One Month Later:
Wolf Stoddard started loading the supplies into the back of his buckboard. Winter would be coming on, the cold blast of wind already gave testimony to the harsh days ahead. His larder would be well stocked by time the snows came, but he estimated only one more trip into town before being cut off for long, cruel months. He had enough money tucked away for a year of frugal living. That would give him just enough time to fix up the cabin, mend the fences and out buildings, and purchase his livestock.
Wolf looked up to see Sheriff Banks coming his way. Walking alongside the tall man, Miss Cassie practically skipped. As they approached Wolf could hear Miss Cassie trying to reason with the Sheriff, she seemed to be on the verge of tears.
"He's a good boy, Sheriff, he really is. I know he did wrong, I'm not saying he shouldn't be punished, but the prison in Laramie is no place for a high-spirited youth. He'll only come out of there bitter and hostile."
Simon Banks stopped momentarily, and he had to reach his hands out to stop Miss Cassie from plowing into him.
"High-spirited. I do not call horse stealing high-spirits. The brat is lucky he can't ride or he would probably be hanging from a tree if the Cassidy brothers had gone after him. Their father's prize stallion was a little too much for an inexperienced rider like Darby. The darn boy is lucky, by my guess, and maybe a year in Laramie will do him good."
“Simon, please be reasonable. He stole the horse because he couldn't save up enough money. He wanted to join the cattle drives. He's always been a hard worker for me. Mr. Dawson will even vouch for the boy, he said Darby was always bringing him extra food and supplies."
"Yeah, stuff he stole from every poor citizen in Happenstance foolish enough not to lock their barns, back doors, or cellars."
"Well, you're making a big mistake, Sheriff. I always thought you were an understanding man, but you just can't see fit to give this boy a second chance. I hope Darryl never makes a mistake," Miss Cassie said as she flipped her skirts and stomped off in the direction of Judge Green's office. That poor man was now going to receive his daily "Darby Cole isn't such a bad boy" lecture. Sheriff Banks and Judge Green had already received enough visits from a few of the town's citizens surprisingly many of whom wanted to plead for leniency for the horse thief.
Wolf leaned back against the wagon, pausing from his work, and grinned broadly at Simon who finally looked over his way.
"Wolf, what the heck is so funny?" Simon said with enough bluster to acknowledge he was at his wit’s end with this whole affair.
"You are, Simon. I guess Miss Cassie's got a bee in her bonnet."
"A bee by the name of Darby Cole. God, that boy has been nothing but a headache for me since he showed up in town four months ago. I don't even know where he lives, but right now he's got a warm bed and a nice cozy jail cell. He's waiting for his ride to Laramie Prison."
"I'm about through here, Simon, how about a drink?"
"Sure, I could use it," Simon said. The two men headed off in the direction of the saloon.
When the two friends had beers in front of them, Wolf leaned back in his chair waiting for Simon to tell his tale.
"Darby's been running havoc around town. He's a practical joker. Sure the children like him, he seems to take kindly to young ones, old men, and the women folk. He hates authority, me especially, and believes what folks leave outside and unprotected is there for his taking. I've more reports of theft since that young man came into this town. Yet, enough citizens say the boy helped them out at one time or another. Old man Dawson swears the boy checks on him every other day when his own son won't be bothered. Old Widow Deets says he fixed her water pump without even being asked." Simon took a long sip of his beer.
"Gosh, I hate to see him go to prison myself, but Judge Green said that if nobody could take the boy in for a year on probation, put him to work and see that he toed the line, prison it would have to be. Most citizens around here can't afford to take care of themselves, let alone another mouth to feed, especially with winter just around the corner. Jim Ellison was a possible candidate, but he's really protective of Blair and after that practical joke with Brady's saddle cinch, I don't think he'd be all that generous where young Darby's concerned."
Simon sat back a little farther in his own chair narrowing his eyes as he studied Wolf.
"Oh, no, don't look at me." Wolf sat upright now and put his bottle down sharply on the table.
