Darby left Mr. Dawson with a fresh pot of vegetable stew, promising to visit with him at the dance. Now, Miss Cassie was due a social call. He raced along the back roads of town and swung around to the other end, where Miss Cassie's neatly kept Victorian house, complete with gables and towers bordered the residential area of town. Beyond the small area of homes, the road stretched out of town towards the very first ranch, Mr. Brady's, where the dance would be held on Sunday.
Miss Cassie was sitting on her porch sipping a cup of tea, when Darby opened the small gate and entered her front yard, she put her cup down and met him half way.
"Darby!" she said as she grabbed him in a warm hug. "I've missed you so much."
"I've missed you, too, Miss Cassie." Darby pulled away and looked around at the house, the fence, and the porch. "Need any repairs?"
"No, everything's fine, boy, the job you did on the fence and porch really brightens this place up. I'm pretty well set for winter now. Besides," she said, eyeing him suspiciously, "I'm sure you've got plenty out at Wolf Stoddard's place to keep you occupied all winter."
"Well, yes, ma'am, I do, but I was sort of hoping maybe..." Darby let his voice trail off as though a woeful hitch caught him off guard.
"What? Tell me," Cassie said, but then she pulled him by the arm and led him to the front porch.
"You just set yourself down right here, boy, and tell me. Has he been treating you well?"
Cassie resumed her seat on the rocker after depositing Darby on the chair next to the small table between them. She poured him some tea in the extra cup she always brought out on the tray with her, for just such social visits.
"Well, it's not like he's not good to me, cause he is, ma'am. I get three squares a day, he's fair about the work and he gives me time off, but, it's just...I mean.."
"Darby, you just take it easy," she leaned forward patting his hand.
"He uses a bullwhip on me, Miss Cassie." Darby paused for effect as he heard the gasp that escaped the young woman's lips. Then he continued, planting seeds and hoeing right away were important, "I was thinking if you were willing to take me in. See I lied to you and Judge Green. I just turned seventeen, Miss Cassie. Judge Green never would have sent me to Laramie in the first place had I told him the truth. I admit, I never should have lied to him, but lying to you, Miss Cassie, you who've been so good to me from day one, that has me mighty ashamed."
Darby looked down at his hands folded in his lap, dolefully searching for some place to bury his shame.
"Darby, boy, have you told Judge Green this?"
"Yes, ma'am, I have, but he might not think he has a choice in the matter. Now he won't want to just release me. He'll insist I have a guardian and quite frankly, Miss Cassie, I would love that person to be you." He looked cautiously up to gauge the effect of his words. Seeing the absolute confusion and surprise on her features, he quickly continued, "I could help out here and do whatever you tell me. I could sleep in the shed out back. I wouldn't eat much."
Cassie laughed at that statement. She had fed Darby before and knew the boy wolfed his food down with pleasure and gusto.
"Darby, I would love having you, if my father were still alive. But truth is, boy, having a teenager in the house alone with a single woman...well, it just wouldn't look right."
"Well, maybe then, ma'am, you could see fit to suggest something else to Judge Green. Maybe just letting me go my own way. I promise I won't steal no more.... I swear." Darby raised his hand and the sincere expression on his face showed the skill and charm of the actor Darby Cole had always been.
Wolf made a quick stop over at Mr. Pruitt's schoolhouse. The far end of town held the livery, the schoolhouse, and the church was across the street. School was done for the day, but Wolf entered the small building.
Wolf saw the tall, lanky teacher sitting behind his desk, eyeglasses perched low on his nose. He was bent over his desk reading. In the front row a curly-headed boy sat with a chalkboard printing diligently.
Wolf cleared his throat, holding his hat in his hand, unsure about being in a classroom. Wolf had a few years of college, but the Boston educational system was a long-gone memory, and these one-room schoolhouses were new territories for him. Hell, children and teenagers and domesticity were a trip to a foreign land.
"What can I do for you?" Mr. Pruitt asked as he rose from behind his desk.
The curly-head turned towards Wolf, and the boy's jaw dropped. He stared at Wolf as he turned completely around in his chair.
