When Wolf rode up in front of Brown's Mercantile, Jorgan was putting some bandages and antiseptic into his saddlebag. The rifle tucked safely in the scabbard, not across his huge, broad shoulders.
"You think he's hurt badly?" Wolf asked.
"Ya, I saw him stumble then hobble off. Depending on where he is shot, he could have lost a lot of blood."
"What does he expect, stealing."
"He is hurt, Mr. Stoddard. I do not like to see things hurt." Jorgan threw a cold, blue glare his way. For such a large man, Wolf marveled at how gentle of heart he apparently was.
"Wolf, Jorgan. Call me Wolf."
"I was the law long enough to know, when you break it you get hurt one way or the other."
"Wofe," Jorgan pronounced it with his heavy accent, "my father was a doctor, still is. Anna and I know healing. I will tend to his wounds the best I can when we find him." Jorgan said it in a way that left little doubt if Wolf had other plans. Wolf had no intentions of letting a wounded man suffer, either, and he didn't know why he was being so argumentative with the giant. Perhaps because he intimidates the hell out of me with his sheer size, Wolf admitted to himself.
Darby finally had to race off the stage promising all the while to sing again later.
"Hey, Darby," Blair said as he came up next to his young friend.
"Oh, Blair, I've been wondering where you were. Let's go eat." Darby grabbed Blair by the arm and both men eagerly piled fresh plates high with chicken, corn, and pies.
Since this was Darby's second trip to the buffet table, he concentrated his efforts on getting as much desserts on his plate as he could. "Follow me," he said to Blair as they slowly made their way back to Mary Deets.
The rest of the dance probably would have been quite uneventful for Darby except for one thing: he got thirsty. Perhaps it was Blair's fault, being young himself he understood a boy's need for drink and a time away from women. After finishing off their plates, refilling Mary's punch glass, and making sure she had her time on the dance floor, the boys excused themselves.
Out in back of the bunkhouse several hundred yards in back of the barn, the men had set up a small bar area. As they approached the area, they noticed a huge keg of beer had been set up on a table where several men stood in easy conversation and laughter.
"Are you sure Wolf won't mind you having a beer, Darby? I can see him not really caring when he thought you were twenty-two, but just turning seventeen, he might not think it right."
"Naw, Wolf don't care. He knows I can handle my liquor. As a matter of fact he always lets me have whiskey in my coffee at night." Darby smiled, reassuringly, easing out the lie with practiced grace.
Both men picked up tins and filled them with beer from the tap. The beer was cold and refreshing, long stored in the cool cellars that Brady had built for his wine.
"How do you think Mr. Brady keeps his kegs so cold? This is better than the beer at the saloon."
Blair turned and looked around, "I hear it told that he had a cellar---an actual wine cellar---that was specially built to house these imported bottles he gets of fine wine. Can you imagine having that kind of money?"
"Wolf says he's a filantrist," Darby said maturely, proud that he remembered the word.
Blair was going to correct him, but seeing the pride glowing on the young face, he just shook his head and laughed. "He is that, Darby. Makes me feel all the more badly about that practical joke we played on him."
"Oh, Blair, he was too drunk to really care or remember. He never said one word to me about it, so I think he's forgotten all about it."
Darby downed his beer and refilled his cup. Blair followed and both young men walked over to the corral where Mr. Brady's horses were kept. One black mare nudged her colt in motherly concern away from the two strangers.
"She's right protective of her young one. Reminds me of my ma," Darby said, somewhat sadly. "Makes me miss her mightily."
"How'd she die, Darby?" Blair asked, while watching the mother and colt scamper around the corral.
"She took a bullet meant for me. She loved me so much."
Perhaps it was the beer and the remembrance of better times with dance and song and happy crowds, perhaps it was the need to finally say it---put it into words---face up to it the guilt he carried with him...whatever the reason, Darby wanted to tell Blair.
The curly-haired man put his arm across Darby's shoulder. "She must have been special. Did she teach you all those songs you know? People were mighty impressed with the languages you know and the beautiful voice you have, Darby."
"She taught me to sing and dance, and I guess I get my voice from her, but all the ladies had a hand in my education," Darby laughed, "if you can call it an education."
