Boswell's Luck

by G. Clifton Wisler

  Actually, he wasn’t alone, though. Orville Hanks was driving the wagon himself, and Payne Oakley rode a sorrel just ahead. Mitch Morris had come along, too. But none of them knew quite the words…. Perhaps there were none.

  It was on toward three o’clock when they finally approached the plank cabin Hanks had built ten years earlier to watch the eastern fringe of his acreage. For five of those years J. C. and Georgiana Hadley had made the line camp into a sort of home—at least as much as was possible for a vagabond cowboy.

  “Got to have some kind o’ roots,” Georgiana had declared. “We got four youngsters now, and I won’t live forever out o’ saddle bags, J. C.!”

  Erastus recalled the conversation well, being nine by then. At the time it seemed strange that a man might need more than a creek to swim or range to ride. Now, though, that rickety cabin was home and as good a place as he’d ever known.

  Oakley moved ahead in hopes of seeking out Georgiana and preparing her for the news, but she was seeding her garden and spied the wagon.

  “J. C.!” she called. “Rastus?”

  Hearing his name called swept Erastus’s own grief from his mind. He nudged the pinto out of line and sadly approached his mother. Words formed on his tongue, but they refused to come when he opened his mouth.

  “We brought you some hard news,” Oakley finally spoke as he joined them.

  “How bad’s he hurt?” she asked, staring at the wagon.

  “Horse fell on him,” the foreman explained. “Didn’t feel any pain, ma’am. Was over quick.”

  “Rastus?” she asked, turning to her son. “That the truth of it? I never knew a horse to throw my man.”

  “It was a devil,” Erastus said, dropping his eyes. “Ran me through the brush when I roped him. Didn’t throw Pa. Ran him right into a corral fence. Kilt the horse to do it, but the thing didn’t seem to care.”

  “That’s how it was, all right,” Oakley agreed. “Craziest thing I’ll ever see. No ordinary horse could’ve killed J. C. Hadley. He was the finest man atop a horse I ever knew.”

  “We’ll put him on the hill, under that stand o’ live oaks,” Georgiana instructed. “He’ll always have shade, and there’ll be birds to sing. He was fond o’ singin’. Rastus, you find the spade and see to it.”

  “I’d deem it a favor if you’d leave that to me Ma’ am,” Oakley said. “We all o’ us thought well o’ J. C. I expect Mr. Hanks’ll have somethin’ for you, but the boys all pitched in what they could, and I’d have you take it with our respects.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Oakley,” she answered, nodding somberly as the foreman handed over a kerchief that jingled with the sound of silver and copper coins. “Spade’s out back o’ the shed. Rastus, you take Mr. Oakley’s horse, will you? Then best fetch your brothers and sister. They’d be seein’ to the corn.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Erastus replied. He then set about his assigned tasks and left his mother to master her grief.

  Finding Payne Oakley a spade and seeing the horses tended was the easy part. In fact, the work kept Erastus from thinking of more serious matters. Mitch pitched in, unsaddling the Hadley horses while Erastus pumped fresh water into a trough.

  “My pa always says the Good Lord makes things hard to test us,” Mitch said when Erastus satisfied himself that the needs of the animals had been met and turned toward the creek.

  “Figure Marcus needs testin’, do you?” Erastus asked, kicking a rock past the barn as he imagined how the news would strike his seven-year-old brother. “Ain’t the heat and the raw wind enough? Ain’t there ’nough rattlers and fevers to kill you without sendin’ killer horses?”

  “Just tellin’ you what Pa says is all, Rat.”

  “Maybe that talk holds for town folk,” Erastus replied angrily, “but out here we know the Lord’s got better things to do than bother a fellow. It’s the devil’s taken my pa, sure as day! And ole scratch’s ’bout finished me, too.”

  “How’s that?” Mitch asked, grabbing the smaller boy by the arm.

  “Best let go, Mitch,” Erastus warned. “I got a powerful urge to thrash somebody, and you’d be awful handy.”

  “Go ahead and wallop me if you think it’ll help. Sure don’t seem like I’m do in’ you much good as is.”

  Erastus shook loose of Mitch’s grasp and scowled. There was a world of torment choking Rat Hadley, and not a thing Mitch said would lessen it a hair. Erastus hung his head and stumbled off to locate his brothers and sister.