"William, turn around and finish your assignment. I'll not tolerate anymore dalliance on your part. Your pa's gonna switch you for being late the third time this week and I won't be feeling any remorse."
The boy immediately turned back to his chalkboard, but not before Wolf noticed the pale color that washed over his face.
"Mr. Pruitt, Sheriff Banks suggested I talk to you about primers. I have a young man staying with me. I'd like to teach him to read and write."
Darby came running into the hotel, quickly asked the desk clerk what room Stoddard was in. The he grabbed the banister of the staircase and with fluid grace swung himself up and over onto the third step. Never missing a beat, he took the stairs two at a time and most patrons in the lobby and dining room looked up to see who or what was causing all the commotion. It sounded like a heard of cattle got lose in the lobby.
Darby ran down the hall to the last room on the second floor. He pushed open the door and stopped dead in his tracks. He was hoping to beat Wolf back to the room, but he realized he was too late. In the corner, seated in the one chair in the room, near the window sat the ex-lawman, patiently drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.
"Darby, sunset was half an hour ago. Where you been?"
"Visiting folks. I know a parcel of people. Mr. Dawson, Miss Cassie...folks." Darby trailed off, a bit testy by having to report to this man. Now that he was back in town, it was hard for Darby to believe he was still shackled to this man, and not the footloose and fancy-free young man he was before.
"Well, when I say sunset, boy, I mean sunset. I was just about ready to go collect your butt, and you wouldn't have been happy if I had." Wolf made the statement quietly, but Darby knew that when Wolf got quiet, things usually heated up for him...particularly in one area.
"I don't have a horse. If I had a horse I could ride from place to place and make better time,” Darby said, petulantly.
Wolf decided to ignore the minor tantrum. He stood up and lit the oil lamp by the bedside. Darby watched unsure of himself. Wolf picked up a brown-papered package on the bureau and handed it to Darby.
"Happy Belated Birthday, Darby."
Darby stood there with his jaw hanging low, mouth agape, eyes wide with disbelief.
"For me?"
"Yep."
Darby sat on the bed and eagerly began unwrapping the paper. When he saw the books and chalkboard, he looked up at Wolf. His face reddened. He stood up and threw the books against the far wall.
"You think you're so funny. You know I can't read."
The next few minutes were a blur for Darby. The next thing he knew he was pinned up against the wall, his shirt front held high in Wolf's two-fisted hands, his feet barely touching the ground. The red-faced anger was now replaced with genuine fear.
"Tarnation, boy, what the Sam Hill has gotten into you since we've been in town? I'll not stand here and allow these tantrums. You get your butt over there right now and pick those books up. They're a first and second year primer. I'm going to teach you to read and write this winter."
Darby paled. He just thought Wolf was rubbing in the fact...well, he didn't really think if the truth were known. He was tired of having someone keep tabs on him, and then the surprise of a gift for a birthday he had forgotten about. When Blair gave him the book, it was different, because Blair didn't know he couldn't read, but Wolf knew. Now, he blushed with embarrassment. He nodded his head slowly, cautiously.
Wolf released him. He walked over to the books and picked them up, gently, almost lovingly. Then he sat down on the bed with the books in his lap, the chalkboard next to him with the brown paper still partially covering it.
"I'm sorry." Keeping his head down he peered up at Wolf from beneath his hooded eyes.
"You're pushing your luck, Darby." It was all Wolf said as he grabbed his hat off the hook by the door.
"Let's get some supper. It's your birthday dinner I promised you weeks back. You think we can enjoy it?"
Darby put the books down on the bed and rose. With the light now reflecting off his wild hair and blushing cheeks, Wolf saw the regret that bordered his eyes. He softened his tone.
"Wash up, Darby. I'm hungry."
The dining room was crowded when they got down there. Each table was covered with white linen and soft candlelight. They were seated in a small alcove near the bay window that overlooked the street. Darby smiled at their luck. He was able to see the hustle and bustle of the small town on a Friday night. Shop keepers closing up, cowboys heading towards the saloon for a weekend binder and businessmen and ladies being escorted to dinner at the hotel, the one nice dining place in town.
