Some Kind of Courage

by Dan Gemeinhart

  Ezra Bishop’s eyes narrowed and slid over to Ah-Kee and his shovel.

  “Who the hell is he?”

  “That there is Ah-Kee. I wouldn’t trifle with him, neither. Your forehead can already testify as to his strength and skill with that shovel.” I stuck my foot out, showing the shredded pants and dried blood from the grizzly’s claws. “This here is from a mama grizzly we come across up Colockum. She was getting the better of me before Ah-Kee stepped in. She ain’t bothering nobody no more. Ah-Kee here knows some dark arts of the Orient that you don’t wanna get on the wrong side of.”

  Mr. Bishop looked pale in the firelight. His eyes darted from Ah-Kee to my bloody leg.

  “Mama grizzly, you say?”

  “That’s right. Now, where did my horse go?”

  Ezra Bishop cleared his throat and looked quick from Ah-Kee to me.

  “Well, boy, I ain’t sure I can quite exactly recall. That was quite a hit to the head I took. Maybe a little bit of green would clear my head some.” He was not the kind of man who was used to getting the bad end of a deal, and I reckoned even tied up at gunpoint facing two savage killer boys he weren’t gonna give up so easy on coming out ahead.

  “True,” I answered after a moment, looking him right in the eye. “Maybe a little bit of money would help the situation.” Ezra Bishop smiled a small greedy smile and licked his lips, but his smile went running right away when I pulled his own leather money bag up onto my lap.

  “That’s mine!” he shouted, then grimaced in pain and spoke again, quieter. “That’s mine. You can’t take my money.”

  “No, sir. My mama didn’t raise no thief, that’s for sure. I ain’t leaving here with a nickel of your money.” I pulled a rumpled five dollar note from the case and held it casually in my hand, kind of over toward the fire. “But I’m clumsy, see. And you never know if I’m gonna drop some of your hard-stolen money too close to that fire.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  I flicked my wrist and let the money slip from my fingers. We all watched it flutter toward the flames and come to rest just shy of the glowing coals at the fire’s edge. The corners of the bill folded and blackened and a dark burn spread slowly across it.

  “You little wretch,” Ezra Bishop seethed.

  “What did you do with my horse, Mr. Bishop?”

  “You and your dirty little friend, coming into my—”

  Mr. Bishop stopped talking when another bill, this time a one dollar note, flew right into the center of the fire and commenced to turning directly into ashes.

  “That’s for being rude to Ah-Kee. There’s only one devil in this room and he is, thank the Lord, tied up to a post.” I pulled a ten dollar bill from the case and held it up. “When are you gonna start talking, Mr. Bishop?”

  Ezra Bishop chewed on his cheeks so hard I expected to see blood coming down his chin any second. His eyes were twice as fierce and angry as the grizzly’s had been. I said a silent prayer that my knots were true, or else I knew I’d sure enough end up using Papa’s pistol after all.

  “I sold her,” Ezra Bishop finally said through gritted teeth.

  “When?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Who’d you sell her to?”

  “A man.”

  “I figured he was a man. I need a name, Mr. Bishop.” I held the ten dollar bill a little closer to the fire.

  “John Campbell! His name’s John Campbell!”

  “Good. Where’s he live?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  I balled up the bill in my hand and raised my arm to throw it.

  “No! I don’t know where he lives! He’s a horse trader like me, moving around! I sold him my whole string!”

  I ground my teeth. It figured. More moving, more chasing, more never quite finding my horse.

  “All right, sir. And where is this John Campbell heading with my horse?”

  “Come on, boy, I can’t go sending a couple of wild animals after the man. I got a reputation to think about.”

  “Your reputation is in worse shape than your socks, Mr. Bishop. You best be worried more about your money at the moment.” The ten dollar bill flew into the fire like a doomed bird. Ezra Bishop made a groan like a physical pain.

  “Okay, okay, by God! No more! He’s heading to Walla Walla, through Yakima. He aims to sell your pony and the rest to a man by the name of Carl Rasmussen. Rasmussen has a regular business sending western horses and Indian ponies on the train back east. They fetch top dollar out there. Campbell’s s’posed to meet up with Rasmussen in Walla Walla in seven day’s time.”

  My heart beat cold as a winter wind. My sweet Sarah, crowded up in a boxcar and shipped a thousand miles away? The thought was too much to bear.

  I stood up and let the rest of Mr. Bishop’s money fall to the floor at my feet. He looked up at me, eyes wide and angry.

  I grabbed a rag off the floor and walked around behind him.

  “Now, we can’t have you hollering as soon as we walk out that door. Open your mouth, sir.”

  “You gonna gag me with that, boy? Why, you mean, low-down little—”

  “No, sir. If I was mean and low-down I’d use your sock.”

  “But I gotta use the privy and—”

  “Well, I apologize for that,” I answered, jamming the cloth between his teeth, “but I reckon you got enough money left to buy yourself a new pair of pants.” I started to tie it behind his head, but Ah-Kee stopped me with an insistent word.

  He rose to his feet and walked slowly to stand before Mr. Bishop, the shovel still held in his hands.

  Ezra Bishop spit out the rag.

