by Judith Pella
A smile on her lips, slightly reluctant, but offered nonetheless, she said, “I’ll pick you a bouquet, if you’d like.”
“One is all I need.” He looked at the flower, then back up at her. “Not that I’ll soon forget this day.”
CHAPTER
35
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN they reached the house. A strange horse was tied at the post in front. And a rangy-looking animal it was. A charcoal with many flecks of white or gray, but most likely gray, because it appeared to be an ancient beast. The coat was matted and dull, either from ill care or simple age. Its head hung low and its body was bony.
“You know anyone with a mount like that?” Micah asked.
“I should hope not!” Lucie replied. “Why, he makes your Stew look like a stallion!”
They took their mounts to the stable, tending them quickly, then walked to the house. Micah hoped the visitor had nothing to do with him because he was exhausted and could only think of stretching out on his bed for a while before supper.
Lucie entered first. Micah heard her gasp just before he ran into her back as she stopped abruptly before the open parlor door. Micah was about to apologize when he glanced over her head into the parlor. Then he, too, gasped.
Unable to speak, he glanced at Lucie to ensure he was not imagining the sight that greeted him. Then he looked back at the guest in the parlor.
“Well, say something, boy, or I’m gonna think maybe I am a ghost!” Tom Fife stood, a grin plastered across his whiskered face.
“I—” Micah began, then shook his head. “You real, then, Tom?”
“Of course he is!” said Reid, also seated in the parlor. “Now come on in and give the man a proper greeting.”
Lucie and Micah both came fully into the parlor, but Micah stopped just short of his friend, just short of throwing his arms around the man.
Lucie took Tom’s hand and smiled. “This is so wonderful, Mr. Fife!” Tears welled in her eyes.
Tom graciously gave Lucie’s hand a squeeze, then turned toward Micah. “Come here, ya ornery cuss!” He grabbed Micah and fairly crushed him in a mighty bear hug.
Micah just bit his lip. Shoot, if he wasn’t gonna cry! But he blinked back the moisture as quickly as it rose. “Ya ain’t dead” was all he could say.
Tom stepped back. “Not yet. And neither are you. Why, up until yesterday, I’d given you up for dead, too. Guess only the good die young.”
“Like Jed,” Micah murmured.
“Yeah,” Tom said solemnly, then added more lightly, “You and I will probably live forever!”
“No doubt,” said Micah. He grinned and gave Tom a more careful perusal. “You’re scrawnier than a motherless polecat! Near as bad as that critter outside passing for a horse.”
“I ain’t had it near as good as you, all pampered and cozy in this fine house with the prettiest nurse in Texas.”
“Micah didn’t look quite so good when he first came,” Lucie said.
“I know.” Again Tom was serious. “I heard some in town about what happened to you. I still can’t believe you walked near fifty miles.
But even more amazing was what that mule of yours did. There’s a story that will go down with the legends.”
“What happened to you, Tom?” asked Micah.
Lucie interjected, “Why don’t we all make ourselves comfortable, then Mr. Fife can tell us at his leisure.”
“Yes,” said Reid, “I want to hear as well. Tom’s been here for an hour, but we put off his story so he wouldn’t have to tell it twice. Would anyone like refreshment first?”
“No,” said Micah. “I want to hear what happened to you, Tom— how you came back from the dead.”
“It ain’t much of a story,” Tom said as he resumed his seat.
Micah noted that his friend was limping, but he said nothing and, after seeing Lucie to a chair, took a chair next to her and nodded for Tom to continue.
“I reckon those two varmints, Baker and Lowe, thought I was dead. I must’ve been out cold when they looked me over—anyway, I’ll give them that much. But what still sticks in my craw is that they left you knowing you was alive. They should’ve found a way. But what’s done . . . and all that.”
He sighed, shaking his head, and Micah glimpsed some of what Tom must have suffered thinking Micah was dead. It fairly stunned him.