"That place you bought needs a lot of work, Wolf. You could use the extra hands to get that place in shape. It would only be for one year. You're an ex-lawman. If anyone can straighten Darby out, you can. Besides, I think he'd be good for you."
"NO!" Wolf said forcefully.
Just then Judge Green came walking towards them.
"Jack," Simon said.
"Simon, Wolf, mind if I join you? Dang woman won't give it a rest." Jack sat his tall frame in a chair and motioned towards the barkeep for a beer.
"I swear well-meaning citizens are worst than horse thieves and bank robbers sometimes. Miss Cassie's forming a citizen's committee now. She will not give up on that darn brat. I don't know what she sees in him. When he looks at me I see arrogance, defiance, and a smart mouth, snot-nosed..."
"Boy just needs a firm hand," Wolf interjected.
Simon looked up surprised. Jack seemed shocked.
"I thought you hated the brat?" Simon asked.
"I don't care about him one way or the other. I'm only saying, he probably never had a firm hand to keep him in line. Doesn't always make someone bad, just because they've been allowed to run wild and do whatever the hell they wanted." Then he took a long, hard swig from the bottle. "Look, I'm not suggesting anything here, I'm only saying I can see Miss Cassie's point of view. If the boy did help all those people, he must have another side to him."
Simon scratched his head. He couldn't figure out for the life of him why Wolf Stoddard, loner and ex-lawman was now siding with the brat who just weeks ago kicked him in the shins and bit him on the hand.
Darby Cole sat forlornly on the bunk in Sheriff Bank's jail cell. Boy, had he been dealt some rotten blows recently, really putting a crimp in his plans to be a cowboy. He never should have attempted to steal Barney Cassidy's prize stallion in the first place. He knew now how utterly foolish that little stunt had been. True, he never even planned it, it was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment act of bravado. If those damn Cassidy brothers hadn't been taunting him earlier about what a pathetic excuse for a man he was, just because they had a father who loved them, money, and brighter futures than he did. Well, now his future was even grimmer, thanks to that impetuousness his ma always said was going to get him in a peck of trouble. "Some day, boy, that charming smile and sweet tongue of yours isn't going to be able to keep you from being burned really badly. You're just lucky you've always had women around who feel maternal towards you." Darby was well-known as the darling of the dance hall, he often made these tired and used women feel special. He loved to play practical jokes on the drunken guests and had many of the working women in stitches. Their jobs were seemingly less droll by the presence of one Darby Cole.
Darby had a gentle side to him that was more often the reason for him finding himself knee deep in trouble. He always came to the aid of the underdog, the smaller, weaker, and less resilient. Besides, Darby could often start trouble and be long gone before the real action even started. A small, lithe frame and the incredible energy of his youth saved him from thrashings and punishment more often than not. Only that one time, he now remembered, that one time when Arthur Dolan's fists came down repeatedly nearly beating him to a pulp. "I'll teach this young whelp a thing or two," and Dolan almost taught him how to die. Well, it was better Dolan use him as a punching bag than Taffy Barr. Darby just wasn't about to stand by and let him hurt a young girl. If his mother and half the dance hall women hadn't come to his defense, Darby Cole wouldn't be sitting here waiting for his ride to Laramie Prison. He'd be six feet under in a pine box.
Maybe I'd be better off, Darby thought glumly. He sure as hell didn't like being locked up. Sitting here in this cell for over a week had him ready to climb the walls. Then, too, there were the stories he heard about prison. Darby didn't want Sheriff Banks or Judge Green to know how scared he had been when the judge pronounced sentence on him, so he had started to swear and cuss at them. Even Miss Cassie, who sat loyally by his side during sentencing, had blanched at his colorful display of language. He was sorry she had to hear that, but no way was he going to cry, which is what he really felt like doing. Cussing sometimes helped him stay focused on how tough he had to be. It always worked, so what the hell.
Right now, though, he didn't feel very tough. He felt more like hugging the old pillow and crying, remembering a time when his ma would hold him and soothe some hurt. One thing he always knew, his ma sure loved him. She would still be alive today, if she didn't love him so much, but it was best not to think on that right now. He had other things to focus on. Number one being, getting out of this mess.
