The Witness
By Star
The emeanor lamp flickered lustrously, casting soft shadows and emeanore the solitary office building. The dark haired, blue eyed Stockton lawyer sitting at the desk seemed lost in thought and reason when a sudden rap at the door alerted him of a late night caller. Jarrod Barkley stood and stetched before making his way to remove the bolt that served as insurance against unwanted intruders.
“Oh....good evening, Fred. What brings you out this late? Business or pleasure?”
“Well, actually Jarrod, tonight I reckon it would be business.”
“Okay. Come on in and have a seat.”
Jarrod ushered his guest over to the desk and motioned for him to sit. Reclining back in his own high backed, leather armchair, Jarrod inquisitively studied the weather-worn face of his long time friend and waited for Sheriff Madden to offer up an explanation for his visit.
“Jarrod, I won’t beat around the bush. I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
“Alright, Fred. I’m listening.”
“I know you’ve been really busy here lately and have even been outta town for a few days, but do you recall reading about that murder that was committed a couple of weeks ago over in that warehouse building on the east end of town?”
“You mean the one involving the Army lieutenant and the warehouse worker?”
“That would be the one.”
“Yes. I read about that in the Stockton Eagle. I understand you have the suspect locked up in your jail now.”
“That is correct. His name is Mario DeSoto and he’s a Portuguese immigrant; however, he’s been over in this country for about ten years now and has worked as a bookkeeper for Hansen’s Freight Company for five. He claims he was working late one night and heard some sort of commotion out in the warehouse. He went out to investigate and found a uniformed army officer laying face down in a pool of blood. Not being able to detect pulse, he pulled the knife out. At that point he says the two night watchmen had him restrained and were accusing him of the murder.”
“And there were no witnesses?”
“Not that I’m aware of. He says that there was a young man that helped out with odd jobs around the place. The kid was homeless and usually slept right there in the building, but he disappeared the night of the murder and hasn’t been seen since.”
“Sounds like maybe he knew more than he felt safe knowing.”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is I have this gut feeling that Mario is telling the truth. He says he was framed, Jarrod, and I believe him. The problem is he needs a lawyer. A good one.”
“So that’s the favor you came to ask me?”
“I guess that’s about the size of it, Jarrod. What do ya say? He doesn’t have a whole lotta money to get him the counsel he needs, and his family is all over seas. I guess you might say he’s all alone in this.”
“Well, I guess I could mosey on over to the jail and meet this Mario. However, I would rather wait to make a decision until I’ve had a chance to talk with him myself.”
“Fair enough, Jarrod. He was still awake when I left. If you have the time, I can introduce him to you now.”
Mario was sitting on the edge of his cot reading from a battered, old Bible, the pages yellowed with time. The middle aged man carefully closed the book’s cover as Fred and Jarrod approached the dimly lit jail cell. Jarrod was already sizing up the small man. He could tell from the worn leather on Mario’s Bible that here sat a man of great faith.
“Mario,” greeted Sheriff Madden, “I have somebody here I’d like you to meet. This is Jarrod Barkley, the lawyer I was tellin’ you about.”
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Barkley!”
The raven-haired man couldn’t help revealing his enthusiasm as he stood and thrust a hand through the bars of his prison to greet Jarrod with a robust hand shake.
“Same here...Mr. DeSoto, isn’t it?”
“Please, call me Mario.”
“Alright. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mario. Fred, would you mind unlocking this door so I may consult with my prospective client?”
“Not at all, Jarrod, not at all.”
Sheriff Madden hastily fumbled with the large key ring he had retrieved from his desk drawer and finding the proper key, opened the door just long enough for Jarrod to enter before locking the two men up together.
“Here! Have a seat Mr. Barkley!”
Mario scooted to one end of his cot leaving a place for Jarrod to sit.
“Thank you for coming!”
Mario’s gratitude was evident by the glimmer of hope in his dark brown eyes. Even though they had barely met, Jarrod couldn’t help but like this man. As the two made eye contact, Mario’s face grew solemn. He looked down and began ringing his hands in his lap. Jarrod had learned to not only judge a person by what they said, but how they said it. Mario’s tried his best to convey his testimony in his halting broken English.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Barkley. I never kill that man. They all try and blame Mario, but I kill no one.”
“Now slow down there, Mario. I think I believe you, but you have got to trust me. You have must tell me everything that happened that night.”
Mario took a deep breath and smiled weakly.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barkley. Please, forgive me. I just don’t know what to do. The newspaper say Mario is a murderer and nobody seem to believe me. Nobody except for you and Sheriff Madden.”
“Okay, Mario, let’s start from the beginning. I want you to tell me all the details surrounding the night of the murder as best as you can recollect.”
“Well, Mr. Barkley, I’m really not sure where it began. I work for the Hansen Freight Company five years now.”
“Were you hired on when LaMar Hansen bought out Western Freight?”
“No, I work for Western and then Mr. Hansen bought the company and I stay on.”
“Okay. LaMar Hansen purchases Western Freight Company and changes it to Hansen Freight. Have you worked as the bookkeeper the entire time?”
“Yes, Mr. Barkley. When I first come to America, I live in Sacramento for a while and learn to speak good English. I try and get job there, but only job for foreigner is harvest worker. I travel south to Stockton and get job in warehouse keeping books and records. Mr. Thorpe owned company then but sold it to Mr. Hansen about a year and a half later. Mr. Hansen say I do good work and let me stay on.”
“Tell me now, Mario. How is the business run there at Hansen Freight?”
“The freight comes in on the train from many different places. The dock workers unload shipment and from there it goes out on wagon. Sometimes incoming freight gets shipped out on train.”
“You mean if a private individual has an item or crop they want shipped?”
“Yes, Mr. Barkley, sir.”
“Now, I want you to think back to the night of the murder, Mario. Think really hard and tell me if you can remember the exact time and what you were doing when the murder took place.”
“I remember well. It was 11:30 in the evening. It was the last Saturday of the month and I wanted to get month’s end tally finished. There was loud voices coming from out inside of warehouse.”
“Out inside of the warehouse? Do you mean to say that your office is ajoined to the main building?”
“Yes. That is correct.”
“Were there dock workers still working at that late hour?”
“Yes. Sometimes dock workers work all night. Freight always coming and going.”
“So you heard a commotion coming from out in the main building. Then what did you do?”
“After hearing voice, I think maybe I should go and see. It sounded like someone was very angry.”
“What did you see upon entering the main warehouse?”
“I walk around and look but nobody there. Everything quiet now. I go over behind some boxes and see something unusual on floor. It is a man in uniform lying face down. There is blood. When I rolled him over he had knife in him.”
“Then what happened?”
“I saw that he was dead and I try to pull knife out.”
“You tried to pull the knife out. What made you decide to do that?”
“I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I pull hard but knife in very deep. Very hard to pull out.”