Tom went on, “So Baker and Lowe left me where I was behind a mesquite bush. I guess they took you across the river, so’s you’d have more protection if the Comanches came back. Well, that’s the irony of it, ain’t it? We was that close, no more’n a stone’s throw from each other, and we didn’t even know it! I lay where I was all that day and most of the next, bleeding and dying of thirst. I couldn’t move. My leg was shot up too bad. Finally I couldn’t bear the thought of dying of thirst with a creek a few feet away. Maybe some of my strength had returned—I don’t really know—but I crawled down to the bank. The water sustained me for two more days. I covered myself with some nearby branches and such, so when the Indians came back they didn’t see me.”
“I had already taken off by then,” Micah said. “If I’d been in my right mind, I would have known better than to believe them varmints Baker and Lowe. But there was nary a sound or a movement from where you fell.”
“Like I said, a real irony,” Tom said. “I was unconscious most of the time, but when I came to, I didn’t dare move too much, even if I could, for fear of the Comanches. But if you had seen me, I’ll wager you’d have died for certain then because you would not have taken off without me, and I couldn’t walk an inch. So it all worked out for the best.”
“But if you couldn’t walk, Mr. Fife,” Lucie asked, “how did you finally get away?”
“Some traders happened by. They saw my body and was gonna bury me. Luckily, I had just enough life left in me to make ’em stop. Instead, they loaded me in their wagon and took me to Laredo. I tried to tell them to get me to San Antonio, but they were heading to Laredo, and it would have been out of their way. At any rate I wasn’t in much of a position to be insistent. Leastways there was a doc in Laredo. But that varmint was gonna cut my leg off. I told him if he did that I’d come back and cut his heart out. I was half out of my head at the time and couldn’t have been too awfully fearsome, but bless that doctor’s heart, he saved my leg.” Pausing, Tom stiffly moved his right leg. “For what it’s worth. I reckon it’ll never be the same, but at least it’s still hooked on.”
Micah stared at his friend in amazement.
Tom laughed. “It is a pure miracle, ain’t it? I mean, you and me both coming back from the dead.”
“You could call it that,” Micah replied noncommittally.
“You mean to tell me, Micah, that you’re still being ornery about God?” Tom turned to Lucie. “Ain’t you talked no sense into him yet?”
Lucie smiled wanly. “He has a rather thick head.”
“Yeah, I do remember seeing a Comanche arrow bounce off his head before I blacked out,” Tom said.
Micah fingered the scar above his ear. It was still raw and tender. “It hardly bounced,” he said with mock defensiveness. He looked around at the three people who had become, perhaps, the most important people in his life just then. They deserved more than a recalcitrant attitude. “I guess I’ve got to allow for the possibility of a miracle—well, more than a possibility!” But he couldn’t say more than that, and he grew uncomfortable. “I’m sure parched, Lucie. If you’d like, I’ll go ask Juana to get us some tea or something.”
“I’ll go,” Lucie said, rising. “You and Tom can visit.”
Tom stayed for supper and, in fact, was invited to stay the night in a spare bed in the bunkhouse. After the meal, Micah walked with Tom outside—or rather, Tom limped and Micah hobbled, for his wound in his side was giving him a painful stitch. Tom said he wanted to see the famous mule, Stew. Lucie gave them some sugar.
“That gal always spoiling your mule like that?” Tom asked as they came to Stew’s stall.<
br />
“I guess so.”
Tom reached in and rubbed the white patch on the mule’s sandy face. “It’s pretty clear she’s mighty glad this beast saved your hide.”
“Maybe . . .”
“You been here three weeks now recuperating. That all you got to say?”
“Tom, when did you get to be so talkative?” Micah asked, just a bit peeved.
“Near dying does that to a fellow. Makes you realize you better get your licks in while ya can.” Tom held out his hand to Stew, a lump of sugar in his palm. The mule nearly nipped off his hand going for the treat. “Ouch!” Tom yanked back his empty hand. “And here I thought your heroic deeds might have made a decent creature of you!” He scolded the mule. Then he turned to Micah. “And same to you, boy! Didn’t your experience teach you nothing?”
