Emmett & Gentry (an Emmett Love Western)

by John Locke

  34.

  AS USUAL, IT’S me, Scarlett, Rudy, and the stallion walkin’ single file to a place the horses won’t ride me. I ain’t got the strength nor the will to cuss ’em. I’ve come to the conclusion their behavior is just how it is. It’s dark out now, but I keep walkin’ anyway. After an hour Rudy comes up behind me and swats me to the ground. He ain’t playin’ tag this time, he’s expressin’ his hunger. He’s traveled with me enough to know we’re supposed to stop at dusk and dig for tubers.

  “I’m hungry too,” I say out loud. “But I aim to sleep in my bed tonight.”

  A few minutes later he swats me again, so I open the saddlebags and give him the last of the tubers he’d dug the first night, more’n two weeks ago.

  The horses have been chewin’ grass along the trail since the moment I climbed off the stallion’s back. I can’t actually see Rudy anymore, but I know where he’s lyin’ and what he’s poutin’ about.

  “I miss her too.”

  He lets out a mournful cry, and I say, “We’ll find her, I promise.” I take three steps in his direction, aimin’ to give him a reassurin’ hug, but trip over somethin’ and barely keep my balance. I let out a small curse and reach back behind me to see what nearly did me in.

  A large rock.

  And that puts a thought in my head.

  An hour later the four of us enter the Spur. I unsaddle the horses, draw some well water into a bucket, and leave the bucket on the floor for them to drink. Then I head wearily upstairs, climb in my bed, and sleep until I hear Gentry’s voice askin’, “Please Emmett, just a few more minutes?”

  I bolt up in bed and realize I’d been dreamin’ of a time, long ago, when Gentry and me were layin’ on a hilltop, side by side, and I wanted to get up and eat breakfast. She wanted some extra time with me, and I kept tryin’ to rush her along. That same mornin’ her friend Scarlett was gored by a mad bull.

  Thinkin’ back on it now, I can’t believe there was ever a time I had Gentry layin’ beside me, beggin’ me to stay with her just a few more minutes, and didn’t properly appreciate the wonderfulness of that opportunity. God knows if I could do it again, I wouldn’t leave her side for breakfast, or even supper.

  But that’s the sadness of life. You never truly appreciate what you’ve got till you lose it. Other things seem more important at the time.

  But they ain’t.

  I sigh, then climb out of bed, put on my clothes, walk down the stairs, and out the front door. Last night I tripped over a rock and realized my best friend and former scout, Shrug, would never have left town without givin’ me a sign about how to find him. All those months we worked together, Shrug scouted the area miles in front of me, and left direction stones for me to follow. He always used five stones. He’d place four stones to show north, south, east and west, with the fifth stone pointin’ the direction I was supposed to go. I never got in trouble when I followed the stones.

  I spend the entire day walkin’ up and down each trail that leads out of Dodge, lookin’ for the stones Shrug might’ve left for me. Around four in the afternoon, I find ’em.

  Problem is they’ve been scattered, and I can’t tell which direction I was supposed to go.

  I’m flustered, but not about to give up. Because if Shrug left these stones, there’ll be another set a few miles away So all I have to do is travel up to five miles from this spot on every trail till I find another pile of stones. Even if that pile is scattered, I’ll know I’m headin’ in the right direction.

  This ain’t an easy way to follow a person, and it takes me three full days to exhaust all the possibilities. But I finally do, and eventually have to face the fact I’ve misread his sign. Or maybe them five stones was a coincidence, and the ones Shrug set out for me are closer to town.

  I go back to Dodge and look everywhere for stones Shrug might’ve left for me to follow. Hit every street, every path. But if he laid stones for me, they’re long gone. Some kid picked ’em up for his slingshot, or they got kicked out of place, or crushed by horses or oxen. Here and there I run into some of the Dodge widows, who offer me coffee or lemonade. When I decline they give me a look of sympathy. Some shake their heads and tell me they hope I’ll find Gentry. Others just shake their heads. I know they think I’m pitiful, but true love will do this to folks.

  The hardest part of this search is knowin’ ahead of time Gentry left with either Wilkins or Shrug. If she left with Wilkins, there’d be no stones. If Shrug, they’d have traveled away from the main trails, which means the stones would be covered by six months of grass and weather.

  In other words, I’m wastin’ my time.