  They were at the edge of the cornfield, splashing their feet in the creek. Usually Erastus would have run into their midst and howled at them for neglecting their chores. Instead he muttered a greeting and searched to find words to share the dread news.

  “Somethin’s wrong,” eleven-year-old Alex announced. “Ras?”

  Eight-year-old Juliana read the sorrow in her oldest brother’s eyes and burrowed under one of Erastus’s arms. Little Marcus huddled between her and Alex.

  “Pa’s dead,” Erastus told them. “Kilt by a devil horse. Got to go up to the house now. There’s men buryin’ him. We’ll be sayin’ our good-byes and readin’ the prayer book.”

  “You ain’t joshin’, are you?” Alex asked.

  Erastus shook his head, and Mitch did the same. Marcus stared up in dismay, and Juliana buried her head in Erastus’s side and wept.

  “Go ahead and cry, the three o’ you,” Erastus advised. “’Cause we’ll be back with company soon, and won’t Ma allow it. Mournin’s private. I recall her tellin’ me that when we buried Grandpa Sullivan down on the Colorado.”

  “I never knew Grandpa Sullivan,” Juliana sobbed. “I loved Pa.”

  “Me, too,” Marcus added.

  “Then get to cryin’,” Erastus barked. “Get it out o’ yer system. ’Cause we’ll do none o’ it at the buryin’, hear?’

  “I hear,” Alex said, wiping his eyes and taking Marcus in hand. “Don’t you got any tears to shed, Ras?”

  “Not with folks ’round to see,” Erastus said, nodding to Mitch. ’“Sides, cryin’ won’t change a thing.”

  The others sighed as if to agree, but they wept a bit longer. Erastus left them beneath a stand of junipers and drew Mitch aside.

  “Best you leave us to ourselves a bit,” Erastus said. “You been a good friend to help bring Pa home.”

  “You want me to leave?”

  “Nothin’ left for you to do, Mitch. Ain’t nothin’ to the buryin’. You come back in a day or so. Maybe we’ll chase up some more ponies. Leastwise we’ll have ourselves a swim.”

  “Mr. Hanks’ll think hard o’ my leavin’.”

  “No, he’s a man for workin’. Truth is, he’ll be back at it himself in two hours’ time.”

  Mitch hesitated, but Erastus waved him along. Shaking his head, Mitch Morris set off toward the barn. Erastus joined his brothers and sister.

  The Hadley youngsters were a whole hour wringing the tears out of their hearts. Afterward Erastus Jed the way back to the cabin. They were only halfway when they passed the lonesome hill overlooking the creek. Georgiana waved them to where Oakley had dug a shallow grave in the rocky ground. With hardly a moment’s pause, she motioned to the still shape now wrapped in a patchwork quilt.

  “Pa?” Juliana asked.

  “Only his earthly remains, darlin’,” Georgiana Hadley replied. “Say your ’byes, dears, and hold your tears. We got words to read and prayers to make. Your Pa’s gone on to his reward, bless him, and we got our own worries.”

  Those words were prophecy, as it turned out. The last words of a hymn had hardly melted in the fierce afternoon heat, and Payne Oakley was only shoveling the first sand over J. C. Hadley’s corpse, when Orville Hanks motioned Georgiana and Erastus down the hill a way.

  “I feel like I’ve lost my own right hand,” Hanks declared, slapping his hat against his thigh. “Lord, this is hard luck.”

  “Harder on us, Mr. Hanks,” Georgiana answered.

  “You know J. C. and I soldiered together,
” Hanks went on. “The one or the other o’ us pulled the other out o’ more bad spots! Why, I owed J. C. my hide more’n once. But just now I can’t be thinkin’ on that account. Ledger’s closed, so to speak, and life marches on to the next campaign.”

  “Yessir,” Erastus said, searching for some meaning behind the words.

  “You understand, Georgiana, I built this ranch out o’ rock and sweat. I lost hundreds o’ critters off this east range ’fore I put up the line camp. J. C. did a fair job o’ … “

  “Fair job?” Georgiana asked with wild eyes.

  “More’n fair, to tell the truth. I paid him fair, too. Took on his oldest when I had the work. Would’ve seen Alex a cowboy, too, if the years’d been kind. But now I got to tend to business. I need a man out here I can trust to watch my stock, to see we don’t lose none to rustlin’ nor fire, either. Only right I should offer that man this cabin.”

