by E. L. Ripley
The truth was even worse. Nothing would’ve stopped those men from wanting a closer look at Friendly Field.
“There are outlaws here?” The boy was still a step behind. He’d figured out that Tom hadn’t wanted Scarf to escape, but he didn’t see why.
“Yes. And I didn’t want them to know about them,” Tom said, frustrated. He pointed toward Friendly Field. “They take what they want. They don’t ask. They’re hiding from the law, hiding from people, but they won’t be afraid of some Quakers. They wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
“But there is nothing to take,” Asher protested shrilly, and Tom didn’t blame him. He was shocked; it had happened suddenly, and the boy hadn’t seen it coming.
“You heard him, kid. They’re hiding in the woods. What do they not have?”
The look on the boy’s face spared him the trouble of saying he didn’t know. Asher still had some growing up to do.
“It’s not comfortable to camp for a long time, kid. You know that.” Tom pointed at Friendly Field again. “Decent food, women. They want what they want, they’re going to come looking for it, and they’re going to realize a crowd of Quakers isn’t likely to put up much of a fight.”
The boy’s face hardened. “I see,” he said. “We should go after him.”
Tom sighed, and his jaw hurt from the way he’d clenched it. “I wish we could.”
The little gun had fooled Scarf with its pitiful bullets, because it had killed Ben Garner easily enough. Tom tried to swallow the queasiness that came of thinking about where Scarf might be by now, scrambling through the woods. There was no estimating the odds of him making it back to his people, not when they couldn’t know how badly he was hurt or how far off those people were.
Even if the Porter gang was composed of nothing but perfect gentlemen, they’d still rob the Quakers blind for food and supplies. They might even move in if they were getting tired of sleeping in the woods.
“Did you hit him?” Asher asked from the dark.
“I think so.”
“What will we do?”
Tom didn’t have an answer.
Throwing the lamp had been a mistake; now they had nothing to light their way back. As his eyes adjusted, he knelt beside the body of Ben Garner.
It was hard to guess exactly what the Porter gang would do now. If Scarf made it back, would they come out this way to settle up? It was possible, but not certain. If Porter had any sense, he’d relocate, even though Tom had been careful not to give any indication that he recognized them, which would’ve gotten them gunned down on the spot. Of course, Tom was fairly sure they’d intended to do that regardless. They didn’t want anyone knowing they were out here, and they wouldn’t be inclined to take chances.
But Porter might not realize that he’d been found out. Would he care enough about Ben Garner to want retribution?
And if Scarf never made it back, what then? Would the others come looking for these two? If they did, it was best that they not be found. Two men disappearing would shake up anyone leading a gang, and it might incline them to move on to somewhere else. Ultimately, that was what Tom wanted.
He couldn’t control what would happen with Scarf. He might make it back; he might not. If he didn’t, his body could be found or not. There was nothing more frustrating than uncertainty. Tom liked things his way, and his way was certain.
With effort, he controlled his temper. A Quaker for two weeks and he’d already shot someone.
“Goddamn it. We’ll have to do something with him,” he told Asher, indicating the body. “Do you recall the crevice back that way?” He jerked his chin down the slope. “The one you nearly fell in? We’ll throw him down there.”
The boy swallowed, but gave no other sign of squeamishness. “It will look as though he fell.”
“As long as the other one never tells his story, that’ll be as good a notion as any if he’s found.”
They got to it. It would’ve been difficult even in daylight; Tom wasn’t as strong as he’d once been, but Asher was a good deal stronger than he’d been when they met. The trail had toughened him up, and now working in the fields would be sure to put some muscle on him.
Careful not to fall in themselves, they fumbled through the dark, back to the rocky opening. Tom searched the dead man before they threw him in, but he had nothing of value apart from a few loose shells for his rifle.
In the forest, it was dark, but in the crevice, it was black. The tall man vanished with relatively little fuss, just a bit of muffled thumping as he toppled down.
“You all right, kid?”
“Yes, Mr. Calvert. I am well.”
Tom knew better than to take him at his word, but it would’ve been strange if the kid hadn’t shown some nerves at this business. He’d seen worse, but that didn’t make it easy. The boy liked to act tough, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t as cold as Tom, and that was not a bad thing.
At the edge of the woods, Tom took Ben Garner’s rifle, wrapped it in his coat, and hid it in the loam at the foot of a tree. It was getting late, and there weren’t too many windows still glowing in Friendly Field.
They’d been settled just long enough to know which houses belonged to whom, even at night. The Black house was dark and silent. Tom didn’t know which would’ve been worse: if he’d just gone to dinner as he’d wanted to or if he hadn’t. It wasn’t a matter of if those men would’ve found Friendly Field. They’d already noticed it when they ran into Tom and Asher.
There was a queasiness in Tom’s belly that wanted to bring to mind other times he’d pulled the trigger, but Tom didn’t let it have its way. Lying in the back of that wagon in a fever—he’d spent enough days and nights there doubting himself for a lifetime. There wouldn’t be any more of that. There was no saying if what he’d done had been right, but there was also no changing it now.
