Prophet

by Mark J Rose

  The criminals didn’t stir until noon. The taller one woke first and shook the other. They talked briefly, and Matt could see them frantically checking their pockets and looking around. He ducked as they scanned the woods. They appeared to make a decision, then moved from the clearing and started walking. Matt got up to follow them, pleased that they were headed away from the river rather than back to the tavern.

  Tracking them was easier when they stepped from the road onto a dirt path where the trees thickened. Matt was close enough to hear their conversation. He stayed on the path as they came to a clearing containing ten or so greyish shacks. Some had smoke coming out of their chimneys. The men stopped as if trying to remember which one they’d rented.

  Matt quietly shifted on his feet to find a lane between the trees to be able to see. The sun was now totally obscured by dark clouds, making it hard to distinguish the men from the buildings. Matt cupped his hand to his ear to hear.

  “He’ll give you some,” the short one said.

  “He always has money,” the tall one replied. “He’s in his room.”

  “Even if he ain’t,” the short one said, “I still got me some.”

  “Mine’s all gone.”

  “You spent all five joes?”

  “Didn’t spend. That old drunk stole ’em from me, you said.”

  “All your gold?”

  “Had it in my pocket. Safest place, I thought.”

  “Sam will lend you some.”

  It was hard for Matt not to get excited as he listened to them quibble. If these two only had ten coins, there were twenty others somewhere. Had they not found them in the saddlebag? The men finally stepped up onto a porch and pounded on the door. Matt shifted again to get a better view.

  “He ain’t there,” he heard the tall one say.

  The shorter one pounded again. “Wake up, Sam,” he yelled. They paced around the porch for a while and then walked to the next shack. The tall one pulled out his key and unlocked the door, and both men entered.

  Matt stood there for ten minutes waiting for them to emerge, but it remained quiet. He finally stepped out of the woods and walked purposefully to Sam’s shack. He stretched to peer into a cloudy glass window to make sure that the room was indeed empty. Satisfied that it was deserted, he walked around the shack looking for an entrance but found no obvious way to break in. He was sure that smashing a window or door would have more than the men he’d been following coming out to check.

  Matt then got to his knees, pulled at some slats around the foundation, and found a crawl space. He pulled a few more slats off to make a hole large enough to slide under the structure, and then he got on his hands and knees and crawled in. Matt kept having to brush cobwebs from his face as he moved farther under the house. He stopped when he saw a hint of light coming through cracks in the floor. Good a place as any.

  Matt rolled over onto his back, put his feet against the baseboards, and pushed. The boards flexed, but didn’t give. He pulled his feet back and stomped upward. He felt something break. He stomped again twice, this time harder. Nothing. He rested for a moment and decided that one loud bang might be better than the noise he was making now. Matt pulled his feet back and kicked hard. Three of the baseboards gave way and launched into the room, broken.

  He thrust his head through the floor and looked around to make sure he was alone, then pulled himself up through the hole and onto the floor of the one-room shack. Light was streaming through the window, and he could see items strewn about the room. Yes! His saddlebag was on the chair. Quietly walking over to it, Matt picked it up and crouched with it on the floor. His hands shook as he undid the buckles and opened the bag. His shaving kit was inside; the medicine bottles were there and so were the bullets. The phone, too! There were no clothes or shoes, though, and the money was gone. As he looked around the room, hoping to see a package of gold coins, Matt heard footsteps on the porch. He froze.

  “I heard ’im,” the short one said.

  “I didn’t hear nothin’.”

  The men banged on the door.

  “Ain’t here,” the tall one insisted.

  “Come on out, you ignorant Teague,” the short one called.

  “No one’s in there.”

  “I told you,” the short one replied, “I heard his door slam.” They knocked again.

  Matt slowly reached back for his gun, pulling it from his pants and gently chambering a bullet. Click.

  “Heard him jist now,” the short one said.

  “It was me walking. I’ll look for ’im in the window.”

  Matt was in full view of the glass. Idiot! The whole room was visible from the window. In a crouch, Matt hurried over to the bed and slid underneath. He held the pistol as he lay there on his back, looking up at the wood frame of the small bed.

  “No one’s in there,” the tall one said, peering through the glass. “I told you. You’re hearin’ things.”

  “Where is he, then?” the short one called out.

  “Treasure Chest, I reckon,” the tall one called back. His voice was moving around the house, toward the front door again.

  “You hungry?” Matt heard the short one say.

  “Am,” the tall one replied.

  “Got me enough fer us to get drunk as Davey’s sow.”

  Matt waited under the bed as they shuffled off the porch and their voices trailed away. He was sliding out from under the bed when it caught his eye. There was a package tucked there. Could it be? He reached up and pulled it from its cradle. He knew as soon as he touched it that it was one of his two packs of coins. Half!