  But since I got no better ideas, I keep walkin’ circles around Dodge, tryin’ to search out any type of clue that could help me. But clues, like direction stones, are nowhere to be found. While searchin’, I think thoughts about Wilkins, Gentry, and Shrug.

  And none of the thoughts are good.

  It’s hot today, and I’m in a foul mood. I need to go someplace peaceful, to sort out my thoughts. I notice Jim Bigsby’s livery and barn nearby, and head there. The livery’s quiet and shady, but it ain’t a place for reflectin’ on things. I cross the road to Jim’s barn, push open the front door, and see a truly beautiful view on the far end, where Jim’s left the tall door open. I spot a length of rope looped around a post hook that brings back a memory of a time when I was a boy, and my only possessions beyond my clothes were a slingshot and a well-formed cowboy rope like this one. I remove it from the hook and dust it off and work it in my hands to help me think.

  It’s a cowboy thing.

  You wouldn’t understand.

  I hold onto one end and toss the rest on the floor, and make it dance in circles by spinnin’ my wrist. I make it look like three large spinnin’ wheels. Then I work it side to side, till it slides across the floor like a thirty-foot snake. Eventually, I coil it and hold it in my right hand and walk to the end of the barn that has the nice view, and lean against the left side of the doorway. I look out onto the giant field below me, that’s part green, part yellow, a sign of a generally mild summer in Dodge.

  But what’s really special is the sky.

  Vast and deep blue it is, with nary a cloud. As I stand in the doorway, a slight breeze cools my face, and I begin reflectin’ on the thoughts I had, that Gentry is almost certainly with the English cattleman, David Wilkins, and if she is, I hope and pray she’s with him by choice.

  Because if she’s not, my best friend Shrug is dead.

  35.

  I BELIEVE THE story about Wilkins fallin’ in love with Gentry. And I s’pect she liked him, too, as a friend, since she went straight out the next day and cut a Christmas tree and decorated it. I s’pect she showed him her tree, and maybe he even helped her decorate it, which galls me, thinkin’ how he might’ve put his hands on the strips of fabric that used to be part of her fine dress. I also believe he snuck back into town to try talkin’ her into marryin’ him and livin’ on his ranch. Bein’ fearful, lonely, and havin’ uncertain finances, she’d have listened to him. All the town women were losin’ husbands and sons to the war, and Gentry would’ve seen their deep sadness. Then the bank got robbed, almost certainly by Wilkins and his men, and she likely lost what savin’s she might’ve had. While all this was happenin’, Scarlett Rose was brand new in the world, and Gentry must’ve been terrified wonderin’ how to provide for her on her own, what with the saloon goin’ broke.

  Over the months he probably kept comin’ back, puttin’ more and more pressure on her, after she closed the saloon and let the whores go. A rich cattleman like David Wilkins is probably used to gettin’ his way and ain’t likely to give up easily. He’d want the sort of woman who’d appear impossible to get. But I s’pect Gentry held firm, and at some point Wilkins threatened her.

  And that’s when she would’ve snuck out of town with Shrug, or finally given in to David Wilkins’s proposal of marriage.

  But if Gentry had snuck out with Shrug, he would’ve
put Rudy in the woods and then taken Gentry and the baby someplace safe, like wherever Rose is livin’ with her adopted daughter, Hannah. But if Shrug had done that, he would’ve come back to look for me, and leave fresh stones for me to follow.

  But there ain’t no fresh stones, which means Gentry went with Wilkins peacefully. Because there’s no way in hell Shrug would have allowed Wilkins to steal Gentry. He’d a’ left stones for me to follow, and would a’ died tryin’ to protect Gentry.

  And maybe that’s what happened.

  Or maybe Gentry and the baby and Shrug snuck out of town and he took them to wherever Rose is, and when he came back to find me, he got killed, or captured like I did. Maybe he’s bein’ forced to build a railroad somewhere.

  That’s possible, but it ain’t what I feel in my heart.

  I feel like I’m missin’ somethin’.

  I work the rope around in my hand some more, enjoyin’ the feel of it. It’s an old rope, but still lively, thanks to the fact it’s been kept indoors. Had it been outdoors even a few months, it’d be a worthless lump.

  At that moment, standin’ at the far end of the barn lookin’ out over that beautiful field and gorgeous sky, I suddenly realize what I’d been missin’ about Shrug and the stones.