“But you got it out?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And then two night guards step out from behind crates and grab me. They say I kill that man.”
“You say they stepped out from behind some crates. Was there a lot of freight stacked in the building at that time?”
“Yes. There is always stacks in building. Mr. Hansen does good business.”
“What kind of lighting was in there at the time? Was it dim or bright?”
“I say dim. Just a few lamps for entire warehouse.”
“Now, the sheriff mentioned to me earlier that there may have been a possible witness. Can you tell me a little bit more about him?”
“Chris, he help with the sweeping and run errands for Mr. Hansen. He have no place to go and Mr. Hansen say he can stay there and sleep at night.”
“How old is this Chris?”
“He’s still a lad. Maybe sixteen.”
“And what happened to Chris after the night of the murder?”
“I don’t know. Antonio..., he’s one of emeano loaders. Antonio say Chris disappear.”
“Antonio is a friend of yours?”
“Yes. Antonio come and visit me in jail and say no one see Chris since that night.”
“So it’s possible that Chris could have witnessed the murder?”
“Yes. I guess he could. Or maybe he just scared that if he stick around he may be next.”
Jarrod puzzled and pondered the situation for a moment and then methodically resumed his questioning.
“Mario, you say the victim was in uniform and I had already read in the newspapers that he was an army lieutenant. What was an army lieutenant doing in the warehouse?”
“The army use Mr. Hansen freight service to get supply to base. The army have their own freight car and wagons.”
“And they use their own personnel to pick up and load the supplies?”
“Yes. Mr. Hansen just provide place to drop off and store supply until ready for pickup.”
“Alright, Mario, I think you have given me enough information for now. Let me think on this over night and I will get back with you in the morning. In the meantime, try and think of any other little details that may be important regarding that night. Even if they don’t seem important to you. When I return tomorrow, I will have some more questions for you. I will also do some checking around town and see what I can find out.”
Jarrod rose and called out for Fred to come and open the cell. It was late and he wanted to get home.
“Mr. Barkley?”
“Yes Mario?”
“I will pray that you find the truth in this thing that I am accused of doing.”
“You do that, Mario. But I also want you to try and get some sleep. I will do everything I can to bring the reason for all this out into the open, but it won’t help either one of us if you are run down and tired.”
“I will try to get some sleep. Good night, Mr. Barkley.”
“Good night.”
Jarrod gave his client a reassuring twisted grin as he followed Fred out into the office area.
“Fred, what do you think? I get the impression that Mario isn’t telling us everything, but I do believe that he is telling the truth about not killing that army officer.”
Fred had closed the door leading into the area housing the cells and was now slipping the bolt into place.
“You know, Jarrod, I’ve seen my fair share of killers in here and they all say the same thing – ‘I’m innocent’ – they got nothing to lose by lyin’. But like I told you back in your office, this man seems different. My gut instinct tells me that he’s being truthful when he says he didn’t do it.”
“True enough, Fred. This man doesn’t seem like he could kill anybody in cold blood. Besides, what would his motive be? If it was money he wanted, he could just take the strong box and leave late at night. They don’t seem to have much of anything else sitting around that warehouse that would be worth stealing. Not unless Mario is into Persian rugs or Chinese vases.”
On the moonlit ride back to the ranch, Jarrod’s conversation with Mario kept milling through his mind as he tried to untangle a reason for this heinous crime in a deserted warehouse. He felt that Mario was possibly keeping something from him, but yet he believed this man didn’t commit the murder. By the time Jarrod had climbed into bed, he had already decided that he would take the case, but first he would get to the bottom of what Mario was hiding. He didn’t need any surprises in court.
The emeanor morning, Jarrod was the first one at the breakfast table. Preoccupied with the preceeding evening’s events, he dined silently alone on scrambled eggs, orange juice and toast without ever really tasting what he was putting into his mouth.
“You must have started a new case!”
Victoria’s chipper voice broke the young lawyer out of his trance.
“Oh, good morning, Mother. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Nick could have walked in screaming at the top of his lungs and I don’t think you would have heard it.”
“I guess I’ve just got a lot on my mind this morning. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
“Well, not to worry. Are you planning to go into the office early today?”
“As a matter of fact I was getting ready to do just that.”
Jarrod dabbed at his mouth with the fine linen napkin that lay neatly folded next to his plate and standing abruptly, gently placed a kiss on top of his mother’s head before briskly strolling out the front door. He had a lot of ground to cover today and time was wasting.
The town of Stockton was just starting to come alive when Jarrod rode up to his empty office and hitched Jingo to the rail out front. Sharon, his secretary, hadn’t even arrived yet, so after fishing for the key, Jarrod let himself in and opened up the shades. He seated himself heavily in his plushy leather chair and sighed deeply, contemplating the best place to begin. Mario had mentioned that the warehouse was pretty much open all the time. That was as good a place to start as any. Jarrod gathered together some note pads, writing implements, and a two week old paper headlining the murder in the warehouse. Armed with the tools of his trade, Jarrod headed over to the not so ritzy part of town.
Upon entering the warehouse, the neatly pressed lawyer stuck out like a sore thumb. Jarrod made his way over to the main office hoping to have a word with LaMar Hansen, but found it dark and vacant. Perhaps some of the dock workers could tell him something.
Out on the warehouse dock, the early morning crew was just resuming the day’s tasks. Burly men were moving or stacking crates and boxes and organizing shipments for their proper destinations. The low, long whistle of a distant train signaled workers of soon incoming freight. Jarrod’s eyes scanned the dimly lit building and soon rested on a lone figure counting boxes in the far corner. This man looked to be a lot less threatening and possibly a little more cooperative than some of his coworkers. Casually, Jarrod made his way over to where the slim, Latin bred man was bent over, thoroughly engrossed in his work.
“Excuse me,” addressed Jarrod, “would you be able to spare a moment or two of your time?”
The man emeanore and turned to face the voice that had penetrated into his thoughts.
“Senor?”
“Good morning. My name’s Jarrod Barkley. I wonder if you might help me with some information?”
“I will try, Senor. What is it that you need to know?”
“Well, for starters, I’m looking for two watchmen.” Jarrod paused to study the print in his stale copy of the Stockton Eagle. “Their names are Gus Peters and Rod Benson.”
“Si, Senor. Gus and Rod are still here, but they will be leaving shortly.” Glancing down at Jarrod’s paper, the man added, “but why, Senor? Why is it that you want to know?”
“I understand that they were on duty the night Lieutenant Timothy Handel was murdered. I would like to ask them a few questions.”
The seemingly friendly dockworker took a step back and his face grew grim.
“You work for the sheriff, senor?”
“No. Actually, I’m an attorney. I represent Mario Desoto and I just need to get a few facts concerning his case.”
“Oh, I am glad, Senor. I’m glad for Mario, but where did he get money to hire such a fancy lawyer as you?”
“You’re a friend of Mario’s I take it.”