  “How long, Mr. Hanks?” Georgiana asked sourly.

  “Be two weeks ’fore we finish gettin’ the horses together and another to start roundup. Three weeks,” Hanks concluded.

  “And I’ve got that much time to find work and settle my family?”

  “It’s all I can offer.”

  “Well, it’s fortunate J. C. was a friend. Elsewise we’d be leavin’ in yon wagon, I’m sure.”

  “That’s not called for,” Hanks argued.

  “I’m not in an apologizin’ mood, sir!” she stormed. “I’d deem it a favor if you’d leave me to look after my little ones. You have horses to break, I believe. I’ll send Erastus along later.”

  “No, keep him to help you,” Hanks argued.

  “We’ll need the money, sir,” Erastus explained.

  “I’ll pay you, boy, but it’s your ma needs you now. Stay here and help her. You got some big shoes to wear now your pa’s gone. Take some doin’, bein’ J. C. Hadley’s son.”

  “Always has,” Erastus answered.

  Late spring wasn’t the best of times to look for work. Not with planting done and most of the male population readying themselves for the long cattle drives to Kansas. Georgiana Hadley did her best to find a place for her fatherless family, but Thayerville was the only town close by, and they had a seamstress and a cafe already. Oh, odd jobs could be had, but hardly at a wage to feed four growing youngsters, much less provide shoes or britches. Georgiana lacked the aptitude for dealing cards, and she didn’t have the easy manner or shapely figure of a saloon girl.

  In desperation she sent out frantic telegrams, hoping some friend or relative might come to her aid. In truth, there was pitiful little family left after the war against the North and the Comanche raids that had killed her own two brothers. Finally an answer came from her mother’s sister down in Austin.

  “Good news?” Erastus asked as her mother scanned the sparse words.

  “Partly,” Georgiana answered with a frown. “Alex, Juliana, Marcus, you three hurry along a minute. Look after the hens. I’ve got words to share with your brother.”

  “Can’t we know, too?” Juliana complained. “He always gets to know first.”

  “Hush!” Georgiana scolded. “Now off with you.”

  Alex took his little brother and sister by the hand and pulled them outside. Once the children had gone, Georgiana motioned Erastus to her side.

  “Is it about me?” he asked.

  “About all of us,” his mother explained. “Aunt Cordelia has a rooming house in Austin. Two of her grandchildren live there with her, but they’re young. She’s offered to take me on as cook. Juliana can help, and Marcus is the same age as her little grandson Crane.”

  “What about me and Alex?” Erastus asked.

  “She’s found a place for Alex to work. He’ll be looking after horses at a nearby stable, and he’ll take his meals and pass his nights with us.”

  “And me?”

  “Cordelia says,” Georgiana began. She paused to swallow a tear, then scanned the telegram again. “Cordelia feels you’re old enough to find your own way.”

  “I promised Pa I’d look out for you,” Erastus objected. “I swore I would.”

  “We’ll be just fine, Rastus.”

  “Then why’re you cryin’?”

  “Because I don’t like to think what’s in store for you. I was on my own at fifteen, and it wrinkles a body so you think he’s twenty goin’ on forty. Makes for an early grave, son.”

  “I’ll get by.”

  “I’m of a mind to tell Cordelia no,” Georgiana said, clasping her eldest son’s hand. “It’s a hard thing, comin’ o’ age with no father to lean on. Alex and Marcus’ll need you. Juliana, too, in a different way.”

  “And you?”

  “Yes, me, too. If only there was some other other way … “

  “Isn’t, though, is there?” he asked, “I heard Miz Cathcart talkin’ how we’re sure to be taken into an orphan’s home. Or else split up and sent off to this farm or that. Aunt Cordelia’d keep Juliana and Marcus with you, and Alex … well, he wouldn’t be far.”

  “You would.”

  “I might could find work in Austin.”

  “I wouldn’t think that likely, Rastus. If there was anything handy, Cordelia’d found it.”

  “Maybe Mr. Hanks’d take me on the drive?”

  “I asked already,” Georgiana said, pulling him closer. “I guess I’ve spoken to near every farmer or rancher for twenty miles.”

  “I’m fourteen, Ma!”