“Yeah. Never camp on a creek bank when there’s high ground around!” Micah retorted, then his expression twisted in shame. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m about going crazy with all the soul-searching I’ve been doing lately. And now to have you preaching at me—”
“The Maccallums been preaching at you a lot?”
“Nah, not really. Not even after I gave Lucie leave to preach all she wanted. It’s not them. It’s me. Wondering about it all, what it means.” Micah went to a nearby stool and plopped down rather dejectedly. “I know something’s gonna give soon, and I know it’s gonna be me. And it scares me worse than dying did. Tom, what do you think about all this religion business?”
“You’re asking a man who’s just been hauled from the bowels of death. That ought to make a believer out of anyone.” Tom turned and leaned against the wall, facing Micah. “But then again, you are also asking a man who never attended much church and such.” He smiled suddenly. “Your pa once thought me a pure and simple heathen. Guess he wouldn’t take too kindly to me giving you religious advice. I wish I would have gone to church more, and I just might do it now. But I always have had a mighty high opinion of God. I believe in Him, Micah, because living out in the wilds as I have, it’s impossible not to. And I know it was His doing that you and I survived. Why us and not Jed? Can’t say, except maybe Jed was more ready than us. And maybe God has something more He wants us for. That’s a fearsome prospect.”
Micah nodded. “It’s all fearsome.” He paused, hesitant. He picked up a bit of straw from the ground and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Finally he looked up. “You ever worry, Tom, about what God thinks of all the killing we’ve done?”
“I ain’t never shot at anything that wasn’t shooting back,” Tom answered.
“I have, Tom,” Micah confessed. The admission did not get easier with repetition. “At San Jacinto.”
Tom limped over to Micah and laid a hand on his shoulder. “That was a terrible, terrible time, boy. I should have kept you away from that slaughter, but I lost track of you. It was a confused time. Everyone’s pain and anger ran so deep for what had been done in the past. I ain’t excusing it, but . . . somehow I think God would understand the heart of A fourteen-year-old boy caught in that horror.”
“Lucie says God loves me in spite of what I’ve done,” Micah said.
“But I just don’t think that’s enough. I don’t know how I can ever make up for what I’ve done, but there ought to be something to do.”
“Seems like it, don’t it?” Tom shifted uncomfortably.
Micah jumped up. “Sit here, Tom. You oughtn’t to stand on that leg for so long.”
“Thanks, Micah.” Tom eased down on the stool. “I guess they’ll be putting ol’ Tom out to pasture now.”
“Ya ever think about ranching?”
“I got my land allotments up near Austin. I always thought I’d retire there one day. Don’t know a blessed thing about ranching, though. I wonder if it’s true about old dogs and new tricks. And an old dog with a bum leg to boot!”
“I might give it a try. Reid Maccallum said he’d teach me what I need to know.”
“You could do worse for a teacher—or for a father-in-law.”h
“We’ll see about that. I’m a long way from being deserving of a gal like Lucie.”
Silence fell between them as the evening shadows lengthened, and it grew dark in the stable.
With a groan, Tom lumbered to his feet. “Best get on before it’s too dark to find my way to that bunkhouse.” He started toward the door, then paused. “Micah, about that other matter, you know, about religion and all. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help to you.”
Smiling, Micah strode up next to his friend. “Just seeing you today helped stir something like faith in me. I’m not ashamed to admit that when I saw you, Tom, I like to have cried.”
“You don’t say?” Tom was clearly astonished.
“Last time I cried was when my ma died, and I swore then I’d hate too much to ever cry again. Maybe . . .” he mused half to himself, “maybe something is changing in me. God must love me some to give me a gift like you coming back from the dead.”
Side by side they hobbled from the stable, one leaning on the other. Micah was exhausted in his body, but there was indeed a stirring in him that seemed a lot like hope.
CHAPTER
36
MICAH WATCHED JACK HAYS RIDE AWAY. They had just finished making a survey of a plot of land by Cutter Creek. Besides being a ranger, Hays was also a surveyor by trade. Micah was not making any commitments, but . . . well, he was bored and needed something to do. It wouldn’t come to anything, but thinking about it merely filled time. He certainly had made no mention of the outing to Lucie.