“Si, Senor. Me and Mario are good friends. Around here you have to be careful who you call ‘amigo’, but that Mario, he’s a good one.”
“Tell me Mr...., excuse me, but I didn’t get your name.” Extending his hand, Jarrod waited for the emeanor man to introduce himself.
“I’m Antonio. Antonio Lopez.”
“Oh, I believe Mario mentioned you to me last evening when we talked. Tell me, Antonio, what did you mean when you said you had to be careful who you called ‘friend’?”
“These are rough men who work the docks, Senor Barkley. I just try to keep to myself and not get involved in anyone else’s business...except for Mario that is. He’s different. He tries not to get involved either, but now, Senor, now....well, you see where it’s got him.”
“Antonio, I really appreciate you taking the time to talk with me, but I have just one more favor to ask. Before I leave could you please tell me where I can find Gus Peters and Rod Benson?”
“Si, Senor Barkley. There is a little station over on the far end of the warehouse. When they’re not making their rounds around the docks, they are usually over there drinking coffee. Gus in a very tall man with a scar down the side of his face. Rod is short, bald and heavy.”
The trim man held both arms out to emeanore his own meager waiste line.
“Okay, I think I get the picture. Thank you, Antonio. Thank you very much.”
Jarrod turned to depart, but then thinking of one last question, spun around on his heel.
“Antonio, one more thing before I go. Mario mentioned a ‘Chris’ that slept here in the warehouse at nights. What do you know about him?”
“Si. Chris worked here for close to nine months, but after the murder, it seems that he left town to find other work.”
“Can you tell me what this ‘Chris’ looks like?”
“I can do that for you, Senor. Chris is small built with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. He seems to be in his mid teens and is always dressed in dark brown work pants with suspenders, light brown shirt and sometimes he wears a patched up, grey jacket.”
“Does Chris have a last name?”
“I’m sure he does, Senor, but to all of us, he is just Chris.”
“Well, thanks again and I’ll be in touch.”
With a tip of his hat and a nod of his head, Jarrod was off in search of the two night watchmen. Gus and Rod were just in the process of logging their entries onto their time sheets when they were approached by a well dressed gentleman. This man was obviously not from the docks, but from time to time handsomely attired business men would have reason to visit the warehouse. From Antonio’s description, Jarrod was able to pinpoint the two the moment he spotted them. He emeanore made his way over to the pair and extended his hand in greeting. Gus looked at Rod, Rod looked at Gus, and then the pair turned towards Jarrod, eyeing him with blank stares.
“Somethin’ we can do for you, Mister?,” Gus’ huskey voice seemed to echo off the walls of the building.
“You can if you’re Gus Peters and Rod Benson,” replied Jarrod, dropping his arm.
“Who wants to know?”
Jarrod could detect suspicion in the tall man’s tones.
“My name’s Jarrod Barkley. I’m investigating the murder that took place here a couple of weeks ago.”
“We already told the sheriff everything we know,” broke in Gus’ annoyed partner.
“I am well aware of that fact,” Jarrod calmly stated turning to the tall man’s portly sidekick, “I’m an attorney representing Mario DeSoto and I have a few of my own questions I would like to ask.”
“Well, we don’t get paid to stand around and answer questions. Now if you’ll just step aside, we were just I’ ready to leave.”
With one firm shove, Gus pushed Jarrod to the side as he and Rod sauntered past the polished looking lawyer. Catching his balance, Jarrod called after their departing forms.
“When this goes to trial, I can order a subpoena from the judge and you will have to talk.”
“Or what?,” shot Gus, suddenly turning around to face what he considered to be a menacing pest. “Or you’re goin’ to make trouble for me?”
“The only trouble is what you make for yourself, Mr. Peters. All I did was present you with an option. You can cooperate with me here and now, or I can have the sheriff and his deputies make that decision for you.”
“Well, I guess I don’t want no trouble from the sheriff...but let’s make this quick. It’s been a long night and I’m anxious to get home to my woman.”
“Tell me what you know surrounding the events that took place the night Tim Handel was murdered.”
“Like I told you, I already gave a statement to the sheriff. What more is there to say?”
“Well, for starters you never did tell him why you weren’t there preventing this crime from happening in the first place. Why is it that with two men on watch duty, a scuffle followed by a stabbing was commited, yet the two guys who are supposed to be keeping an eye on things were nowhere to be found?”
Gus took a couple of long strides forward until he stood about a foot from Jarrod’s face. With a strong arm, he grabbed hold of the attorney’s collar and pulled him in even closer.
“Are you callin’ me a liar, mister? Are you suggestin’ that maybe we had somethin’ to do with that killin’? Well, you’d better take your suspicions and get the hell outta here, ‘cause if I catch ya pokin’ ‘round here again, I’m liable to mistake you for some kinda trouble makin’ trespasser.”
With the strength of an ox, Gus gave Jarrod a final shake and with a forceful thrust, released his grip from the attorney’s lapel. Being careful not to get himself riled, Jarrod straightened his shirt and brushed out the creases in his jacket made by the watchman’s powerful hand.
“Have it your way, Mr. Peters, but take my word for it. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Jarrod quickened his step for a hasty departure from the warehouse building but stopped short when he spotted LaMar Hansen arriving from the opposite direction. He still needed to locate Chris for questioning and maybe Mr. Hansen could head him in the right direction.
“Good Morning, LaMar!,” Jarrod cheerily greeted the renowned businessman.
“Oh, good morning to you, Jarrod. Is there something I can help you with?”
“As a matter-of-fact there is. Is there some place we can go and talk privately?”
“Yes, let’s just step over here into my office.”
The two men entered the small, modest room that had ‘LaMar Hansen, Proprieter’ displayed on it’s door. Even though Mr. Hansen did a booming business with booming profits, there was no need for the frivolities of a fancy office in his line of work. It had been almost an hour since Jarrod had first arrived, and the morning sun was now filtering in through the cob webbed window panes.
“Make yourself comfortable, Jarrod. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you, no. If you don’t mind I would like to get straight to business.”
“Okay, then. On what kind of business did you come?”
“Well, I’ve agreed to defend Mario DeSoto on this murder charge that he’s up against. I was just trying to gather some more information that may be helpful in presenting his case.”
“Yes, that’s a shame about Mario. He has always been the model employee. I can’t imagine what could have happened here that night that made him feel he needed to knife that young officer.”
“So you believe he’s guilty?”
“Well, what else am I to think, Jarrod? My two night watchmen caught him redhanded. Gus says he was alerted by loud arguing and arrived just in time to witness Mario plunging a knife into the victim.”
“Yes, I met Gus. Has it ever I to you, LaMar, that he may not be telling the truth?”
“I think I can figure out what you’re driving at, Jarrod, and believe me, I can’t say that by the appearance of Gus I blame you. I know he’s rough around the edges, but he really is a good man. The men that work here are tough, Jarrod, extremely tough, and there is a lot of valuable cargo stored here as well. I need a man like Gus keeping an eye on things. He’s worked here since I purchased this company and I’ve learned that I can always depend on him.”