"Mellie taught me fishing and French; Gerdie was German and she showed me how to make these noodles that are so good and potato pancakes; Sophie taught me the most besides my ma, but Sophie helped raise me since I was a baby. She took my ma and me in when ma said we had no money. Then she got my ma a few jobs around San Francisco and finally the Crystal Cage."
Blair continued watching the horses not daring to break the spell that had his young friend spilling his past with not a care or show of secrets.
"Why didn't you stay with Sophie? Why did you head out here for the cattle drives?" Blair asked.
"After my ma got shot all hell broke loose. Arthur Doyle wanted me dead. That's what Sophie said and he was going to come after me. Sophie packed a canvas bag for me, put my favorite books in it and my ma's picture, and stuffed some money in my pockets. She told me to run. She said she'd try to find me later." Darby kicked the dirt at his feet. "She sounded real scared and serious. I was scared, Blair, really scared and my ma.... mama was..." Now the tears came in heavy streams down his face and Blair pulled him in for a brotherly hug. Thinking long and hard on his own mother and the protection and love he had always felt.
Now he had Jim, just as surely as Darby had Wolf. Maybe Darby didn't see the trees for standing in the forest. "You have Wolf now, Darby. Seems to me he's real parental where you're concerned...about as fatherly or brotherly as Jim can be with me."
"Sometimes I feel safe with him, but other times I feel if he knew some of the things I done in my past, some of the things I had to do to make it this far on my own, he'd send me to Laramie as surely as I stand here." Darby wiped angrily at his face.
"I'm sorry to burden you with my problems, Blair, right sorry." He pulled away from his blue eyed friend and downed the last of his beer. "Best get back inside. Mrs. Deets is probably fighting off a handful of suitors about now," Darby smiled and Blair saw no ridicule in the boy's face.
Tucker Lawless bit his lip, leaving an impression in the pale flesh. The pain in his right side felt like a branding iron had been rammed deep and left there to burn his insides clear out. The heavy sack over his shoulders pushed him lower and lower to the earth, but he refused to drop it. Once down he wasn't none to sure he would be able to get it up again. He slowly brought his left hand to his side and the warm, sticky fluids had soaked his shirt. He padded lower and realized the blood had started to spread down his leg. He couldn't let Ben see him like this.
He saw the campsite just up ahead. Ben was nowhere in sight as he had been instructed. Tucker lowered the sack off his shoulders and reached down for the old jacket he had left behind. Painfully grimacing, he put it on, buttoning it over the gaping wound. Lowering himself slowly to the ground next to the bag, he started taking out the closest item to the top, the candy bag.
"Good boy, Ben, you did good. Now you can come out." He tried to keep his voice neutral, fighting back the panic that threatened to overpower him.
Tucker heard the sound of movement from a clump of bushes not far off. Then the small feet started running. Tucker put up his hand turning slightly towards the shadow that came at him out of the night.
"Hold on, Ben, don't go jumping on me. Please!"
The young boy ignored him and grabbed him around the neck. "I missed you, Tuck, I don't like when you go off like that. I done what you said, but I don't like it none."
Reaching up a hand, the older boy peeled the little hands from around his neck. "I had to attend to some business, Ben, but...." he fought a surge of pain, "look what I got you." He handed the small bag of treats to the sorrowful little boy.
Ben grabbed the bag eagerly and fumbled with the opening. Tuck watched as the little face lit brightly, small dirty hands dug in as though reaching for gold. "Mine, Tuck, all mine?"
"I don't see any other little boys with a sweet tooth here, do you?"
Ben seriously shook his head confirming the assumption. Then looked in his bag and pulled out a sourball.
"Just one, Ben. I don't need you getting a bellyache now. Besides, I think we need to move on tonight," Tucker said in a tired voice, not sure he could move if he wanted. Feeling lightheaded and dizzy, he lowered himself off the small rock he sat on and once his bottom rested on the ground, he leaned himself back against the rock for support. "Agh," he cried, quickly looking to see if Ben heard him.
The little guy was too absorbed in his candy bag, but definitely not happy with the news. "Aw, no, Tuck, I don't want to leave here. I like it here. I like the town. I thought you said we'd make a home here."
"There are other towns, Ben, nicer towns."
"No!" he said, stamping his foot. "No, Tuck." Then seeing sternness in the grimace of pain that crossed Tuck's features, he added, "Besides, there's an angel here and a giant. It can't be a bad place, Tuck."