  “And better’n nigh any full-grown man I know. But they all say you’re thin. And smallish, after my people. I tell ’em how you work, but they all ask why Orville Hanks doesn’t take you in then.”

  “Wonder so myself.”

  “There’s one man’d take you in,” she said nervously.

  “The Morrises? Wouldn’t be so bad livin’ with Mitch. He’s close to a brother.”

  “Otto Plank,” she muttered.

  “Ole man Plank?” Erastus asked, feeling his legs wobble. “He beats his horses, and his boys, too, to hear folks talk, Ma, I’d as soon take my chances in Austin.”

  “And how would you get there, Erastus?”

  “Ride my horse.”

  “Your horse? That pony doesn’t belong to you, son, no more’n this cabin or the creek. Everything’s Orville Hanks’s property.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  “No, I’ll write Aunt Cordelia and send my regrets. I couldn’t sleep knowin’ you were out walkin’ the wilds, food for wolves or target for Comanche arrows.”

  “Ain’t any Comanches out here anymore. I got a talent for fishin’, and I got a good eye with a rifle. Wouldn’t go hungry.”

  “I won’t go unless I know you’ve got a roof over your head, Rastus.”

  “Ma, I really ought to look after you and the little ones.”

  “We’ll be all right. I’ll see even Marcus writes you a letter every week.”

  “Wouldn’t be forever, would it? I mean, I wouldn’t have to stay if I didn’t like it.”

  “No, and Mr. Hanks promised to keep an eye after you. By next summer you’ll have some growth, and he’s certain to take you on.”

  “If it just wasn’t the Planks. That man’s mean.”

  “He’s promised to be kind,” Georgiana assured him. “I’ll speak with the Morrises, too. Perhaps they can come by and take you to Sunday meetings. That’d give you and Mitch some time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then you’re agreeable to it, I take it?”

  Erastus rubbed his chin and studied his mother’s hopeful eyes. He’d promised his father to see to her needs. Wasn’t that what he was doing, staying with the Planks so she and the little ones could go to Austin? His insides grew cold at the notion of living under Plank’s iron fist, but he nodded his consent. After all, how bad could things be?

  It wasn’t long before telegrams flashed south to Austin and back north again. The last Sunday in April Georgiana drove her family toward Thayerville. In the open bed were three trunks full of
the family’s meager possessions. It didn’t seem a lot to show for the good years they’d shared at the Hanks line camp.

  The wagon halted but twice on its way into Thayerville. The first time was at the river crossing where a Methodist circuit preacher held the county’s biweekly meeting. The final stop was in front of the ramshackle house where Otto and Virginia Plank made their home.

  “Got to go now,” Erastus announced as he tossed a flour sack filled with his father’s razor, a good skinning knife, and two patched cotton shirts onto the hard ground. He gave Juliana a good hug, wrapped a spare arm around a sobbing Marcus, and gripped Alex’s wrist.

  “Be missin’ you awful,” the eleven-year-old whimpered.

  “No, you’ll be too busy with the horses,” Erastus argued. “You got to be the big brother now. It’s a hard job, but you’ll do just fine at it.”

  “We won’t stay little forever, Ras.”

  “No, we won’t,” Erastus agreed. “Then we’ll get the bunch o’ us together and talk over old times. Likely we’ll have some tales to swap then.”

  “You take care o’ yourself, Ras.”

  “Look after Ma and the tadpoles.”

  “Do my best at it,” Alex promised.

  Erastus darted over and gave his mother a parting hug. Then he stepped back and somberly waved good-bye. He imagined how tall they’d all be next time they were together. Why, he’d hardly recognize them!

  “Won’t be long till you come down for a visit,” Georgiana called. “Mr. Plank promised you five dollars a week and Sundays off.”

  “That right?” Erastus asked, turning to where Otto Plank stood on the porch.

  Plank said nothing. Instead he waved and grinned good-naturedly. Once the wagon resumed its journey, the balding farmer limped over beside Erastus and clamped a hand onto the boy’s shoulder.

  “Got yer farewells done wit?” Plank asked.

  “Yessir,” Erastus answered.

  “Best. For now on, you got no fambly. Jest work.”

  “Sir, it’s Sunday,” Erastus objected.

  “Won’t be once you shed that good shirt and kick off them shoes. Then it be jest like the rest o’ the days, with plenty to fill it up.”