His thoughts were so focused within he didn't hear the door open or even see the large man who now stood outside his cell. Darby looked up, startled for a moment, and then recognized the man in the black duster as the one who had caught him and Blair playing their practical joke on Mr. Brady. Darby stared into the cool, light blue eyes, daring the man to look away first. Surprisingly, Darby found himself lowering his gaze. This was not something he did very often. This guy scares me, he admitted to himself.
"So I see you finally played a prank that nobody's laughing at." The man eased himself into a chair he brought before the cell door.
"What's it to you?" Darby challenged, bringing his knees up on the bed and hugging them to his chest. He turned to face away from the man whose gaze he had moments ago fled.
"Just wanted to see if some jail time wised you up any. I can see it didn't."
"Now that you've had your look, why don't you take your damn ass off and let me be," Darby suggested in a cocky tone.
"I can see that mouth of yours is going to need some work."
"Get the fuck away from me. I don't have to sit hear and listen to you."
"I don't see there's much you can do about it. Why don't you try talking to me, son."
"I ain't your fucking son, Asshole. Fuck you!" Darby glanced furtively as the dark figure rose from the chair. Uh oh, he thought, he's going to get the keys and beat the shit out of me now.
Instead the man simply replaced the chair beside Banks' desk and left as quietly as he had entered.
Darby shivered. He felt like the devil himself had just paid him a visit and interviewed him for entrance into hell. Darby wasn't sure he had passed muster, but this was a test he didn't much want to pass. Darby had always liked talkative men. Talkative men gave a lot of their personal secrets away with their yammering. Quiet men were a breed he tended to avoid. They didn't use words to charm and manipulate and they themselves were unsusceptible. No, Darby thought, I don't like this guy at all.
Wolf Stoddard didn't know whether he should be going to the doctor's office and having his head checked out, instead he was heading over to Judge Green's office. If that damn kid didn't have those black piercing eyes, Wolf would have been able to get the kid out of his mind for the last month. Every night when he closed his eyes, those eyes stared back at him. True, these eyes were filled with hate and contempt, but they were still so much like those other eyes. The kid was full of bluster and hot air. Wolf could feel the fear emanating off of him. That's why he huddled and turned away from him. The kid wasn't any match for an experienced player, and Wolf was experienced if anything. He had a long career of dealing with criminal hard cases. Darby Cole was just playing at being tough. In prison this kid would be battered and bruised. He would either leave as a bitter, hardened hot head ending up in a life of crime, or a total basket case never to find a place in the scheme of things. His one chance now lay in the hands of Wolf Stoddard.
When Wolf knocked on Jack Green's door, he heard the man he had worked with many times before call him in.
"What can I do for you, Wolf?" Jack asked as he motioned Stoddard into the chair across from his desk.
"Darby Cole." Wolf now took off his black hat and spun it in his hands, creasing the brim and dusting lint.
"Yes? Darby Cole?" Jack could tell his old friend was nervous, but he still wasn't going to make this too easy on him. God, the man was just buying himself trouble.
"Come on, Jack, you know why I'm here."
"Wolf, I have never seen a man so adverse to using long sentences. All right, let me guess, you want the boy probationed into your custody. You think you can turn him around, is that it, Wolf?"
"That about sums it up."
"Do you know what you're buying yourself here?"
"Jack, I've been around the block. I know the hard asses. Cole is not one of them."
"That may be the case, but the boy's wild. He hates authority and he's going to fight you every inch of the way. You're going to have your hands full fixing up that place. Tell me, what made you change your mind?" Green now leaned back in his large, leather chair and brought his fingers together in a gesture of biding one's time.
"Let's just say, he reminds me of someone, someone who never got a second chance."
"And you feel you owe it to Cole to even up some scale only you know is out of balance."
"Yep."