"Ain't no such thing as angels or giants, Ben. Don't you go getting your head full of that stuff," he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. "Angels would have.....helped....long gooooo" and with that Tucker collapsed on his side.
"Tuck! Tuck!" The small boy started pushing and shaking his brother. When he saw there was no response, he sat down next to him and started crying.
Darby licked his hands and tried to push his errant locks down. Pulling up his britches, straightening his tie, rubbing away the last vestiges of tears and emotions, he pulled his face into a bright grin, as though he hadn't a care in the world. He started to enter the barn, but was grabbed by two hands, one on each arm and quickly pulled towards the back, behind some bushes.
"Hey, let go." He tried to pull free, but the Cassidy brothers were determined to hold onto their prize.
"Take it easy, Cole, we just want to talk," Joshua, the oldest said.
Once secluded behind the bushes, he found himself released, but both boys stood close enough to make escape impossible.
"We've been thinking, we should let bygones be bygones. No reason you and me and Jeremy here can't be friends. You seem to me like a real fun loving sort and, hell, we need that in this town. Nothin ever happens here no ways." Joshua offered his hand to Darby.
Darby looked suspiciously at Jeremy who nodded, lost in thought, as though the realization just struck him how boring his life really was.
Darby slowly took the offered hand. Joshua shook it and padded him on the shoulder, grinning at the new bond that was formed. Then he jabbed his brother in the side and Jeremy, woken from his reveries, extended his own.
"You seem to have a knack for practical jokes. Jeremy and I have an idea for shutting this party down tonight with a bang. You game?"
"First off," Joshua said as he pulled a bottle from his pant's pocket. "I have some stronger stuff here. Whiskey." Jeremy smiled wickedly, glancing furtively over his shoulder looking for his pa.
He handed the bottle to Darby. Darby had whiskey in tea and coffee. Sophie swore by the medicinal benefits and Delilah had always listened to Sophie about most matters that concerned the health of her only son. However, Mr. Baines and Delilah never let Darby drink hard liquor, an occasional beer Mr. Baines snuck to him as part of the bonding process, but never whiskey.
Darby took the offered bottle and looked into Joshua's eyes. He saw genuine friendliness. Having no intention of offending his new buddies, Darby raised the bottle to his lips and took a long pull. As he handed the bottle to Jeremy, he grinned, "Now what did you have in mind?"
So Darby, the joker wild, the lonely boy seeking acceptance from other's his own age, and the darling of the Crystal Cage, listened to the details for the eventful finale.
Wolf and Jorgan heard the sobbing long before they came upon the campsite. The trail of blood was easy to follow and Wolf knew his services for tracking were not really necessary.
Both men dismounted. Jorgan nodded to Wolf as he pulled the rifle from the scabbard, directing the ex-marshal off to the right, indicating his own approach from the left.
Jorgan saw the sobbing little boy as he came upon the small camp made within the shelter of some rocks. He recognized the little scamp he had swept off his feet just this morning. He braced himself. This had to be done gently, slowly and carefully. Too many things could go wrong. Jorgan knew about things going wrong and innocent people getting killed.
"Hi, little boy. What's wrong?" All the while looking around for the thief, the wounded man, he kept the rifle back across his broad neck not wanting to frighten the child, but ready to swing down and into action in a matter of seconds.
The curly-haired boy looked up, casting frightened eyes at the giant who approached. He stopped crying long enough to stick his fingers in his mouth, the reassuring gesture of all little children. Then Jorgan saw him looking around.
"Where's the angel?"
"What?" Jorgan was confused. He continued approaching at a slow sure pace.
"Gabriel, your angel?" The little boy then took his fingers from his mouth and hunkered down next to a large sack and some clothing scattered around. Then Jorgan saw it was a body, a small body the boy was trying to shake. "She can help Tucker. He won't wake up."
Jorgan came to about 8 feet of the boy when he saw Wolf cautiously approaching from behind. He slowly shook his head indicating no sudden moves.
Suddenly the small bundle on the ground moved. Jorgan saw the old gun come up. No, not with the child there. Then the figure forced himself into a sitting position, long hair falling over his face hiding most of his features. He shook his head, grimacing with pain. As the hair fell back from his face, Jorgan saw it was another boy, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen. The left side of his face was covered with a deep red stain, a birthmark the size of which Jorgan had never seen. He remembered his father talking about markings so large they branded people for life as outcasts. Jorgan felt for the boy, knowing how size can make a man seem foreign in his own land, as well.