  36.

  SHRUG WOULD A’ known his stones couldn’t stay in place on a trail over time. Hundreds of travelers and livestock would have traveled these trails and grass patches over the past six months. Not to mention Dodge is the windiest city I ever seen. If people and animals didn’t destroy the rocks, windstorms, hail storms, and twisters would’ve scattered ’em.

  Shrug would’ve known stones wouldn’t work.

  But big, heavy boulders would.

  I wonder if maybe Shrug rolled some boulders or heavy rocks somewhere near the edge of town that were so big they couldn’t be affected by people or nature. Could I have walked right past a cluster of boulders without even noticin’?

  Of course I could! When a man’s pannin’ for gold dust, he don’t see the sand in the pan. I bet there’s a cluster of five giant rocks somewhere that are too big to trip over. And I probably passed them several times while lookin’ for somethin’ smaller.

  Since I’m lookin’ for giant rocks ’stead of small stones, it’d make sense to start my search by climbin’ onto the roof of the tallest buildin’ in town, which happens to be the Spur. I put Jim’s rope back on the hook and move quickly to my old saloon. Once there, I climb the back stairs to the landin’, stand on the rail, and pull myself up onto the roof. My plan is to stand and scan the horizon for giant rocks, but I don’t get around to doin’ that, because there are stones on my roof.

  They’re scattered, but it’s clear there ain’t four stones, and there ain’t six.

  There’s five.

  I stand to my full height and can see several rooftops from here, all of which have stones on ’em!

  I remember Jim tellin’ me Shrug used to hide on these roofs and chunk rocks at people who were tryin’ to hurt Rudy. But the roofs I can see from this position all have exactly five stones on ’em. I’m feelin’ no small excitement as I run and jump from roof to roof and discover Shrug has left five stones on every rooftop in town, hopin’ at least one pile would survive in place.

  But none did.

  I’m on the last roof of the last buildin’ in town. In frustration, I kick a rotten roof board loose, and almost fall into the attic space of what used to be Patti’s Pie Kitchen. My leg goes through, and I feel a hot burst of steamy air come through and my first thought is How the hell was Shrug able to survive in our attic?

  Attic?

  Then it hit me. Shrug didn’t expect them stones to survive the elements. He was tryin’ to get me to look in the attics.

  I start with the Pie Kitchen attic.

  And find five stones. A north, south, east and west stone, with a fifth one pointin’ northwest. What’s northwest of here?

  Colorado Territory.

  Why’s that significant?

  Because Huerfano County starts just beyond the Kansas border. And Huerfano County is often called Cattle County, since the biggest ranches in the west are located there!

  My heart soars like it has wings. I go next door, kick my way into the attic of the abandoned dry goods store and find five stones with the fifth stone pointin’ north-west.

  I go back to The Lucky Spur, and enter the attic. And see five stones with the fifth one pointin’ north-west. And find somethin’ else: a small, leather book with writin’ in it. It’s dark in here, so I bust a board off the roof so I can read the words:

  Emmett, first thing is yore a fother! Our baby girl is Scarlett Rose. I love you with all my hart. If you find this you will no times have become desprit for us. Shrug saved me over and over and was going to take us to a safe playse but took Rudy to the woods first and never came back. I feer he is killed. Emmett I am a city girl. I cant raze our baby in the woods by myself. Ten cowboys cood find me inside a day. Times are hard and my milk dryed up. I did all I cood but must think of Scarlett Rose.

  Try not to be mad at this next part. Try hard.

  Soon I will have to do bad things like I did before. I will do thoze things to keep your child alive and safe. I hope you will forgive me. If you love me you will no I held out till there was no other choyse.

  O Emmett where are you? I know you are alive. Before Rose disapeered she sed she will send a horse to bring you to me. I wate every day for you and that dam horse.

  Dont you still want me?

  If not pleeze tell me to my face so you can hold your sweet child. Pleeze want me in your famly. I did all I cood to be your good girl frend.

  Well this is the most words I rote since I terned 12 & got sold to the hore house, so I will end with this. I love you Emmett. Now come find me!

  37.