"Damn it, Wolf, let's cut the crap. You've spent your whole life chasing men not worth the rope that was waiting for them, long nights on the trail, gunfights, you've been shot more times than any man I know. Now you quit, you're ready to settle down and lead a decent, normal life and you want to take home that hellion who really should be locked away for a lot longer than the year I gave him," Jack Green said as he leaned forward and slammed his hands on his desk in frustration.
"You'll be responsible for him, you know. If he runs away or stirs up more trouble, you're the one I'm holding responsible," Jack continued trying to dissuade the stoic man before him.
"I can handle him. Let's get the paperwork taken care of. I need to be heading back to the ranch."
"Suit yourself," Jack said as he called his secretary in to prepare the paperwork.
When Wolf approached the jail, his paperwork in his coat pocket, ready to pick up his young charge, he knew something was wrong. He saw the door slightly ajar and heard faint murmurs coming from inside. He drew his gun as he stealthfully swung the door wide and peeked in. The front office lay empty. He inched his way in and saw Sheriff Simon Banks sitting in Darby Cole's jail cell, tied up and gagged. The dark lawman's face was dripping with sweat, more so from rage than heat or exertion, although he added true passion to his struggles when he saw Wolf's smile.
Wolf holstered his gun and got the keys off the hook. He opened the jail cell and immediately removed the gag from Banks' mouth. "I'll kill that young pup, so help me. Laramie's too good for that little shit. Damn brat fooled me and not too many people can do that any more."
"Where's the key to the cuffs?" Wolf asked.
"Top drawer of my desk. So help me, Wolf. I want to apologize for even suggesting that you take that brat in. I wouldn't wish him on anyone. A year in Laramie, heck, Jack can add another one for breaking out of jail." When Simon was released he stood to his full height stretching his cramped muscles and rubbing his wrists. He rubbed his head for the first time. He towered over the tall man beside him who still didn't measure up to a man of Simon Banks' stature. However, the younger man had a grace and litheness that made his movement seem fluid and choreographed.
"Look, Simon, let's keep this between you and me. If you'd do me the favor of having my rig stabled and my supplies stored, I'll bring Darby back. You said so yourself that he stole a lot of townspeople's possessions, perhaps when I find the little scamp's lair we can return some of the loot."
"You're not a lawman anymore, Wolf. That's my job. Darn kid pretended to be sick, moaning and crying out in pain. When I rushed in to help him, he hit me over the head. Not hard, but before I came to I was cuffed and gagged. He apologized. Can you believe that? He stood there and apologized like he was real sorry he had to escape. I'll show him sorry when I...."
"Whoa, hold on Simon. The kid's my responsibility now." Wolf pulled out the papers and handed them to a perplexed and shocked sheriff.
"God, Wolf, do you know what you just bought yourself. Besides breaking out and escaping puts a whole new light on the boy's sentencing, you're not committed to this anymore."
"Simon, let's just keep this between you and me. Restitution to the good citizens of Happenstance should hold some weight of redemption for the knock on the head you took. Believe me, Darby will know contrition, too." The ex-marshal locked eyes momentarily with the sheriff. The pale opaque orbs burned with some inner scheme, the dark eyes blinked once in acquiescence.
"All right. I'll have Darryl bed your horses and store your supplies. I'll have him saddle you one of the spare horses."
"Thanks, Simon. You won't regret it," Wolf said seriously, but then his face changed to that glowing smile that opened up a sunny spot in the dark room, "but Darby most definitely will."
Darby Cole ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him away from Happenstance towards the base of the mountains and the cave he had fashioned into home. He focused his mind on freedom and the sanctuary offered within the deep, dark depths of the earth. This would not be a permanent solution to his problems. Winter was only weeks away and he didn't have proper clothing, food, or supplies. Now he couldn't show his face in Happenstance and he wouldn't be able to get the odd jobs that at least kept his belly full. Work had been really scarce the last few weeks and Darby had to cut into his "horse" money just to eat. The cowboy dream seemed distant and vague now. Up in smoke like most of his plans, the one hope for his future didn't seem possible now. Now he was a wanted man, probably with a price on his head.