"Take it easy. No one is here to hurt you or the boy." Jorgan forced the rifle to stay slumbering on his back, fighting the instinct to swing it down and point it at the threat before him. He didn't want to shoot this boy, enough young men had died.
"This is our camp, mister. You got no right coming in here. Just go away and leave us be." The boy sounded frightened and weak. There was a pleading in his words, no outright threat.
"Can't do that, son," Jorgan said sadly. "I think you need my help."
When the boy saw Jorgan still approach slowly, he shoved the gun out farther wincing at the pain the movement caused. The giant never slowed. "I mean it, mister, I don't want to shoot, but I will. Me and my brother ain't bothering no one. Please...just go away."
Then seeing his words had no impact on the giant, Tucker yelled, "Ben, RUN!!"
Jorgan was quick, far quicker than his size would belie. He moved to the right, hooking his arm around the small, fleeing form, then moving quickly off behind a boulder. The loud gunshot rang out in the night. Ben screamed, "Tuck! TUCK!"
As Wolf quietly approached the boys from behind he motioned for Jorgan that he would get the gunman. He saw the shake of the giant's head and knew no blood had better be spilt. Jorgan Mueller was calling the shots on this outing, ex-marshal or not.
When he saw Jorgan race after the boy, the small figure whose back was to him, fired, aiming high, Wolf noticed. He kicked out a booted foot and the gun went flying off to the left. He then turned, pulling his own gun, looking down into the face of a very frightened boy. "Damn it! I've just about had it with children."
He hunkered down, still keeping his gun pointed at the small figure---children or not, you had to be careful. He searched the pockets and insides of the jacket, watching the boy's hate-filled eyes. If they had been black Wolf would have chalked them off to something he was used to, but these were green, softly defiant. Show your temper, little boy, I'm getting used to one of the best displays around, I can take anything now.
He pulled back his hand, red and sticky. "Jorgan! The boy's hurt."
Jorgan already approached carrying the softly snivelling little boy in one arm. He handed the boy to a surprised Wolf. "Take the boy off with you to collect the horses. I need my saddle bag." Then he tossed his head in the direction of the injured boy and Wolf understood.
Wolf walked off carrying the boy. When they were a few feet off, Jorgan heard Wolf say in a rough voice, "Big boys don't cry and you look mighty big to me. I think your brother is in good hands right now."
Jorgan turned back to the boy. The long hair had once again fallen across half his face and this time he made no attempt to push it back. The one green eye studied him, warily.
Jorgan approached and knelt down beside him. The green eye studied him intently, watching his every move. "I'm going to help you. I know you robbed Brown's Mercantile, I know you were shot."
The boy said nothing. Jorgan saw a slight quiver in his lips. Then a small voice said, "We were hungry."
Jorgan took a deep sigh. The theft could be dealt with later. Right now he needed to stop the bleeding. He tenderly probed the wound. It didn't look bad, a clean shot through his side. Jorgan didn't think any vital organs were damaged, but he and Anna could tell better once they got the boy cleaned up.
When Wolf returned with the saddlebag, Jorgan saw the little boy perched high on Wolf's horse. The red face was puffy and his hand was once again in his mouth, drool gliding down his chin blending with the dried tears.
Jorgan quickly wrapped the boy's side, after carefully pulling the shirt high over the boy's waist. Then, as Wolf picked up the sack of contraband, stuffed the other sack with the boy's personal belongings that had been scattered about, Jorgan wrapped the boy in a blanket and lifted him carefully into his arms. Wolf marveled at the ease with which he lifted the boy. In several easy, long strides Jorgan raised the boy high in his saddle, mounted up behind and pulled him childlike across his lap, pushing his head against the cushion of his broad chest.
Wolf tied the sacks to his own saddle horn and mounted up behind the small boy, who never said another word, on the short ride into town.
Darby never would have been so pliant in the hands of the Cassidy brothers if it were not for the people, the fun of the dance and the reflective conversation with Blair, well, perhaps he would still have pulled a prank or two, but maybe not one so dangerous.
After several long pulls on the whiskey, the added boost to the two beers he had with Blair, he returned to the barn.
"There you be, boy," a croak assaulted him from the side.