Micah remained in the area, taking another ride around the place. It was a good stretch of land, with abundant grass to graze a decent herd. True, cattle ranching was not going to make a man wealthy, but who could tell what the future might hold? Anyway, Micah was not looking for wealth. Just peace. Would that be found on a ranch? Or was rangering still what Micah wanted to do? Jack had spent most of their day together encouraging Micah to return to the unit now that he was pretty much recovered.
Micah simply did not know what he would do. One thing was certain, he had to move on from the Maccallum place. He no longer needed nursing, and he and Lucie were, well, just getting way too close. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. And right now he wasn’t certain what would hurt her more, marrying her or leaving her. He knew what would hurt him. The thought of leaving her tore him up inside. Yet he could not think of himself and his own desires in this.
Though he’d had few nightmares in the last weeks, that gunfight with the banditos still haunted him. He still shuddered at the thought of how instinct and pure reflex had caused him to kill those men, especially that last man. He knew it wasn’t exactly murder, because in such a position a man did not have the luxury to pause and debate his actions. Survival had propelled him, he hoped. Yet doubt nagged at him.
Regardless, if he was a man whose first instincts were kill or be killed, he was not the kind of man for a genteel woman like Lucie.
He thought of that day on the picnic when he had grabbed his rifle at a mere sound. He’d been ready to kill. There was such a fine line between simple survival and being a killer at heart. Especially in this untamed country where dangers were very real. On which side of the line did he stand? He did not know.
Micah rode up to an oak and reined his mount. He’d seen this tree from a distance while with Hays and wanted a better look. It was old and gnarled with twisted branches, and even with its summer foliage, its long sprawling limbs made it appear barren. It was standing in the middle of a grassy meadow, the only tree for quite a distance. He liked the look of it and was glad it was on his land. He felt akin to it in many ways. But this oak must have strength and deep roots for it to remain green and sturdy so far from water.
Suddenly Micah realized what he had just thought. His land? Could he make roots like the oak? Strong enough, deep enough to offer shade and shelter to the woman he knew he loved? Shelter and not strife. They had already had far too much stri
fe.
Shots in the distance grabbed Micah’s attention. Riders were galloping in his direction. He saw four Mexicans being chased by three gringos. Micah jumped off Stew and slapped the mule’s rump, making him race off away from the chase. Then Micah took cover behind the oak. He could not outrun the Mexicans and he saw no reason to become embroiled in a situation until he knew more. The Mexicans were probably bandits, and the gringos might well be rangers. But the Mexicans could be locals, and the gringos could be mere troublemakers.
Not far from Micah, the Mexicans split up, two racing off south while the other two headed north toward Micah’s position. The gringos were closer now, and Micah thought he recognized Big Foot Wallace’s mule and Bert Long’s chestnut. Wallace and one of the rangers took off after the bandits heading south. Bert Long raced north.
Long fired, striking one of the two bandits he was chasing. The Mexican hit the dirt. The remaining bandit took aim. He had a revolver, but Micah saw Long had only used his percussion cap pistol and was going for his second pistol. He could not possibly draw it before the Mexican fired. He’d be dead if Micah didn’t do something.
Having no choice, Micah drew his revolver, but in the split second before he fired, he saw the bandit’s face. He hesitated, and the bandit got off his shot anyway, and Long fell. Micah fired just as the bandit wheeled his mount around. His shot struck the bandit’s horse and the animal reared, throwing his rider into the dirt. The bandit rolled once and, amazingly, as he gained a squatting position, still had his gun in hand and was aiming at Micah, who also hit the dirt. The bandit’s shot went astray.
In the next instant both men poised to fire again and at the same moment saw they’d both end up dead if they followed through.
A grim smile twisted the bandit’s face. “I think you gringos call this a Mexican standoff.”
“It appears to be just that,” Micah agreed.
Carefully, each eyeing the other, both men drew to their feet. The bandit cocked a brow, arrogance and disdain marking his features. “I recognize you. Sinclair, isn’t it? The man who killed six of my best men in one bloody battle.”