At every intersection of street crossing street, small fires were lit on the ground, making the town look warm and cozy and quite inviting. The piano music could be heard from across the street and Darby started tapping his foot to the music, ignoring the menu that had been placed in front of him.
"What are you having for your birthday dinner? How about a steak or fried chicken, seeing how you like it so much?"
"Fried chicken, please. That sounds mighty fine." He smiled again, a big broad grin that had him looking almost foolish in his childlike excitement. "You think I could have me some of that apple pie and ice cream for desert?"
"It's your birthday dinner, anything you want. I told you we'd celebrate when we got to town."
When the waitress took their orders, the fried chicken for Darby, steak and potatoes for Wolf, both men sat back and eyed each other. Wolf couldn't help but smile with the infectious grin across from him barely contained. "What's got you so happy?"
Darby blushed, "Just feeling good, that's all." Then he dropped his eyes and felt a brief moment of guilt. Here he was enjoying himself with a fine dinner, the man had bought him books to teach him to read. Darby had always wanted to read. Now he was stirring up trouble for Wolf, trying his damnedest to get clear of the man.
Wolf noted the subtle change in demeanor. No doubt the little mite is feeling guilty about the bullwhip story, he thought to himself. Probably the tantrum he threw upstairs, too. He'd better not throw one of those again.
Watching the happy boy across from him, Wolf started to have doubts of his own. The boy wasn't bad, that much was for sure. A little misguided and hell-bent for leather, but not bad. Wolf thought back on his own youth in Boston, his willful ways and rebellious attitude. Then his thoughts turned to the other, and he was back again, back on the trail with Falcon. The soft flickering of the candlelight taking him.....
The fire blazed against the cool night air, rebelling in its own fiery manner against the darkness. Across from Wolf the dark eyes flamed as passionately, obstinate and at war. They had left New Orleans early that same morning. The unwilling traveller said barely two words the whole ride. Most times when Wolf looked over at the figure seated on the buckboard next to him, the dejected figure showed no emotions save for the slumped shoulders and reddened eyes. Wolf knew the boy had not slept one wink his last night at home and he felt pity for the youth.
Etienne Bordage felt he had no choice but to send the boy to live with his uncle in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Vincent Bordage owned a large ranch and would be able to straighten out the wild youth. Etienne was far too old and his daughter could no longer keep tabs on her recalcitrant son.
Wolf stirred the beans and bacon, he put the coffee pot near the hot flames, banking it with sand and rocks. He took the two tin plates and started scooping the hot meal onto each dish.
"Here's your supper, Falcon." He held the full dish out across the flames waiting some acknowledgment from his travelling companion.
Falcon sat there, arms folded truculently across his chest, lips tight with anger and obstinacy.
Wolf walked across the short distance and put the plate down nearby. He poured a hot cup of coffee and set it alongside the dish.
"I'd suggest you eat, boy. We've a long ride to Arizona, to my uncle's ranch. After we get rested there, I'll see you on to Cheyenne."
Falcon picked up his dish and mug and walked determinedly off to a nearby tree. He sat down with his back to the tree, turning away from Wolf and all his efforts of friendship.
"Suit yourself, Falcon!" Wolf yelled back at him angrily. "It's going to be a long ride."
"Mama loved to fix me fried chicken, always did on my birthday. Then Sophie and the girls would throw a party.... dancing, cake, plum tuckered me out dancing with all the ladies."
Wolf glanced up, momentarily trapped between memories and reality, then he realized he was sitting across from Darby and the boy was in high spirits. The dance coming up, the birthday dinner, the primers and the promise of reading instructions had put the boy in a fine, good humor. Wolf sipped the coffee the waitress had put in front of both of them.
"You think they'll have fried chicken at the dance? Miss Cassie said Mr. Brady hires a team of professional cooks and waiters to tend his autumn dances. Miss Cassie says he likes to throw parties for the town. I didn't know that about him. I guess he's not so bad after all." Darby said, the excitement trailing down from his voice with the realization that he had played a mean trick on a man he only thought of as being rich and a drunk.
"Can't go around judging books by their covers, son. Mr. Brady is a philanthropist from where I come from."