He really hated to have to clobber Sheriff Banks, but he didn't hit him that hard. Surprise was the only advantage he had against a man Banks' size. If the sheriff ever caught him now, Darby knew he'd probably rot in Laramie Prison or be guest of honor at the Cassidy boys' rope party. Neither thought brought him any consolation. He didn't have a horse to leave town and find work elsewhere. Winter would probably kill him. He had no food, no blankets except the old ratty ones he stole from Mr. Brady's bunkhouse. Mr. Brady had money and could well afford a few blankets. Darby didn't even have underwear. He had planned on buying some, but...oh well. He had quite a choice ahead of him: freezing, starving, hanging, or incarceration. Oh my, so many choices, he thought bitterly.
Eight miles out of town, Darby raced along the stream to hide his footprints. He crossed the stream at a low area by gingerly walking across the rocks. He crawled through some deadfall that he had piled around the entrance and entered into his sanctuary. The cave entrance was well blocked by trees and bushes, but the added deadfall completely blocked any sign of the dwelling beyond. The door to the cave was approximately five feet wide by 4 feet tall. Darby had to bend down to get in. He pulled all the covers closer to the opening and breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his safe zone.
The sparse cave was a cozy place, thanks to Darby's long association with the gentle sex. The cave area where he dwelled was about 30 feet wide by 50 feet deep. It sloped downward towards the back almost to a crawl space then opened up wide again into the bowels of the mountain. In one corner a grotto raised 3 feet off the cave floor was piled high with straw and an old blanket over it made a cozy bed. Next to the bed a small rock formation served as a bureau. On it were a silver-framed picture of a beautiful woman and 3 leather-bound books, with a candle. In the center Darby had a fire pit and a beat up old pot for cooking meals. It may not seem like much to anyone else, but to Darby it was the closest thing to the home he remembered up over the saloon with his ma.
Darby ran to the makeshift bed and threw himself down. Now in the safety and privacy of his cave, he let the tears flow with the frustrations and fears that he had held at bay this past week. Hiding behind the tough facade had taken everything out of the young man, and he cried himself into a deep and dreamless sleep.
It took Wolf Stoddard four hours to track and catch up to Darby. Darby, being on foot, couldn't outrun an experienced tracker on horseback. Wolf stayed back and kept well out of sight. He watched as the young man ran for his life. It probably would have been more merciful by Wolf's standards to catch the boy then and there, but he didn't want to waste anymore time trying to drag the whereabouts of his hideout out of him. Bringing back the stolen loot would help Darby get back on the straight and narrow, whether he liked it or not.
When he saw the kid move the deadfall across the stream and disappear from sight, Wolf unsaddled and tethered his horse and sat for over an hour waiting for the kid to bask in his successful escape. When his guard was down, Wolf would corner the kid. The sun was setting and night was coming on. Wolf took down his bedroll and his rations for the evening meal and walked to the entrance of the cave. Quietly, with the training his Indian friend had imparted, Wolf entered the sanctuary of Darby Cole.
A shaft of light from an overhead opening still cast enough light in the cavern for Wolf to make out the odds and ends the kid had. He saw the sleeping form on the straw and blankets, the red swollen face and tear streaked cheeks made the kid look young and vulnerable. The stolen items were all positioned in a far off corner, useful items probably by Darby's standards, but Wolf didn't see the big deal with him taking these items. They all looked like castoffs from their previous owners. They were probably only reported stolen by the people who didn't like Darby running lose in town.
He stopped his perusal when his eyes alighted upon the rocks near Darby's bed. The poignancy of that pathetic gesture touched some deep core in Wolf Stoddard's heart. The rock held a silver-framed picture of a beautiful woman who bore a striking resemblance to Darby, no doubt his mother, next to it were three books and a candle, but it was the doily upon which the frame stood that tugged at Wolf's heart. This rugged, foul-mouthed, tough hombre had his mother's picture on a doily made of fine French lace. When he looked over at the sleeping form, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
You're one hard case, Wolf thought and for a few minutes he let his mind drift back to another time, a time when he saw black eyes so similar to Darby's laughing. He shook his head and pushed the musing from his head. He walked to the far recesses of the cavern, hunkered down in the darkness and waited for his prey to return to the land of the living.
