouble is, I can't hack
it with no dollars coming in."
Grigsby says, "I can see you can't afford to see the U. S. of A. in a fancy
train and not make no profit. But a smart fella like you oughta make it pay."
And then he tells me how I can make it pay. Next thing you know, I'm on this
train heading west.
I get up, have me a big breakfast of ham, eggs, and a big plate of biscuits
and gravy in the dining car. Then I go lean back in one of them soft plushy
seats and watch the scenery fly by, feeling like a rich man. But after a
while, watching them plains and purple hills stretch on and on gets boresome.
I mosey on down the aisle through the next car. I see people looking at me
funny, smiling like they know me or something. Or maybe they were admiring my
new Stetson. I recollect how my friends josh me, how I look like that movie
guy Clint Eastwood. I laugh and say, "Shucks, I don't look nothing like him."
I keep going till I come to the car where Will Grigsby said they was sociable
to strangers. Some of them is watching out them windows that curve clear up to
the top of the car. Two guys with briefcases, looking like big-shot
executives, are setting at a table shooting the bull. One's wearing a black
and white checked jacket and black pants. He's built chunky and smiles a lot.
The other guy in a turtleneck shirt is puffing on a stogie. He's bald and
looks tired. They look kind of well-heeled, like they could swing a mule or
two. I set down near them and soon we get to jawing. Right away I find out
they deal in stock too, only it ain't no livestock. It's oil.
"What line of business you in?" Smiley asks.
"Mules. Lots of rich folks been getting their kicks going coon hunting nights,
riding mules."
Smiley cups his chin in his hands. "Doesn't sound like a high profit item."
Stogie says, "Give me a horse any time."
They was getting me riled up. "Well, hell," I says, "ever'body knows there
ain't no mule can't outdo a horse when it comes to night trail riding. Riding
down steep rocky ravines, acrost streams, through tangled woods and brush,
hopping barb wire fences, follering coon dogs trailing them coons. Besides
which, you can shoot a gun off a mule's back without him flicking a eyelash,
but most horses'll take out from under you, you fire a gun."
Old Stogie sends up a ring of smoke. "Mule dealing make a pretty good living,
does it?"
"I get three thou for one's green broke and up to six or seven thou for one's