He and the boy made their way across the field and back to the houses. There, between their own place and the Taylor house, Tom turned on Asher.
“Go on to bed,” he told the boy. “But eat something first, even if you got no appetite.”
“Where are you going?”
“We can’t just hope for the best, kid. If the Porter gang comes here, we’ll have a problem.”
“What can be done?”
Tom sighed. “These people can’t protect themselves. They need someone who can.”
“You?”
It was all Tom could do not to laugh. “No. No, kid. Maybe twenty of me, but no—these are wanted men. Real outlaws, not like me. We need the law.”
Asher cocked his head. “Mr. Calvert, your reason for being in this place is that the law is not here.”
“Well, we need them now. These people need them. They have to be protected.” Tom shrugged. “Trust me, it isn’t my first choice.”
“Mr. Calvert, these people told you directly that they would not hide you.”
Tom frowned. “Kid, I’m surprised at you. You want me to just throw them to the wolves?”
“What do you owe them? You could be hanged,” the boy hissed.
“For all I know, what I did could bring all hell on this town.” Tom eased off his walking stick and tested his bad leg. “I have to try to do right by them.”
“How can you bring them here, though? If you bring them to seek wanted men, you are a wanted man!” He was raising his voice.
“Easy, kid. We don’t know that I’m wanted, and if I am, we don’t know who knows that I’m wanted. Besides, I had a beard when I shot the Fulton brothers. I play cards. I know my chances, and there’s a good chance no one looks at me twice, not with a pack like the Porter boys out there. There’s got to be twenty thousand in bounties camped in those hills.”
Asher shook his head in disgust. “It is a foolish risk.”
Tom was taken aback, but he wasn’t inclined to argue. “It’
s my decision,” he said simply. “And I plan to make the right one for once.”
“Shooting them was right,” the boy said, shaking a finger at him. “They were bad men, Mr. Calvert. You knew it when you saw them, and you would not be wrong about that.”
That was what he said, but he was distracted. Someone was leaving Saul Matthews’ house: it was Eliza, the daughter of Frederick and Henrietta Vogel. Saul’s wife had passed years ago, and Eliza kept his house tidy. She did the same for another widower, but Tom couldn’t remember his name. This was the normal time for her work to be done.
He turned back to Asher. “If you trusted me then, trust me now.”
“You take it too far,” Asher accused. “As you did when we arrived, telling them everything. There was no need to unburden yourself.”
“I like unburdening myself. And when you get to have burdens like mine, you will too. Go on.” He gestured.
Asher, eyes rebellious, clearly wanted to say more. He didn’t, though.
Tom didn’t watch him go; he just limped off toward Jeremiah’s house. Saul was still up—his lights were on, but Saul wasn’t the man to speak to.
“Tom,” said a voice in the night.
He turned and looked back to see Phillip Lester leaning against the side of the house. He’d been out of sight from where Tom and the boy had argued, but barely ten paces away.
There wasn’t even the slightest chance that he hadn’t heard.
Panic struck, but just for a moment. Tom swallowed and pointed a finger at him. “You didn’t hear anything that I’m not about to tell Jeremiah. Come on with me.”
“He is asleep,” Phillip said, as though Tom might care.
“Then I’ll wake him up.”
Phillip looked surprised by that, but poor manners were the least of anyone’s worries at the moment. Besides, if Phillip really had heard, then it would confirm for him what he should’ve already known: that, crippled or not, Tom wasn’t someone to be trifled with. And Tom wasn’t worried about being trifled with by Quakers in any case.
Though if there was one who might actually be a threat, it was Phillip. The man was all muscle, and he had some sense. He might have been pious, but he seemed like the type to do what he had to—that was why he wasn’t in a panic over what he’d heard. It was a good thing he was here; it meant there was at least one man in Friendly Field who might keep his head if there was trouble.
The surprise faded, replaced by an impassive look, but Phillip came out of the shadows and followed Tom to Jeremiah’s house. There, he pounded on the door.
It didn’t take Jeremiah long to answer, a candle in his hand.
“May we talk?” Tom asked.
Jeremiah saw the look on his face and Phillip’s and beckoned them in. His house was even humbler than Thaddeus’, but just as tidy. He shambled into the parlor and knelt in front of the hearth.
“I can do that,” Phillip said, taking his place. Jeremiah let him and sat in a chair, smoothing his nightgown.
“Peace be with thee,” he said, a little grumpily. “If you’d keep it down, Mrs. White is sleeping. And what is that smell?” he asked.
It was gunpowder, but Tom didn’t feel a need to go into that. He took a seat and leaned forward.
“Sir, the boy and I were in the woods this evening. As we talked about.”
Jeremiah nodded, squinting at him. Phillip struck a match and lit the kindling. The fire started to grow. Tom wasn’t cold, but he was a good deal younger than Jeremiah.
“What did you find?”
“No witches, but there were two outlaws. One of them was Ben Garner. I’d never met him, but I’d seen his posters. The other one I can’t be sure about, but it’s fairly well-known that they’re both with the Porter gang.”