Darby Cole awoke to the darkness. He had fallen asleep in utter exhaustion. He slowly stood up and reached for the small box of matches by his candle. He struck the match and guided the flame to the wick, pleased when it took hold, flickered then blazed. He went over to a pile of wood in the far corner near the entrance and began to build his fire for the sparse evening meal. He picked through his meager supplies and among the week old biscuits and 3 cans of beans there were some coffee beans Mrs. Deets had given him for fixing her well pump. He at first refused to take them, knowing the widow didn't have much more than he did, but seeing the pride in her eyes he couldn't refuse. Besides it was good to treat himself to a cup of coffee once in awhile, and he certainly could use the treat tonight.
He took his pocketknife out of a nearby, beat-up old bag. Thank God he didn't have this on him when Sheriff Banks arrested him. It was the only weapon he had. He opened the beans and poured them into the old pot and set it on the fire. Then he took a bucket and went out to the opening of the cave. He quickly approached the running stream and filled his bucket, watchful should anyone be near. He didn't want to expose himself to any trackers should they be looking for him. He quickly relieved himself behind the bushes and re-entered his sanctuary, once again covering the opening with the branches. Safe at last , he thought, as he breathed a sigh and sat on the old crate next to the fire to watch his evening meal cook.
"How about some bacon with those beans?" a soft voice said from the deeper recesses of the cave.
Darby jumped up so fast he stepped back and tripped over the crate, landing hard on his butt, as the tall man came out of the shadows, past the grotto he just slept in, and stood towering above him.
Darby tried to skoot away on his butt and hands, but only succeeded in backing himself into a corner of the cave.
"Take it easy. Why don't you and I sit down to a nice friendly meal. We've got a lot of things to set straight."
Darby had never been so scared in his life. The fear came not so much from the height of this man, but the fact that Darby never even knew he was there. How long had he been in the shadows? Did he see him crying? Darby felt like he wanted to die. Then he bit his lip and decided not to show this man fear. If this man suspected he was even a little afraid of him, Darby knew with all his heart, this battle would be lost.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question?"
Darby finally jumped up to his feet and reached in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the small knife and opened it. It was the only weapon he had to defend himself from any threats and this man was a threat by all connotations Darby could bring to mind.
The tall man never even flinched, but held his ground with a sad smile on his face, as though the whole proceedings were boring but expected.
Darby stood back at a loss as to what he should do now. Should he attack the man? Darby had never hurt anyone in his life, except Sheriff Banks, but there was no helping that. Should he make a run for it, the man stood between him and freedom, besides if this man tracked him here, he could track him anywhere and he was so damned quiet.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you, boy, you pull a knife on a man with a gun, you're asking to get shot."
Darby's eyes widened. This man could shoot him dead right here, and he'd be within the law. Darby was an escaped prisoner and he pulled a knife. Darby's lower lip starting quivering, tears were pooling in his dark eyes, and he could feel himself crumbling beneath the icy stare. Darby reverted to tried and true methods for his bravado.
"You fucker, you'd better stay away from me."
Darby didn't know what happened next. His hand was twisted behind his back, dropping the knife when the strong grip tightened around his wrist. He was pushed along ahead of the man towards the grotto where a short time ago he had laid in blissful ignorance. He felt the rope around his waist being pulled loose.
Darby stumbled backwards and sat on his bed as he was released. He looked up defiantly at the man who stood looking down at him.
"Take off your boots and pants." This was said in a matter-of-fact voice as though any argument wasn't even considered.
"Do it." This was said even more softly.
Darby didn't seem to have much choice in the matter. He took off his boots. He had on several pairs of old socks, because the boots were way too big for him. He pulled his pants off, as his shirt came down to his knees covering his naked lower half. He stood next to the grotto, looking frightened and wide-eyed.