  Matt stood, pulled the curtain, and looked around the room again to make sure he’d gotten everything. Sam’s stuff was on the table. The only thing of interest was a flintlock pistol. Matt picked it up and considered it for a moment, thinking that it might be a good idea to relieve Sam of his weapon, but then thought better of it. Matt had no idea how to use a flintlock, plus it was heavy. He set it back down on the table, slung his saddlebag over his shoulder, and unlocked the door of the shack. He turned the latch, eased the door open, slipped through, and slowly closed it behind him. He pushed it as far shut as it would go without latching so as not to make any noise.

  Matt stepped calmly off the porch and slipped into the forest. He walked purposefully for maybe half a mile before he felt far enough away to be safe. When he finally stopped, he looked up into the sky and let the cool droplets rinse his ash-covered face. It had started to rain.

  16

  Samuel, Part II

  Samuel stared down at the four queens his opponent had just laid on the table. “Cheat!” he spat.

  “You’re cleaned out, Mr. Kemp,” Lloyd said coldly as he motioned to two thugs who had been sitting in the corner and drinking from large ceramic steins. “I’ll ignore your insult provided you pay me my gold by the end of the night. My men will retrieve what you owe.”

  The two thugs now stood above Samuel. Their impossibly large bodies were stuffed into woolen breeches and stockings. The one with bright yellow hair pulled back into a ponytail placed his hand firmly on Samuel’s shoulder.

  “I trust these fellows with my life,” Lloyd said.

  Samuel looked around at the polite smiles of the other players. “You’ll have your gold,” Samuel rasped as he cleared his throat.

  “Tonight,” Lloyd repeated.

  “I said,” Samuel huffed. He could see the men around the table judging him. “What’re you looking at?” Two of them stood to face him. Lloyd put his hand up casually and smiled. They returned his gaze with satisfied expressions and retook their seats.

  “Retire now, Mr. Kemp,” the older man said calmly. He waved to his men and they urged Samuel to his feet. “Tonight,” he said a third time. “I would not desire to be both insulted and cheated in a single evening.”

  Samuel didn’t reply. He pushed the blond man’s hand from his shoulder and turned. He chafed at the eyes he felt on him as he made his way to the front of the Treas
ure Chest. On his way out, he glared back hard at the barman, who gave him a knowing look.

  **********

  The ground was wet from the rain that fell while Samuel was in the tavern. The sky was clearing now, and the moon was peeking out through clouds and reflecting off the river. “I’ve grown tired of the Treasure Chest anyway,” Samuel said to the two men, who were on each side of him. Their silence was beginning to unnerve him.

  “Why?” the blond man asked. “I like it in there.”

  “Me too,” the other said. He was a perfect physical match to his companion, but had a darker complexion and hair that didn’t glow as brightly in the moonlight.

  It was apparent to Samuel that these were big, dumb brutes, but there was nothing in their voices that said they were going to hurt him. Given no other option, he’d pay them their six joes and that would be the last Wilmington would see of Sam Kemp. He’d go back to Richmond where his money was respected.

  “What’s Lloyd’s business?” he asked, trying to keep them talking.

  “Owns ships,” the blond one replied.

  “Privateer,” the darker one offered. “More than a few ships.”

  “Put him in a tweak, you did,” the blond said. “I’d give up the gold and bolt.”

  They were coming up to the shack Samuel had rented. The bright moon was lighting the house so he could clearly see the porch and the door. He pulled the key out of his pocket, hoping to slip quickly into the room. He didn’t want these brutes following him inside.

  “Stay here,” Samuel instructed as he put his foot on the first step of the porch.

  “You got a popper in there?” the blond one asked. He pulled his pistol out of his belt. “There’s two of us, don’t forget.”

  “You’ll have your gold and then I quit this town,” Samuel said. He scanned the other shacks, hoping to see his boys. They’d know to ambush these two, but there was no hint of them inside or out. He’d have to pay.

  Samuel knew something was wrong before he reached the door. It was ajar. Someone had been inside. Was it his boys? He stared back at the men, pretending to unlock the door.

  “Won’t be long,” he called to the two men, who were now positioned at the base of the porch.

  “We’ll be waiting,” the darker one replied. He patted the pistol at his belt.

  Samuel was disappointed to find that no one was inside. He opened the drapes to let light into the room. The saddlebag was gone. He reached up under the bed frame for the package of coins. His money was gone! His list of options, having been long only minutes before, was now quite short. He picked up his pistol and stood quietly.

  The darker man opened the door and peered inside. “You square?” he called.

  Samuel shot the flintlock pistol at the sound of the man’s voice, and the door splintered with the deafening boom of the gun. Samuel choked on the white smoke that filled the room, his ears ringing. He went for the window, smashed it with a chair, dived through onto the ground, and picked himself up to run. A musket shot rang out, and he was slammed to the ground by the force of a sickening thud in his lower spine. He reached behind. When he pulled his quivering hand from his back, it was coated in bright red.

  The large men were now standing over him. “Almost took my nob off,” the darker one said. The side of his head was red with blood where the musket ball had grazed his skull. It gave Samuel pleasure to watch the blood stream down the brute’s face.

  “Where’s the gold?” the blond man demanded.

  “There is none, you beef-head,” Samuel growled as he struggled to breathe. “It was stolen.”