"What's a philatrist...philontropist.... what is it?" Darby asked with all sincerity.
"A man who shares his wealth with the less fortunate, Darby. Builds libraries and schools and museums and shares what he has with others."
Just then the waitress came back with two steaming, large plates. Darby's eyes widened at the golden, crispy chicken that lay piled high on his plate, as it was set before him. There were mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and corn bread. Wolf's plate held a steak that threatened to topple off the sides with boiled potatoes and mushrooms crowning the glory. A large breadbasket finished the spread and both men thanked the young girl.
The rest of the meal was quietly passed with both men deep in concentration over their meals. Only simple reprimands for Darby to slow down punctuated the silence every so often.
After dinner, after Darby stuffed himself on hot apple pie and ice cream, Wolf rose from the table. You'd best get to bed, boy, you've a busy weekend ahead.
Darby slowly rose from the table, pulling at his waistband. "It's too early," he whined.
Wolf checked the clock over the fireplace in the hotel lobby, perhaps he was being a bit unfair.
"Okay, you have until 10. I'll expect you back in the room and in bed then. You can read time, can't you?"
Darby nodded his head, "Yes, sir, I can. I'll be there."
"I'm going over to the saloon. Stay out of trouble, you hear?"
"I know, I know." Then upon seeing the stern glare, he amended, "Yes, sir." Then before Wolf could change his mind, Darby raced off towards the hotel doors. He skidded to a stop, turned quickly, smiled at the tall man following a distance behind. "Thanks for dinner, Wolf, and...And for everything."
Wolf stopped in his tracks. He would have been thankful for the small acknowledgment if it weren't for the small hint of finality in the tribute.
Boy, you'd best get those ideas out of your head, Wolf thought to himself. You're mine for the year and you're going back to the ranch with me whether you think so or not.
Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg sat at a table in the far corner of the saloon. Sheriff Banks carried a pitcher of beer to the table and Joel Taggart, the barkeep, walked over with three large glasses.
"Joel, bring another glass, I think Wolf will be joining us shortly."
"Jim, the dance is Sunday at 4 over at Brady's place. I know you and Blair are going, but I was wondering. There's some young guns been milling about outside of town the last two weeks. They haven't really caused any trouble, yet, but there's something about them I just don't like. I'd like to deputize you to kind of keep an eye on things at the dance, while I periodically check on the town." Simon started pouring the beer in the glasses and passed the drinks around to Jim and Blair.
"Sure, do you think they'll start something at the dance?"
Jim Ellison was a man who could take care of most situations that arose, and Simon put his complete faith in the man's abilities, especially where Blair's safety would be compromised.
"No, not really, just a feeling I have...call it a gut level thing."
"Mind if I join you?" Wolf came up behind the men and when Simon pointed to the empty chair, Wolf lowered his lanky frame slowly down. Simon reached for the fourth glass and before Wolf could decline, he poured him a glass of beer.
"Where's Darby?" Blair asked, eager to see his friend.
"Off visiting folks...more like stirring up a kettle of trouble, but it's all one and the same to Darby," Wolf said with a slight smile cornering his mouth, betraying any anger or disgust one could read into the remark.
Blair laughed. "Sounds like Darby to me."
Darby was off to the far side of town again. Mrs. Deets needed checking on. The poor widow had given Darby her last rations of coffee when he had fixed her well pump. She always had a kind word for him and even sewed his britches up when he fell off her roof fixing a leak. Now he wanted to see that she was all right, ready to face winter with adequate supplies.
The small, run-down shack was opposite the street from where Mr. Dawson lived. Mary Deets' small spread sat about a quarter of a mile behind town, the open range stretching out for miles behind her small home. Darby wished he had brought a lantern, the treacherous terrain causing him to stumble several times on twigs and branches and stones.
"Mrs. Deets, ma'am," Darby said out loud as he gently pounded on the door, not wishing to give the hard-of-hearing widow a heart attack. "MRS. DEETS!" he yelled to accompany the increased severity of every pound on the door.
Then the door was slowly opened, and peeking up at him, her glasses bridging her small nose, the shawl tugged closely around her, Mary Deets recognized her friend.