“But he wasn’t able to prevent Timothy Handel from getting murdered.”
“This is a big place, Jarrod. The men make their rounds in pairs for good reason. There is freight coming and going at all hours during the night. They can’t be everywhere at once. I told Gus when this first happened that I didn’t hold him or Rod responsible. Besides, who would think that Mario could be any kind of a threat to anyone. He was working late on some books and they probably didn’t think twice about needing to check up on him.”
“Could be your right. But I still need to examine every possible angle. Now, I understand that there was a young man by the name of Chris who slept here at nights. From what I’ve gathered so far, he hasn’t been seen since. Any idea what may have happened to him?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t add much more to what you already know. Chris came here looking for work some time ago and I kind of felt sorry for him. He didn’t have a home or anything and by the looks of him, didn’t get the opportunity to eat too often either. I told him he could work for a small wage, plus room and board. I figured that was a fair offer to a boy in his situation.”
“Yes, I’d say that was more than fair. I’m just wondering what would make him decide to take off like he did when he at least had a roof over his head and a full belly. Kind of makes you wonder.”
Jarrod seemed to be puzzling over his final statement and then suddenly slapping his knee with his hand, stood up and bid farewell to his host.
“Well, thank you for your time, LaMar, I won’t take up any more of your day. I’m sure you have lots to do here.”
The prematurely emeano gentleman glanced at the stack of papers and invoices cluttering his desk.
“That would be an understatement, Jarrod, but if I can be of any further assistance, don’t hesitate to come back.”
Back in town, Jarrod decided to stop by the jail and spend a few minutes visiting with his client before continuing his quest for more information. He found Mario in good spirits and eating the hearty breakfast that was provided by the local I for those incarcerated in Sheriff Madden’s ‘hotel’.
“Any rays of hope on the emeano?,” Fred inquired as Jarrod was preparing to leave.
“Not a whole lot more than what I had last night,” the lawyer replied, pausing with his hand on the door handle, “I really need to find out the whereabouts of that kid that was living there on the docks. I have a feeling he might be able to enlighten us on some interesting facts. I think I’ll head on down to the rail yard. With the freight trains making frequent stops at the loading docks, could be he decided to hitch a ride. Maybe there is somebody down there who’s seen him.”
“If I won’t be in your way, Jarrod, I think I’d like to take a walk down there with you. Doc Merar keeps tellin’ me that I need to get more exercise. My deputies usually do the rounds and I get stuck in here behind this desk.”
“I’d be glad for the company, Fred. Besides, I doubt those men working the rail yard are much friendlier than some of the guys I just ran into down at the warehouse. Maybe having you as an escort would encourage them to talk.”
Within twenty minutes, Jarrod and Fred were wandering around a vast sea of empty train cars all woven together with a web of spike and iron. Rail workers milled around the yard performing various duties. As the two approached a box car, a middle aged man wearing denim overalls jumped down to the ground. They stopped and asked him a few questions, but didn’t learn anything that Jarrod deemed helpful. They were able to make a few more inquiries of the men they ran into, but nobody had seen a boy that fit Chris’ description.
“There don’t seem to be anyone around here that can tell us anything,” mused Fred, “What do you say we make tracks over to the station.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of a joke, Fred?”
“Well, I guess it fits considerin’ where we are and all,” Fred chuckled at the cleverness of his own joke. “Maybe one of the conductors can tell us somethin’.”
“Let’s hope so,” Jarrod replied somewhat discouraged, “it seems that trying to locate that teenage boy could prove to be almost as difficult as looking for the queen in a swarm of bees.”
“Excuse me, but did I hear you say you were tryin’ to track down a young feller?”
A bearded man with a striped, cloth cap stepped from behind one of the parked engines.
“Yes, I did!” exclaimed Jarrod, not being able to hide his anxious tone, “Have you seen someone like that?”
“Matter-of-fact I did...’bout a week ago, or more...if it’s the same kid yer lookin’ fer.”
“I’m looking for a boy about sixteen years of age, blonde hair, brown eyes, wearing old ratty work clothes. Does that fit the description for the boy you saw?”
“Sure does, Mister. I’m a brake man for the Santa Fe line and we run through Stockton every Sunday and Wednesday about 1:30 a.m...”
“Yes, go on!”
“Well, from here the train is bound for Denver ‘fore it turns around and heads back again.”
“Where was it when you spotted the boy?”
“That would be Carson City, Mister. I was makin’ my rounds checkin’ the train before we pulled out, and I spotted this here kid. He was camped out in one of the box cars like he was fixin’ to stay a spell. Well, I grabbed him and told him to get out and never come back. We don’t stay in business by givin’ free rides, Mister. You can’t blame a feller for just doin’ his job.”
“Did you see where the boy went from there?”
“Nope, and didn’t care neither. All I cared ‘bout was that when the train pulled out, it would be short of one more freeloadin’ hobo.”
“Well, I thank you for your time,” Jarrod graciously told the whisker faced man.
“No trouble at all, Mister,” the man replied eyeing Fred’s badge. “Say, what’s this kid done, anyway? Is there a reward out for him?”
“No, nothin’ like that,” Fred assured the brawny fortune seeker, “just a runaway is all.”
Having gained the knowledge they had been seeking, Jarrod had a strong desire to ‘make tracks’ as Fred had put it earlier.
“Come on, Fred,” the lawyer bargained, “how about if I treat you to an ice cold beer?”
“Kinda early to be drinkin’, wouldn’t ya say?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” mused Jarrod, pulling out his pocket watch, “let’s make that a cup of coffee over at the I. What I’m really wanting is to just go sit down some place where we can discuss this thing.”
“What’s there to discuss. We got a good lead as to where your witness may be, but my involvement with the matter ends right here.”
“I know, Fred, I know. Carson City is across state line and that’s where your jurisdiction ends. I guess I’ll just have to try and find this Chris on my own. All I have is a vague description, not a whole lot to go on.”
“Look, Jarrod, even if you are able to find him, you don’t know if he’ll be willin’ to come back to Stockton with you or not. He must’ve had his reasons for leavin’, I’m guessin’ you’re gonna have a fight on your hands.”
“That’s true enough, Fred, but I wasn’t planning to make the trip myself.”
With the wisdom of experience, the sheriff knew exactly what Jarrod had planned before he even said it.
“Do you think they’ll go for it?” ventured Sheriff Madden trying not to smile, “you know with it being summer and all, I’m sure Nick and Heath have their fair share of duties out at the ranch. Besides, what’s in it for them?”
“Don’t you worry about that, Fred. No, don’t you worry. I figure that ever since Heath joined our family, I’ve had to bail both of their sorry hides out of enough trouble to keep them indebted to me for a long, long time.” The lawyer flashed a mischievous grin at his star sporting companion. “If they can accomplish this one small feat, then I’d say we’d be about even. Now come on, I still want to buy you that cup of coffee.”