Turning Darby saw Mr. Dawson, a plate of food in his lap and drink in hand, cheerfully waving him near.
"Hi, Mr. Dawson. I'm glad you made it. Sure be a right fine dance, even by my standards," Darby said, cheerily winking at his own humor.
"Where's your Wolf? I want to have a talk with that young man," Mr. Dawson said boldly, not looking much of a threat to anyone with his faded suit, crooked tie and plate full of food.
"Now, don't you go getting yourself all huffed up about that. Wolf ain't here. He must be out courting some fine miss about now, beautiful moon and all."
Darby would have been nervous over this kind of talk, but the liquor made him take no real mind to it all. He was in a jolly good spirit and nothing, no Wolf or even a real bullwhip, was about to dull his shine.
The music played on, Darby excused himself and spun Mary around again. Several other young ladies waited in the wings, desperately seeking his attention. He disappointed no one, including Betsy Frost.
Towards about three in the morning, the musicians gave their last effort. Darby spun Mary gently across the floor, then returned her to her seat. "Best wait here, Mrs. Deets. Can't leave without Wolf no ways."
Then he ran out of the barn, supposedly in search of Wolf, but turning right he headed for the crop of oaks in the far field, just off the corral. The Cassidy brothers grinned evilly at him and all three burst out laughing. Joshua handed him a new bottle of whiskey and Darby took a long swig to pump his adrenalin and his courage. The stage was set and all the actors were on board. Let the show begin.
Wolf watched the scene play out before him. Jorgan had taken the small figure into Doc McCoy's. The same bar boy who had announced the robbery to Simon had called the old doctor and Anna from the dance. Simon stood by holding the small boy in his arms. The child had been quiet the whole time, never showing any emotions. Staring after his brother constantly, shifting in the arms that held him, continuously keeping his brother in view, but when he saw Anna, Wolf noticed a change in the face. The eyes widened in joy, the small mouth almost smiled, and Wolf saw a barely perceptible sigh escape the pouting lips.
"Simon, take the boy out. I bet there's a bottle of sarsaparilla over at Brown's. I rode in with him. He wants to see what items are missing," Anna said, as she helped Doc McCoy strip the older boy of his clothes.
Simon smiled at Wolf, knowing full well who was in charge.
"Gentlemen," she said to Wolf and Jorgan, once the boy was out of the room, "help me turn him over on his stomach.... easy, gently...oh my God!" Anna gasped as Wolf and Jorgan in unison rolled the small, unconscious figure over. Across the thin back scarred flesh crossed over itself in a red and angry symbolism of hatred and anger.
"This boy has been buggy whipped...my GOD!" Anna's eyes filled with tears, Wolf clenched his fists at his side, and Jorgan Mueller let out an oath under his breath that would have made men quiver.
"Who would do this to a child?" Then steeling herself for the business at hand, Anna swept her hands along. "Out with you both. Doc and I have work to do."
Wolf and Jorgan scurried out.
When Wolf and Jorgan joined Simon, Brown and the boy at the Mercantile. Joel Brown was presenting a list to Simon Banks. "This can't be right. The boy's sack was brought back. Was mostly small portions of food and a goodly portion candy," he said thumbing back towards the counter where the small boy was perched drinking a bottle of soda, "probably for the child."
"Well, I'm missing large sacks of potatoes, rice, flour, coffee, wheat, and canned items. As a matter of fact, Wolf, some of your stock is missing. I'll replenish the items, but I know for a fact I marked all your things with a WS in black charcoal. Seems a lot of the items taken were set far back."
"There is no way that small boy could have taken that much in so short a time. We searched the campsite, everything was in the sack." Jorgan looked over the list of missing items, frowning at the mystery.
"Well, no one's been messing with that stuff. It was all there yesterday, Wolf, when you sent that young fellow, Darby, in here to double-check things. He can tell you the order was filled."
Wolf turned slowly from the back door he had been examining, a cold anger spreading across his face. Take it easy, don't go jumping to conclusions now. "Darby, he checked the list?"
"Yes indeed, he asked me for it and did a careful check. Said it was all complete."
"Simon, I'd best get back to the dance. You okay here with the," then lowering his voice, "bandido."
"Get out of here. Just make sure that things stay quiet there.
I've had enough excitement for the evening." Simon snorted as he turned to
the small child. It was time for some names.
Part 8 of Story Three