Wolf took his pants and his boots and walked off to a spot by the fire. He piled Darbys clothes there then began taking off his hat, his duster, and his gun belt. He then rolled up his shirtsleeves and started walking slowly towards the quiet boy. Darby blanched not knowing what to expect.
Wolf sat down on the bed and pulled the boy across his lap pushing the shirt tail over his waist. Darby started to struggle, but was held firmly in place by the strong arms that pinned him face down on his makeshift bed. The first sharp spank forced a surprised gasp out of Darby, then he started cussing up a storm calling Wolf every name he had ever heard from the sailors in San Francisco. Wolf never said a word, he just kept paddling the squirming backside in a steady, hard rhythm.
The spanking continued until the oaths and cusses tapered off to quiet whimpers and Wolf started hearing a begging in the voice. When he finally heard the sobbing "please," said so pathetically and forlornly, Wolf stopped the spanking, but still held Darby firmly across his lap.
"Now, do I have your undivided attention?" Wolf asked the boy.
Darby had never been so humiliated in his life, but the humiliation was nothing to the blazing pain searing across his bottom. He wanted to put his hand back there and rub away the sting; he wanted to jump up and dance around the room trying to take his mind off the focal point of hot flesh. Now this stranger wanted to know if he had his undivided attention. Darby had a hard time focusing on one complete thought, the distraction around his bottom was too persistent.
Ten more sharp spanks were equally distributed around the surface and perimeter of the target area. Darby cried piteously burying his face in the blanket.
"Now?" the stranger asked him.
"Yes, yes, please don't hit me anymore," Darby wailed.
"My name is Wolf Stoddard. I own a small ranch a day’s ride through the valley. I need a hand getting the place fixed for spring. You need a place to stay to keep from going to prison. I have paperwork from Judge Green that places you in my custody for one year. After that time, you will be free to go. I'll treat you with respect and fairness, you will treat me likewise. Do we have a deal?" Wolf waited patiently for the youth to consider the offer.
Darby lay across Wolf's lap with his bare butt exposed to any more punishment this man chose to administer. He carefully thought over his answer. His backside couldn't take any more abuse. If he went to the ranch with this man, his chance of escape was much better than being behind bars.
However, not being one to give up easily, always being the little scrapper who never quit, Darby's stubborn streak just wouldn't let him go gently into submission. He tried one more attempt at being a tough hombre, even though his logical side told him to take Wolf up on his offer.
"Damn you, I'd rather rot in prison."
"We're going to work on that mouth of yours, son," then the spanking began anew with a refreshed vigor and determination. Darby kicked and screamed and tried desperately to block the hand that relentlessly dealt out each blow. His hands were grabbed and pinned to the lower regions of his back. The spanking continued. Darby cried like he had never cried before.
"No more, please. I'm sorry."
The hand still fell in its steady, forceful rhythm.
Darby panicked, what were the magic words here, now? He should have agreed when he had the chance.
"Please stop," he wailed.
Nothing changed; the pain was unbearable now. Darby thrashed wildly, kicking and squirming.
"I'll go with you. Please, I'll go. Anything." There was no more bravado in the pockets of his soul, only loneliness and misery and little boy things.
Darby wailed so loudly that he didn't notice that the spanking had once again ceased.
"Not one more cuss word from your mouth, boy. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Darby said quickly, eagerly. He wanted so badly to rub his bottom.
"When we get to town, you're going to return all the things you stole. You're going to apologize to Sheriff Banks. When you talk to him or anyone in authority you are going to say "yes sir" and "no sir." You are going to say that to me, too, until we leave Happenstance. Then you don't have to be so formal, but I think you need the practice," Wolf said as he still held the squirming youth.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes sir," Darby was a fast learner if anything. His clever little mind was already plotting escape the first chance he got.
Wolf looked down at the red bottom, the skinny legs, and he remembered the ribs poking through when he walked Darby over here. An empty belly could make anyone surly and uncooperative, he reasoned. He looked up at the back of the wild head of badly cut hair sticking out at all angles, and he smiled to himself. He could actually read the boy's thoughts. He had dealt with enough criminals and con artists to know young Darby was buying time and waiting for the right moment to escape. I'll be ready for you, Wolf thought, you're going to be a handful, but then so am I.