The two enforcers of justice turned, ready to depart the bustling rail yard. Neither one of them noticed the large man obscured from view. This shady individual had been dogging them from a distance ever since they had left Fred’s office. From his place of concealment, ‘scar face’ had been able to evesdrop on the entire conversation. Hearing their voices fade out, the hidden man hurried off in the opposite direction. He had urgent business that couldn’t wait.
The following morning Nick and Heath were saddled and ready to ride out long before anyone else on the ranch was stirring. It was almost a five day ride to Carson City. Since they would more than likely be gone close to two weeks, Nick had left detailed instructions with the ranch foreman. Mac had been employed by the Barkleys for close to twenty years and was more than capable of running things in Nick’s absence. While the two cowboys were out trying to round up a stray witness, the family’s attorney would be continuing his collection of data in the local arena. With the trial only three weeks away, there wasn’t much time to spare.
The first leg of the journey would be through more eme terraine until they hit timber and started climbing in elevation. It was unusually hot for July and made riding the open, unshaded parts fairly miserable. Nick wasn’t thinking of the physical discomfort, however. His thoughts were on this important job that Jarrod had asked them to do. At first Nick had balked at the idea, but as his persuasive brother had presented all the facts as efficiently as if they had been in a court room, Nick realized the importance of this trip. He knew that a man’s life may depend on what they found in Carson City. ‘Find him, Nick. You and Heath must prevail upon him to come back’. Jarrod’s words working around his thoughts brought on a whole new slew of ‘what ifs’. What if Chris didn’t want to come back? What if they couldn’t even find him?
Sensing the tension in his unusually quiet brother, Heath glanced over with keen observation. He had heard Nick assuring Jarrod that he would ‘find that boy and bring him back whether he wanted to or not’. Heath figured his role in the mission would be to ride ramrod over his big brother. Maybe a clever use of words would convince this young upstart on accompanying them back to Stockton with no force used. There was no sense in four days of trail dust and a kid just itching to break away first chance he got.
Focusing back on reality, Nick lifted his brown Stetson and using his shirt sleeve, wiped the excess moisture off his brow.
“Hot today,” he grumbled, “in fact I can’t ever remember it being so hot this time of year.”
“Boy howdy, you just ain’t whistlin’ Dixie,” responded Heath, feeling too drained even to playfully badger his brother about this being cool compared to some of the places he’d been. “Maybe we oughtta rest the horses for a while and ride at night. The moon’s plenty full. ‘Sides, when we get up a little higher I know of a few shortcuts.”
“I’d like to,” Nick came back with a serious note in his tone, “but the quicker we get to Carson City the better our chances are of findin’ that kid before he decides to hop another emeano.” Then cracking his younger sibling a wide smile added, “We can take these ‘shortcuts’ of yours on the way back when time isn’t workin’ against us. Besides if I’m remembering things right, your shortcuts usually end up takin’ twice as long.”
When Nick and Heath finally arrived in Carson City it was much later than they had both anticipated. The heat in the lower altitudes was higher than it had been in almost a hundred years, costing them precious time. Once they hit the higher elevation of the Sierras, the pace picked up a bit, but instead of the usual four and a half days, it was well over five. A somewhat large town with a livery, hotel and restaurants to choose from was a welcome sight to the bone weary cowboys. The two men got their horses unsaddled and settled in the town’s stable and then walked out into the bright noon day sun.
“Nick, what do ya say we go find ourselves a room, and they’d better have a bath,” Heath commented as he glanced at his brother with exaggerated facial expressions, “You’re startin’ to remind me of a mangy ol’ pole cat.”
“Me!,” humphed Nick in mock defense, “You know you don’t exactly smell like Mother’s rose garden yourself, little brother. But yeah, you’re right, I reckon we could both use a hot bath and some clean clothes.”
Directly across the street towered The Jessup House. It was a fine looking structure, with a large front porch, plate glass windows, and a sign out front advertising ‘clean beds’.
“This looks as good a place as any,” Nick said as the two crossed the street cutting through town, “I remember Mother sayin’ that this is where she always stays when she comes here to visit that old school chum of hers.”
“I don’t know, Nick, it looks mighty fancy. Maybe we should just do some scoutin’ around first. I reckon we could both pass as a couple of drovers who’ve been on the trail the past six weeks.”
“Nonsense, Heath. I’m tired, hungry and I need a bath and this place is convenient...right across from the livery. Now let’s go!”
Nick threw open the large wooden doors of the grand hotel and marched into the front lobby. The spectacled desk clerk sat behind the counter studying the registration book. Though Nick would have liked to think that it was his bold presence that made the young man look up, Heath knew by the stale expression the clerk wore on his face, it was probably the ‘ripeness’ that alerted him to the valley rancher.
“May I help you, Sir?,” the man asked dryly.
“You sure can, Mister. Me and my brother have come all the way from Stockton and it’s been one hot ride. We need a couple of rooms with a bath.”
“Well Sir, I’m sorry but we are all filled up for the night. Maybe you and your brother could find rooms down at Red Rose. It’s back through town near the tracks. Perhaps you saw it when you rode in.”
“Mister, we did see it, but we prefer to stay here. Whenever our Mother is here in town, this is the place she stays and she says it’s the best around.”
Nick waited for a response as the man peered at him from behind the counter.
“And just who might your mother be?”
“Victoria Barkley, that’s who. Do ya know her?”
The clerk’s jaw dropped as we stared at the two grimy men standing in front of him. He had waited on the matriarch of the Barkley family before and knew what a prominent family this was.
“Mr. Barkley, please forgive my impertinence,” the poor man stammered, “I do have one large room available, however, there is no bath. You’ll have to go behind the livery to the Chinese baths. They do laundry as well.”
With a firm hand, the desk clerk patted the little silver bell sitting on the counter several times until the house boy appeared from the back room.
“Take these gentleman to room 212,” he instructed the lad, and then making eye contact with Nick added, “That is on the top floor, gentlemen. If there’s anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Yes, Mr. Dobbins,” the boy scanned the lobby for luggage but rested his gaze on the saddle bags slung over the shoulders of the two brothers.
“May I carry your bags up for you gentlemen?,” he questioned.
“No, that’s okay. I think we can handle it,” Nick drawled as we winked over at Heath. He was still amused over the look on the young clerk’s face when he learned their name was Barkley.
The bellhop led the way up the carpeted staircase, glancing behind him from time to time. He wasn’t used to men that smelled of the open trail. This was the grandest hotel in town and generally catered to the very elite. The guests that lodged here were usually attired in fine clothing and hats. These two, however, wore their guns low and had the wear of the saddle etched on their britches. He would have liked to question them about their work and the places they’d been, but held his peace. He knew his job could be gone in the blink of an eye if he were to bother the residents of this fine house.