"My dear boy, where have you been? Come in, come in. I baked a cake this morning, Lord knows, He works in mysterious ways and He surely said to me, 'Mary, you'd best get yourself busy and bake some treats, you'll be having guests.' Come, come, boy." Mary Deets moved slowly aside and urged the grinning lad into her warm, modest home.
Darby was always amazed how a woman who stood not more than four feet nine inches could make him feel so small and helpless, but Mary Deets carried herself as though she matched the trees. Her 'no-nonsense' demeanor was all bravado to Darby, who often found himself grinning from ear-to-ear when she chose to reprimand him. A quick swat from her kitchen towel, always draped over her shoulder as she worked to create bountiful spreads from a seemingly sparse larder, soon contained the mirth from reaching his face.
"That's mighty nice of you, ma'am, I bet my nose pulled me here all along, and here I was thinking it was a spur of the moment decision." The light banter was a game they played. Mary Deets, the helpless widow woman, Darby, the devil-may-care rake, barely finding time to spare for the dowager. Both knew it for the ruse it was, but the tough act of indifference often-helped make light of their dire straits.
"You set yourself down there, young man. Young people like you always in a hurry," she started in her favorite lecture. Darby smiled and pulled a chair up at the small kitchen table. He was filled to the brim from the apple pie and ice cream and huge dinner he had just consumed, but there was no way Darby was going to turn down a freshly baked confection of Mrs. Deets. The woman could make heaven with flour and dish out miracles on a cake plate.
"You can find the time to sit and visit with an old woman, now and then." She cut a large slice of the chocolate cake that was sitting on the work board, covered with a dishtowel. She poured fresh grounds in a pot, and Darby knew how she hoarded and re-used her old grounds, but he didn't say anything to the generous sacrifice on his behalf.
"Coffee be ready in a bit, boy," she said as she placed the dish in front of him. Then seating herself across from him, she watched with pleasure as Darby made a big production of forking off the first bite and savoring it with an "um, um" sound.
Mrs. Deets smiled happily, pleased with her young guest's enjoyment. "Now, where have you been keeping yourself? I know you got yourself in some trouble ways back. That all straightened out?" This time she pursed her lips, trying to look sternly at the young man she had grown mighty fond of in the past few months. No one paid her much mind in town anymore, save for Miss Cassie who always asked about her health. However, since young Darby showed up on her doorstep some months back asking for work, her life had a bright spot that she didn't want to lose.
"Yes, ma'am, I've got me a right fine protector. Woof Stoard," Darby finished by stuffing another huge chunk of the gooey cake into his mouth.
"Lordy, boy, slow down." Mary jumped up and poured two cups of the freshly brewed coffee. "Here ya go."
Placing both cups on the table, she eased her tired body down once again. Darby took a cautious sip then another larger gulp. "Thank you, kindly, ma'am. Best I've ever had."
"Are you going to the dance tomorrow at Mr. Brady's?" Darby asked, looking up only shortly, lest someone take the cake plate from out in front of him.
"No, not an old woman like me. In my youth though, boy, in my girlhood I would have danced those young bucks right off their feet," Mary cackled and Darby giggled at the contagious sound.
"Well, Mrs. Deets, can't have the prettiest girl in town not go the biggest dance of the year. No, ma'am, don't seem fair to us young bucks," Darby said, sitting back, patting his stomach, and grinning proudly.
"I'd be mighty pleased to escort you, and No, ma'am, I will not take 'no' for an answer. Matter of fact, I'll be round here with the buckboard just before sunset, you'd best have your fineries on, Mary Deets."
Mary blushed, wrapping the shawl more tightly around her withered body, but the bright gleam in her eyes, spoke of flattery, fond memories, and a joy long lost with age.
"I don't know, Darby," she began, "I....
"NO!" Darby said firmly, as he got up, "you'll not be disappointing me.
Besides Miss Cassie, you're the only pretty girl I know in town." With that
said, he bowed elegantly in front of her, offered her his hand, and when
she laid her wrinkled stem in his, he pulled her up and started a slow waltz
around the room, singing softly in his clear beautiful voice.
Part 4 of Story Three