“It is not well-known here,” Jeremiah said pointedly. “What is the—the Porter gang?”
“Porter and Peckner. They did a robbery in El Paso that impressed enough folks that their gang got a lot bigger. Then they did an even bigger one there again, but I gather it was a little much. It’s bad enough that the Army wants them, or it did a year ago. I don’t know about now. I suppose they went quiet. They’ve been hiding.”
“Near us? These criminals?”
“That’s what I gather,” Tom told him frankly. “And they know you’re here.”
For the first time since getting him out of bed, there was worry on Jeremiah’s face. “And?” he grunted.
“And they’re not likely to leave you alone.”
“How could you know this?”
“I heard their intent from their own mouths,” Tom told him, knowing the older man’s thoughts.
Jeremiah didn’t care much for the notion of disreputable neighbors, and men had a way of being skeptical about things they preferred not to face. Thaddeus and Saul would outright deny anything that Tom might say; there would be no convincing them that they were in danger.
Jeremiah was different. “Did you?”
“Yes, we conversed. Their intentions aren’t honorable, sir. I won’t offend your delicate ears with the particulars, but I assure you these men who’ve been living a rough life would take an interest in Friendly Field. I’m not a fortune-teller. It might be your food they want, or your money if you’ve got any. Or your daughters. Or all of it. But like as not, they will turn up here, maybe in numbers.”
Jeremiah listened to all that with nary a flicker. “Are they responsible for that token you found?” he asked finally.
“I doubt it.” Tom glanced at Phillip. “Like I said before, I think that business lives a little closer by.”
Jeremiah grimaced and rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the fire. “I’m to take your word for all of this?”
“The boy was there.”
“The word of two outsiders.”
“How little faith you have,” Tom said dryly, but he threw up a hand as Jeremiah’s brows rose. “I’m joking, though I guess this isn’t the time for it. What reason could I have to lie to you? I brought back the man’s rifle, if you need proof. There’s no profit in this for me.”
“I’m still waiting to hear your proposal. You have one, don’t you?” Jeremiah wasn’t stupid.
Tom sighed. “I do.”
“Then get it out.”
“Someone should ride to Des Crozet to send word that the Porter gang’s been found. That’ll bring people here to go after them. They’re only a danger to us if they’re here, but if the law comes, they’ll run.” Tom shrugged. “That’s what I propose.”
In the light of day, Jeremiah was too well-mannered to be openly suspicious. It was dark now, and he stared hard at Tom before turning his gaze on Phillip. “What do you make of it?”
The strong man didn’t hesitate for long. “I don’t see how it would wrong us,” he said. “Or how he might profit from someone going to do this thing. I believe him when he says these men are out there. I heard him speaking to the boy; they didn’t know I was listening. Near as I can tell, he seems truthful.”
“You want to see these men hang,” Jeremiah accused.
“That isn’t against your teachings, is it? You aren’t the ones who have to ride out after them,” Tom pointed out.
“It is not our way to see anyone killed,” the older man hissed.
“Hell, didn’t I hear that you all hanged someone yourselves once?” It was Tom’s way to fire back. He always did it, even when it wasn’t a good idea.
Jeremiah stiffened. He was an easygoing man, a man who lived in the same world that Tom did, but he was still a Quaker.
“That was another matter,” he said tightly.
“And I have no plans to start a quarrel over it,” Tom said, keeping his bearing and staying on the offensive. “Because I frankly think it unlikely that anyone will hang. Like I said, I expect the gang to run at the first sight of a badge.”
“If we are obliged to surrender any wanted men to the law, then are we not obliged to surrender you as well?” Jeremiah asked.
There was nothing in those words but plain stubbornness. Tom had seen this before: it was fear. Jeremiah had no problem with Tom; his problem was that he didn’t like what was happening, and he didn’t know what else to do but push back any way he could.
Fear of change wasn’t exactly unheard of among men Jeremiah’s age, but Tom still had no patience for it.
“There is a difference between me and those men,” he snapped. “Don’t turn them in because they’re wanted. Turn them in because if you don’t, there’s a good chance they will make some hard times for your people. I am trying to serve my own interest. I like you, Jeremiah. I like your people. I like living here. But I can’t live here if there’s no here to live in. These men are like the locusts in your Bible.”
“You seem very sure of yourself.”
“If I don’t have my judgment, what does that leave?” Tom answered at once.
Jeremiah had nothing to say to that.
“I don’t object to carrying word to Des Crozet,” Phillip volunteered. That was what he said, but his face was still neutral.
After several seconds of holding Tom’s gaze, Jeremiah gave it up.
There was silence. The older man clearly wanted to think it through, but there was no scenario where this was some manner of grift from Tom. Tom would not be enriched by what he was proposing, nor would Friendly Field be harmed.
It was just strange and sudden, and Jeremiah was old enough that he didn’t care for either of those things, particularly so soon after the strange object had been found in the woods. Tom was acutely aware that all the strangeness lately was coming to these people through him, and he was sorry about that, but being sorry had never changed anything before, so there was no reason to think it would start now.