“This is your room, gents,” the boy announced stopping at number 212.
He placed the key in the keyhole, turned the handle and held the door open wide before handing the key to Nick.
“Thanks, Son. Here’s something for your trouble,” Nick answered flipping the boy two bits.
“Thank you, Mr. Barkley. Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
The bellhop exited the room, closing the door behind him. Nick threw his saddle bags onto one bed while Heath held onto his bags a moment longer to gaze out the high window. The town of Carson City lay sprawled beneath him with mountain peaks looming directly behind it.
“Just look at all those buildings, Nick. I’ll bet we’re gonna have more trouble than Jarrod thought findin’ that boy in all this,” stated Heath reclining back on his bed.
“Yep, it’s a big town, alright. I figure maybe the the rail yard would be a good place to start lookin’.”
By the time Nick was lightened of his boots, hat and gunbelt, his blonde brother was sound asleep. Well, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He would catch a little catnap himself and then the two of them could go get cleaned up.
It was seven in the evening when Nick awakened from his afternoon slumber. Yawning, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stiffly walked over to rouse the sleeping Heath.
“Hey, little brother, time to get up.”
“Why, is it morning?,” answered Heath groggily.
“No, it ain’t even night yet. Let’s go get that hot bath you were talkin’ about earlier and then some grub. I’m as hungry as a she bear with three cubs.”
Obediently, Heath rose to his feet and reached for his hat. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his boots or gunbelt before drifting off into la la land. Reaching up to touch his stubbly face, Heath reached into his saddle bag for a razor. Neither he nor Nick had bothered with routine formalities that morning.
“Lets go,” was Heath’s reply as he slipped the razor into his pants pocket.
The brothers followed the desk clerk’s directions and sure enough, there behind the livery was Chan’s Chinese Bath and Laundry. White billows of steam rose from the wooden building. Inside was a cookstove with several pots of hot water simmering and about a dozen tubs, all partitioned off with bed sheets. Upon entering the building, the two men paid for the services they were about to receive and proceeded in emptying their pockets. Towels and kimono style robes were provided. They would need something to wear while their clothes were being cleaned. The establishment was owned by Chan Lo. His wife, Ming, ran the laundry, while he was in charge of the bath house. Several young men worked in his employ, carrying freshly pumped water in to be heated, and then filling the tubs with an equal mixture of hot and cold. If a patron’s bath began to get tepid, he would alert one of the boys for a warm up. This entrepreneuring Chinese had I done well for himself in a town of this size.
Seven o’clock on a Monday night, and the place wasn’t overly crowded. Nick and Heath didn’t have to wait long for two empty tubs. Both men shed their clothes in record time and lazily sunk down into the foaming water. The water smelled of lilac.
“Boy, Nick,” Heath jested from his side of the partition, “I might not smell like Mother’s rose garden, but we’re both gonna be smellin’ like her lilac bush before this evenin’s over.”
“Anything will be better than what we smelled like before we got here,” Nick joked back while lighting a cigar. “Now where do you want to go for dinner when we’re through here?”
“Well, from what I could tell the dining room in that hotel seemed pretty fancy. Now that they know our name’s Barkley maybe we can get some decent service.”
“Okay, back to the hotel it is. Then I want to take a walk around town and check things over.”
Nick relaxed in the warm water allowing the heat to penetrate his aching muscles. He never would be comfortable sleeping on the hard ground. He was looking forward to a night in a real bed. If all went well, they would find the kid the next day and then be on their way again. Nick winced at the thought of four more nights camping out, but for now...for now he was in heaven. A young man appeared from around the hanging sheet with a steaming bucket of water in his hands.
“Warm up, Mister?”
“Please, that would be great.”
The boy nervously diverted his eyes away as he poured the scalding water over Nick’s lap area.
“OW! What the devil are ya tryin’ to do, Boy, prevent my Mother from havin’ grandchildren!?”
“I’m sorry,” blurted the boy as he jumped back.
The snickers Nick heard coming from the other side of the sheet didn’t help cool his temper any.
“Now you listen here, Boy...”
Nick was getting ready to go into one of his tirades when his hazel eyes met with a pair of scared brown ones. The young man’s short cropped hair was the color of straw. Blonde hair and brown eyes were an interesting combination and the exact match that Jarrod said to be on the lookout for. This could quite possibly be the young man they were looking for, but now wasn’t the time to make their request known. Nick was in no immediate condition for a comfrontation and a possible struggle that might ensue.
“....Ahhh, as I was sayin’, Boy, just try and maybe pour that water in a little slower next time. Or better yet, test it first.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Mister. And again, I’m really sorry.”
“Well, don’t go losin’ any sleep over it. By the way, Kid, what’s your name.”
“Chris, what’s yours?”
“Nick. Just call me Nick.”
Nick could hardly contain himself as he waited for Heath to finish his bath so that he could confer with him in a more discreet manner. A small room in the back of the building served as both a waiting area and dry heat sauna. Hot coals and a bucket of water provided a warm, moist environment. The intensity of the heat could be emeanore by the venting on the lid covering the pot of coals. Clad in their kimonos, the two brothers discussed a plan of recourse in hushed whispers.
“It’s gotta be the right kid, Heath, it’s just gotta be!”
“Now just simmer down before you get your bowels in an uproar, big brother. It was far too easy. First we have to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is indeed the kid we’re lookin’ for, and then we have to plan out the best possible way to approach him.”
“Well, findin’ out if it’s the right kid is easy enough. I’ll just ask him how long he’s worked here. If it’s any longer than two weeks we’ll know he ain’t the right one.”
“Better ask Chan, Nick. If the kid thinks you’re givin’ him the third degree, he might lie to cover his tracks.”
“That’s smart thinkin’, Heath. I’ll also try and find out if he knows where the kid’s been stayin’. It might be best not to confront him around here.”
Suddenly there was a loud commotion coming from outside the sauna. The brothers could hear the deafening clatter of banging metal. Each man paused for a moment to cast a questioning glance at the other and then simultaneously bolted out of the sauna to where Chan stood in the front room. Pots, pans and water cluttered the wooden floor as the Chinese man set about the task of picking up.
“Mr. Chan,” Heath blurted, “what in blazes happened out here?”
“Strange man come in here,” the Chinese proprieter sputtered with rapid speech, “he want to know about new boy. I tell him new boy not here and he call me ‘liar’. He starts to search tubs and finds the one with Mr. McCleary.”
“Mr. McCleary?”
“Mr. McCleary is rancher from south of town. He don’t like stranger there when he take bath. Mr. McCleary come out here with shot gun. No clothes, just shot gun. He wave gun in stranger’s face and tell him to go away. He pull back both hammers and I never see anyone run so fast. Knock things over on way out door.”
“Which way did he go?,” questioned Nick running to the door to get a look for himself.