When he released Darby, the boy pulled away quickly and started the ritual of rubbing his sore backside trying to erase the pain and the memory. Wolf left him standing by the grotto. He picked up his gun belt and strapped it on. He then walked to the opening of the cave and pulled in his bedroll and supplies. Darby just stood there sad eyed and sullen---too sore to consider anything but his backside and the pain emanating from that region.
Wolf opened his bedroll and laid it out by the fire. He took some bacon out of a cloth sack and added it to the pot of beans. He took a coffeepot out and started making a pot of the brew.
"Why don't you lay down for awhile. I'll call you when suppers ready. You've had a hard day." This was all said gently to the frightened boy. Wolf watched as he slowly moved to the grotto and crawled into his little nest. Then he heard the quiet sobs coming from the darkness---five minutes after that the even steady breathing of someone lost in sleep.
About an hour later, Wolf walked over to the sleeping youth. He could see him sound asleep on his stomach, red-faced, puffy eyed. Wolf wondered what made a seemingly gentle soul like Darby feel he had to act so tough and hard to get by in life. He could well imagine life wasn't too easy on an inexperienced boy forced to fend for himself. Darby was probably just too proud to ask for help, and besides times being hard in this land, not many people were always that willing to share what they had. Wolf waited until he returned to the fireside before calling him.
"Darby, supper's ready."
He expected an argument from the boy and emotionally braced himself to go another round, but surprisingly he came forward out of the gloom and stood unsure of himself just outside the warm ring of firelight.
"I know you don't feel like sitting, but why don't you lay on your stomach on my bedroll," Wolf said as he put down a plate of the beans and bacon near his bedroll and a hot cup of coffee. Darby did as he was told. Wolf turned his face away from the scamp and smiled. This will surely pass in time, he thought, better enjoy these small moments of respite.
"How old are you?" Wolf asked him.
"Twenty-two." Darby said somewhat petulantly.
"I guess I forgot to mention lying’s out, too."
Darby turned his head slightly to look at Wolf's pale blue gaze. Wolf narrowed his gaze and bore holes into Darby's soul, then he shifted the focus of his vision on the upturned backside. Darby caught the shifting and his face reddened.
He turned back to his supper plate and mumbled, "Eighteen."
"So you want to be a cowboy. It's rough work, you think you can handle it?"
"Yeah, I can handle it."
"From what I hear, you need riding lessons."
"Well, you heard wrong, I can ride with the best of them," Darby said angrily.
"If you say so." Wolf refilled his own empty plate, then he reached a hand out, "Hand me your plate." Darby handed the empty plate and watched as Wolf refilled it with a generous helping. Darby was hungry and the bacon added to the beans was delicious. The only good meals Darby had in the last year were those offered to him by sympathetic rancher's wives and townspeople like Miss Cassie. The one good thing about being incarcerated this past week was the steady feast served at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Darby had never had three meals in one day since leaving San Francisco.
Wolf and the boy ate the remainder of the meal in silence. At one point, Wolf saw the boy jiggling his leg contentedly as he lay on his stomach as though lost in some pleasant thought and finally relaxing enough to enjoy his meal. The warmth of the fire was taking the chill out of the cave. Wolf took his and Darby's plates and washed them with water from the bucket Darby had brought in before. When he finished his task and looked back, Darby was sound asleep on Wolf's bedroll. He thought for a moment of waking the boy and sending him off to his grotto, but something tender dwelled in Wolf's heart, some soft spot for fiery black eyes and rebellious spirits. He pulled the blanket still folded nearby and gently laid it over the sleeping figure.
Wolf lay back against the cave wall near the fire and watched the flames
as he sipped the remainder of his coffee, every so often glancing up at the
sleeping face on the opposite side of the golden ring. His mind drifted
back to the summer in New Orleans and the first time he ever met Falcon Landry.
Part 3 of Story One