  “No need for name-calling,” the blond man replied. “We want what you owe.”

  “I told you,” Samuel said, grimacing. “There is none.” He could feel the blood running freely down his lower back.

  Samuel was dead by the time they tossed him into the Delaware River.

  17

  Scout, Part IV

  Scout trotted along the road until dusk and then crawled into some brush for the night. The countryside was too open for him here and the chatter in the dark made him uneasy. He heard wolves in the distance and was relieved when they finally moved away. Their howls made him aware for the first time since he’d left the farm that he was without the protection of his pack. Scout’s sleep was interrupted most of the night and so he was happy when the sun came and he could start down the road again. He searched for the greater part of the morning, trying to catch some scent, but there wasn’t a hint of Matt or Thunder.

  About the time the sun reached its highest point in the sky, a city became visible in the horizon and Scout increased his pace. As he passed the first homes on the side of the river, he smelled Thunder and became excited. The city was busy and he was forced to dodge wagons and humans as he traveled through the streets. Signs of the horse and the man were strong there, and Scout went from block to block, trying to make sense of their direction. He got frustrated and rested for a while in the shade, then with new energy restarted his search. More than one wagon in the busy commercial district was forced to stop abruptly for a large dog moving frantically through the streets with his nose to the ground. Then Scout found the road where Matt and Thunder had left the city. Their vivid colors in the air told him they were close, so he hurried along the road and out of town.

  Scout reached a spot where the road overlooked the river and the horse’s colors changed dramatically. The dog put his nose in the air, trying to interpret the layers of clues that surrounded him; they painted a picture of panic. The dog stopped to growl at the place where the road entered the trees. He quieted once he saw that nothing was there and trotted to follow the scent. The man’s identity was strong on the ground, mixed with fear and sweat, and then his scent led over the cliff.

  Scout struggled to climb down into the valley and onto the dry riverbed. The man and horse had been there on the ground. The smell of blood was there, and the dog knew Matt had been hurt. He followed their trail along the river until he came to a road and then to a farm. Scout stood in front of the farmhouse before wandering to the barn where Matt had slept, and then to the corral that had housed Thunder. The dog returned to the farmhouse and stood there, considering whether Matt could be inside. Scout got impatient and barked. He barked again and a woman came to the door. The dog sat watching her closely, but occasionally looked up at the dark clouds that were starting to fill the sky. Scout knew that his time to track Matt and Thunder was growing short.

  “John,” she said. “You better come see this.”

  “Woman,” he replied, “there’s only so much I can do.”

  “Set it down and come see,” she said. “There’s another animal out front.”

  The man walked onto the porch and saw Scout sitting there. “You don’t think that’s his dog?” he asked. Scout sat patiently on his hind legs and stared at them.

  “Matthew?”

  They saw Scout’s ears perk.

  “I knew it,” the man said.

  There was a long silence until the man and woman exchanged a smile, realizing they were waiting for the dog to explain his intentions.

  “Matthew,” the man said. He pointed to the gate at the entrance to the farm. “That way.”

  Scout looked around to the gate and back again at the couple on the porch. He barked one last time toward the farmhouse, hoping Matt or Thunder would hear him, and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, he realized that neither his horse nor his young man were on the farm. The dog looked one last time at the couple on the porch and then trotted back out the way he had come.

  “I knew there was something odd about that boy the first time I laid eyes on him,” John Boyd said.

  “Good heart, though,” Margaret Boyd replied. “Never seen such loyal animals.”

  “God’s creatures following him around like he’s Noah or something,” her husband mumbled as they watched the dog head down the road and out of sight.

  **********

  Scout ran
for a while, following the trail back toward the city. He reached a place where he became confused because the path pointed in both directions, like the man and the horse had traveled back and forth between city and farm. The dog meandered along the many pathways and roads. He knew that Matt and Thunder had recently passed through here. Should he go back into the city?

  At last, he found himself on a dirt road he recognized. He’d passed this way before, but the scent hadn’t been this strong. He began running again, retracing his earlier steps, knowing he’d just missed his man and horse. He ignored the smell of the predators the second time as he reached the portion of the road that overlooked the river and returned into the woods. The trail was strong now, and he was so close that he could taste them on his tongue. He hastened his pace, excited to meet them.

  There was suddenly an overwhelming sense of moisture in the air. Scout stared up at the sky and a splash of water hit him on the nose. Some of the colors that made up his world were already running together. Then the sky let loose in a rainstorm and the dog’s senses turned to grey. Scout stopped in his tracks when the last evidence of the young man and his horse washed into the ground. All traces of them were gone, and he knew they would never return.

  Scout found an oak tree and sat under its canopy listening to the staccato sound of the raindrops. He became sad like he always did when the rain came and erased his world. He looked around, wondering where he’d go now that his man and horse were lost forever. Without their scent in the air or on the ground, there was no hope. Scout stayed under the tree even after the rain stopped and the full moon moved out from behind the clouds.

  He didn’t know what else to do, so he got up and began to run. He’d take the road north.

  18