  I’M STANDIN’ HERE in the attic feelin’ like the dumbest man that ever lived. Two weeks ago I’m lyin’ in a field, nearly dead from an Indian attack, and a horse shows up out of nowhere. A horse that happens to be carryin’ everythin’ I need to survive. A horse that would only travel in one direction. But I’m so bull-headed, it don’t even cross my mind this horse was sent by Rose to take me straight to Gentry’s arms. I shake my head in disgust, thinkin’ how I wasted all this time, and worry what terrible things Gentry might’ve had to do these past two weeks I could’ve spared her from doin’.

  I head straight for Jim Bigsby’s house with Scarlett, Rudy, and the stallion followin’ close behind. When Jim comes out I give him the stallion, to repay him for his kindness and hard work. I add in the saddle that came with it, and the saddlebags, though I need the canteens for my trip. I ask if he’ll keep Rudy in one of his stalls till I get back, since I can’t have him followin’ me to wherever Gentry might be waitin’. Jim agrees, so we take the stallion and Rudy to the livery and put ’em in stalls. Then I practice shootin’ my new rifle, and find it to be the most accurate one I ever used. I re-load it, and put the box of bullets in my pocket, check my canteens, climb on Scarlett’s back, and hit the trail.

  38.

  SCARLETT THE HORSE ain’t wastin’ time. In fact, she’s runnin’ so fast I can barely hang on. When she realizes I’m gonna let her go in the direction she pleases, she slows to a reasonable speed. Three hours into the trip, I give her a small tug and she stops so I can climb off. We’re twenty miles northwest of Dodge, and this appears to be a good place to make camp.

  But I ain’t makin’ camp.

  Though I don’t know the area well, I’ve got a horse that does, and I aim to let her ride me all through the night, if that’s her choice.

  After stretchin’ my legs a minute, and gettin’ out-pissed by Scarlett, I climb back on, and she takes me across the moonlit plains.

  We stop for breakfast, and I try to cipher how far we’ve come. My best guess is sixty miles, which puts us half-way to Colorado, or there-abouts. After a brief stretch, we continue due west. Around noon I whoa my horse long enough to sho
ot a jackrabbit. My plan is to eat it for dinner, but my appetite gets the better of me, and I fry him up around three in the afternoon. I figure it don’t matter much, since I’ll probably be ridin’ all night anyway.

  I do ride all through the night again, and as usual, my thoughts turn to Gentry. I wonder things like what she’s doin’, and if she’s bein’ mistreated by Wilkins. Her letter said try not to be mad. Well, of course I ain’t mad! Gentry’s doin’ what she has to do to stay alive and keep our baby safe. I’m touched it were such a hard decision for her to make. Here’s a woman that whored from the age of twelve to seventeen. She could’ve run off with this wealthy feller way back in December of 1861, but didn’t. She waited for me. We weren’t even married, and she waited for me. She had my baby, lost her business, and kept waitin’ for me. The bank got robbed, she lost her money, and she waited for me. Wilkins came back for her time and again, promisin’ God knows what, and still she waited for me. When he threatened her, she made plans to run off with Shrug to a safe place rather than spread her legs for this man who seems willin’ to marry her and care for her and the baby. The fact that Gentry tried so hard not to fall back into a life where she gives her pleasures to a man for money shows how much she loves me. And when a woman loves a man like that, nothin’ should make me mad or keep us separated.

  I don’t fault David Wilkins for any part of what he done except the threatenin’. That’s the part that don’t sit right with me. I can’t hardly blame a man for fallin’ in love with Gentry, since I done the same thing myself. But a man who’ll threaten a woman into givin’ up her charms, and won’t take no for an answer, well, that’s the sort of man who needs his pecker shot off.

  When I ain’t wonderin’ them types of thoughts I wonder other things like is this the same way Gentry traveled six months ago? I doubt it, since we ain’t followin’ a trail, and she and the baby would’ve likely been on a buckboard. But I pay close attention to all that’s around me, just in case. Because it comforts me thinkin’ she might’ve smelled the same scent of pine in the distance, or traveled over the same dry, cracklin’ grass. I look at the moon and wonder if, wherever she is, could she be lookin’ at it right now? I have a picture in my mind where she’s in Wilkins’s huge ranch house, sleepin’ upstairs in his bed, when she hears our baby cry in the next room. She slips out without wakin’ him up, and holds Scarlett Rose while sittin’ on the window box in the upstairs bedroom, starin’ out the window, lookin’ for a skinny man on a white horse.