“Nick, wait a minute. You’re not going out dressed like that,” Heath scolded his older brother. “Mr. Chan, can you please tell us what this man looked like.”
“Very tall man. Large scar running down the side of face. Look real mean.”
“What about the boy, is he here?”
“No, I send boy to dry goods store. Ming need sewing needle to mend clothes in Chinese laundry.”
“Have you ever seen that man before?”
“No, I know most people in town and man is stranger here.”
“Listen, Chan,” Heath pleaded, “that boy could be in serious trouble if that strange man gets a hold of him. The man is obviously up to no good. Can you get us our clothes? We’ll go try and find the kid. Maybe we can warn him.”
“Clothes may not be all the way dry.”
“That’s okay. Just get them.”
Nick and Heath made haste struggling to get into their damp clothing. Damp fabric didn’t pull on easily. Heath could remember taking off wet clothes more than once, but never trying to put wet ones on. Finally slipping into his vest, the clinging feel of a damp shirt gave him a creepy feeling. He and Nick grabbed their guns, strapping them on as they headed towards the door. Nick finished buckeling his gunbelt and reached down to tie the leather thong.
“I don’t know who that man was or why he was lookin’ for the boy, but you can be damn sure that he wasn’t sent here by Jarrod. Probably means that he wants to make sure that the kid doesn’t come back.”
Heath nodded in agreement. He had been thinking the same thing. Checking the cylinder on his revolver, he gave the weapon a quick spin and slid it back into it’s holster.
“We need to watch each other’s backs, Nick. I’ve had a funny feeling ever since we first arrived in this town but I just shrugged it off. Guess next time I’ll go with my gut instincts.”
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunity for that. Which way is the dry goods store, Chan?”
“Two blocks east and one block north.”
“Thanks!”
The two headed down the main drag of town and rounded the final corner of the board covered sidewalk just as Chris was leaving the store. Heath took hold of Nick’s arm and pulled him back behind the building.
“What are you doing, Heath?”
“Let’s just wait for him to walk by, Nick, and then we’ll grab hold of him and pull him back here so we can talk without being seen.”
“Once again, good thinkin’. You never know who might be watchin’.”
The echo of shoes on wood became louder as the approaching boy drew near. Before Chris knew what had him, he was standing in the alley between two buildings staring straight in the faces of Nick and Heath. He turned to leave, but Heath’s firm grip held him securely.
“You just let loose of me, Mister. I don’t want no trouble.”
“Now just hold on there, Boy,” Nick chided, “we need to talk with you for a minute.”
“Look, Mister...I mean Nick. If you’re still sore at me for dumping hot water on you...”
“No, Chris, that ain’t the problem. After you left to go to the store, there was a mean lookin’ cuss of a man that came into the bath house. He was lookin’ for you.”
“What did he want with me?,” Chris ceased his struggling and his voice took on a serious tone.
“Don’t know, but the truth of the matter is, you’re the reason that we’re here as well.”
“That’s right, Chris,” Heath added, “now if I turn loose of your arm will you promise not to run?”
Chris nodded and Heath relaxed his hold.
“Why do you guys want me?,” the boy questioned.
“We’re from Stockton, California, and were sent here to look for you. Our brother’s investigating the murder in the warehouse and thinks you might know something about it.”
The boy stiffened and his eyes glazed over with the look of cold steel.
“I can’t go I’ myself involved with that. You don’t know what they’d do to me. I just mind my own business and hope that everyone else keeps mindin’ theirs.”
“Look, Kid, it seems to me that you’re already involved. Why else would that rough lookin’ guy be wantin’ you so bad that he’s willin’ to do almost anything to find you,” Nick reasoned, “Including walkin’ in on a mean tempered man takin’ a bath. Now the way I look at it, you can come back to Stockton with me and Heath peaceably or you can hang around town here until that other guy finds you. As long as you’re with us, we can protect you. I don’t know what that other guy has in mind, but I’m sure he didn’t come all this way because he was concerned about your safety. I’m guessing he was sent to prevent you from testifyin’ in court. Now what do you suppose would be the easiest way for him to accomplish that?”
Chris knew that Nick was right and he was too scared to go back out on the street alone. For now he would have to trust these two cowboys from Stockton and maybe even agree to journey back there with them, but Chris would be waiting for his chance. When the opportunity arose he would get away and head some place where nobody could ever find him. Nobody was going to make him testify in court, nobody!
After a hearty meal at the hotel, Chris joined Nick and Heath in their hotel room. Making a bed of blankets for himself on the floor, he soon dozed of into sound sleep.
Heath gave the door a good rattling and after finding it secure, sat down on the edge of his bed. He removed his boots, but stayed fully dressed before crawling underneath the covers. The plan was to be up before dawn in an attempt to get out of town without being noticed. If they detoured on the way home, there was a chance they could make it without being followed.
“I’ll sure be glad when we’ve got him safely back to Stockton,” Heath commented as he turned down the lamp.
“You and me both. I’ve got a feelin’ it’s gonna be a long trip back.”
“Real long with that detour we’ll be takin’. I had the desk clerk arrange for a horse from the livery. Didn’t want anything being traced back to us if that man came around askin’ questions.”
“Hope that kid’s up to several days in a saddle, he just seems, well, kinda soft.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that, too. Probably some sorta city kid who’s never been around horses much. He seems plenty street wise, though.”
“I reckon we’ll find out how tough he really is when we hit the trail tomorrow. I’m just hopin’ he doesn’t slow us down too much.”
With the door locked tight, Heath thought he would get a good nights sleep but instead he tossed and turned all night. No sooner had he finally relaxed into a peaceful slumber when Nick was shaking him awake announcing their need to be moving. While Nick headed for the livery to ready the horses, Heath gathered his things together and walked over to the sleeping boy. He was used to early mornigs back at the ranch, but at 3:30 a.m. he was usually still sawing logs.
“Come on, son, we’d best be on our way,” Heath coaxed the cozily sleeping youngster.
Chris looked up at him through hazy eyes. The floor was hard, but it was clean and dry. It was the best place he’d slept in a long time.
“It’s time to go, Chris,” the cowboy nudged the lad once more, “it’ll be light out in a couple of hours and we don’t need to be advertisin’ the fact that we’re leavin’ town. Now, let’s get a move on it.”
By noon that day, the trio had been in the saddle for eight hours. Heath had traveled through the Sierras many times and was fairly familiar with this region. Now he was leading them on a round about path in hopes that nobody would be able to follow them. Stopping on the trail ahead, Heath turned around in his saddle to consult a moment with his brother.
“We have a couple of different things we can do here, Nick. We can keep headin’ along this trail we’re on, or take off through the woods here and up over that pass. It will save us some time if we take the pass. You might say it’s a shortcut through the detour.”
Nick looked at Heath and then over at the boy. When Chris had mounted the four footed animal early that morning, it was apparent to both the brothers that his riding experience was practically zero. It had taken quite a bit of coaxing to even get the boy up into the saddle.
“Now, Heath,” Nick asked matter-of-factly, “is this a real shortcut, or just a different way back?”
“Nope, it’s a real shortcut. It’s a little rough, but nothing the boy can’t handle. It’ll save us four, maybe five hours off the trip.”
“Okay, Heath, I guess we’ll take it, but keep a close eye on the boy. By the way he’s sittin’ that horse, he’s bound to fall off sooner or later.”
Heath threw a glance at the teen who was rigidly seated on his equine companion, just out of earshot. The horse had his neck stetched out and was nibbling on some easy to reach foliage.
“Pull his head up there, Chris,” Nick hollered back at the young greenhorn, “Allowing an animal to eat while under saddle is a very bad habit for him to be I’ into.”
With a tug on the reins, Chris managed to get ‘Charlie’s’ head up. The animal chewed on his bit letting it be known that be would much rather be grazing.
“Okay, that’s it,” Nick coached, “Now, give him a good sharp kick with your heels.”
Charlie plodded over to join the others as Heath turned Charger up a small embankment and through some evergreens. Nick waited for Chris to fall into line before taking up the rear on Coco. They rode along in silence for close to an hour. Heath was enjoying the serenity of the woods, but also had his senses tuned in for possible trouble. Playing defense is what had saved his bacon on more than one occasion. Approaching a rocky and steep decline, he reined up and turned to make sure Chris and Nick were close behind.
“It’s going to be a little steep here,” Heath instructed the boy, “but all you need to do is plant your feet firmly, lean back, and give your horse his head.”
When Chris saw the narrow, rocky gorge that they would be descending, he stopped abruptly refusing to budge.
“I’m not going down that path! I’ll be killed for sure when the horse slips and falls!”
“You ain’t gonna get killed, kid,” Nick chided, “the horse will do just fine.”
“No he won’t!” the boy wailed, “I’ll get hurt, I just know I will, or worse! I thought you two were supposed to bring me in alive. I won’t be much good to you dead!”
“Now, just calm down, son,” Heath tried to reassure the frightened boy, “if you want, we can hike down and lead the horses.”
“The blazes we can!” Nick bellowed, “We don’t have time for this and you know it, Heath!”
Nick nudged Coco with his spurs and rode up along the panicked youngster. Reaching over and grabbing the reins from Chris, he began to lead the horse to the craggy slope.
“Stop! You’ll get us both killed!”, the boy screamed, using both hands to clutch the horn of his saddle with a death grip.
“No, we won’t, boy, now just relax,” Nick ordered, “Heath, go ahead and take up the lead.”
Swaying back and forth in his saddle as Nick guided the sure-footed steed down the rocky path, Chris held on for dear life, too frightened to utter a sound. Within a matter of minutes they were at the bottom and the two ranchers looked back at the pale boy who was trying hard not to hyperventilate.
“You see, Chris, I told you we’d get down without any problems. Heath and I have been down a lot worse than this. Now, just take a couple of deep breaths and you’ll be fine in a minute or two.”
Nick tossed the reins back over Charlie’s head and walked Coco over to Heath so that Chris could have some space. Taking his hat off, Heath ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair.
“I a city kid,” the blonde cowboy commented, “Ain’t got much of a back bone either.”
Nick nodded his head in agreement.
“I can see now why this kid ran. He just ain’t got a whole lotta grit. When we get him back to town, Jarrod’s gonna have a war on his hands tryin’ to get him to testify.”
“Well, we ain’t pickin’ up much time standin’ around here jawin’,” Heath stated, firmly planting his hat back on his head, “So why don’t you take a hot poker to that kid and his horse so we can get movin’ outta here.”
Heath’s short cut may have cut some distance off the trip, but with Chris along the ride was slow and long. First he complained about the bugs and then how hard his saddle was. He was hungry; he was thirsty; he was hot; and then towards evening he wasn’t warm enough. Nick and Heath would have liked to keep pressing on until dusk, but with this sniveling greenhorn they decided to make camp early. Both their ears were beginning to ache from having to listen to this soft city kid whine.
While Nick tied up the horses, Heath cleared a spot to build a fire. As Nick was in the process of pulling the saddles off, Chris approached him with a request for dinner. Nick looked around and there wasn’t much loose dry wood in the immediate vicinity of the camp.
“Why don’t you try and scout us up some wood, Chris, while we get things set up here,” Nick suggested.
Chris looked around the dense forest and the tall trees that made early evening seem more like night.
“I’m not going out there alone,” Chris firmly stated. “Something might eat me, like a fox or coyote or something.”
“Now, Chris, you’re actin’ like a horse on loco weed. First of all, coyotes are scavengers, not hunters. And second, a fox is more afraid of you than you are of it.”
“Well, bears aren’t. There could be a mean old bear just watchin’ us right now. Maybe even waitin’ for one of us to venture too far from camp.”
“There are no bears out there either, Chris, and as a general rule, if you don’t bother the bear first, or mess with it’s cubs, it won’t bother you. Just stay close to the camp and you’ll be fine. The faster you gather that wood for the fire, the faster you’ll get to eat. Comprehende?”
The boy looked through the trees again and stepped closer to Nick.
“Maybe we could go together when you’re through with the horses. With two of us, we’ll have twice as much wood.”
“City kids,” Nick thought to himself as he finished his work in silence. “Maybe I was wrong after all. If the two of them were standin’ face to face, maybe Chris would be more afraid than a fox.”
The sun was barely peeking over the tree tops the following morning when Nick and Heath rolled out of their blankets. Yesterday’s setbacks had cost them valuable time and they were hoping that today they could make up for lost time. Both men were feeling refreshed and renewed after a fairly decent night of sound sleep. Chris, however, hadn’t slept well at all. He had slept in some pretty bad places before, but never out in the woods on the bare ground. With all the strange noises vibrating through the dark, he had spent a restless night.
“I’ll get some coffee going, Nick,” Heath offered, “Maybe you could water the horses and get Chris up.”
Walking over to Chris’ bedroll, Nick looked down at the still form before him. Chris was completely cocooned with the wool blanket pulled up over his head. It was obvious to Nick that the boy had no immediate intentions of shaking the sack. Nick, on the other hand, had put up with all the insubordination he intended to take, the day before. There wasn’t going to be any of that happening today. No sir. Today this kid was going to play by his rules or....well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he’d think of something! Nick gently nudged the snoring mummy with the toe of his boot.
“Chris, you’ve got about ten seconds to get yourself up out of that bedroll before I yank you outta there. Got that, boy?”
There was movement under the folds of the blanket as the sleepy teen decided it might be wise to adhere to the tall cowboy’s instructions. By the time he crawled out of the blankets and downed a shot of Heath’s ‘mud’, the horses were saddled and ready to go.
“Here you go, Chris,” said Nick, handing the boy the reins to his mount, “he’s all yours.”