  “What’s he doing?” he croaked. I didn’t answer, ’cause I didn’t know.

  Ah-Kee knelt down on the floor by Mr. Bishop, looking solemnly into his eyes. Mr. Bishop flinched when Ah-Kee moved the shovel, but he only rested it gently across our prisoner’s legs. Then he pulled that little black bird out of his pocket once more. And again, as I’d seen him do four other times, he held it out to Mr. Bishop and said a soft string of words. And again it ended with a clear but mysterious question.

  “Oh, God, what’s he saying?” Mr. Bishop muttered to me under his breath.

  I sure enough didn’t know. I’d have given just about anything to find out what my friend was seeking. He was on a mission of his own, that much was clear. And it was a mission that he was willing to kneel at the foot of the devil for. But it was as mysterious to me as the words he spoke.

  When Mr. Bishop didn’t answer him, Ah-Kee returned the stone bird to his pocket, reclaimed the shovel, and rose to stand a few steps away.

  I stuffed the rag back in Mr. Bishop’s mouth and tied it tight behind his head. I moved around in front of him.

  Ezra Bishop mumbled something through his gag that didn’t sound too friendly. I hunkered down on my heels so I could look him right in his eyes.

  “I know you’re plenty angry, sir. But I’m leaving you unharmed and without a dime of your money in my pockets. I sure reckon you wouldn’t have done me the same favor if our parts had been reversed.” He blinked at me sulkily. “The fire’ll keep you warm for the night, and we’ll send someone for you before we leave town. I would count yourself lucky and not make the mistake of coming after us. It won’t end as well for you the second time around, I promise you that. I kept Ah-Kee under control this time, but he’s one rattlesnake you can’t keep caged for long. My heart shudders to think what that boy would do to you if he sees you again.”

  Ezra Bishop looked over at Ah-Kee and his shovel. A beady shine of sweat popped out on his forehead. Ah-Kee looked at us uncertainly; he could tell we were talking about him. He flashed us a small, unsure smile that in the firelight might just have looked like a mountain lion’s snarl, if you were afraid enough.

  “God,” I whispered to Ezra Bishop. “That cold heart of his is as black as coal. He’s smiling just thinking about it.” I felt the big man shiver. “You best keep your distance, sir,” I breathed in his
ear, patting him on the shoulder.

  “Come on, Ah-Kee,” I said, standing up. “Time to go.”

  Ah-Kee dropped the shovel to the floor with a loud crash. Ezra Bishop’s whole body jumped and flinched and he brought his bound feet up to his chest.

  Outside, in the moonlight, the Indian pony was waiting for us. She’d wandered over by the door, no doubt wondering where her people were. I looked around at the little porch, and my eye stuck on something: a whip, dark and thin, coiled up like a snake on a barrel top. It was Mr. Bishop’s whip—the very one he’d beaten my Sarah with, no doubt. Who knows how many terrified horses that devil had whipped with it? I picked it up and wrapped it around my shoulder.

  Ah-Kee looked at me, and I shrugged.

  “Sometimes taking something from someone is exactly what the Lord would want you to do,” I said, and I figured Mama and Papa would have agreed.

  I sighed, tired to my very bones. All this time I’d thought all I had to do was catch up to Ezra Bishop. But now, after all I’d been through, it turned out that the crooked horse dealer was not the end of my road. I had more miles to go, more men to find.

  But I knew there was no stopping now. My goal all along had not been to find Ezra Bishop. It was to rescue my Sarah. And I knew I’d go to hell itself if I had to to get her back.

  “Let’s go,” I said, patting Ah-Kee on his shoulder and stepping out toward the pony. “We gotta beat a horse to Walla Walla.”

  We were back on Ellensburg’s main road and my mind was halfway to Walla Walla when I remembered that the horse we were riding wasn’t ours. I swore out loud and brought her to a halt. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to just keep on going right outta town with that strong little pony. They’d never have found me, and no one would have ever been the wiser. But Mr. Strawn’s words echoed in my head: “These folks have had enough taken from them.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” I asked a man walking up the road. “Could you tell me where the Indian agent’s office is?”

  “Indian agent?” the man asked. He wore the sturdy boots and floppy hat of a miner, and the blurry smile of a drunk. “Looks like you need to find yerself the Chinese agent!” He pointed up at Ah-Kee and fell into a fit of laughter.

  I bit my tongue to keep my frustration from coming out as angry words.

  “Yes, sir. But do you know where the Indian agent is?”

  The man burped and scratched at his belly.

  “ ’Course I do. You’re talking about Jed Holcomb. You’re heading the right way, even. Jes’ head on down to the next block, take a right, and it’s the last building on your way outta town.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The Indian agent’s office was its own little tidy wooden building on the very edge of Ellensburg, with a corral and stable out back. It all looked fairly dark and empty but I knocked on the door anyhow, and there was some rustling inside and then the door swung open, revealing a man with a black handlebar mustache. He was wearing a red union suit that stretched from his neck to his ankles, and held a sputtering oil lamp in his hand.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. My name is Joseph Johnson. You are Jed Holcomb, sir, the Indian agent?”

  “Last time I checked. Whatcha need, son? I was just crawling in.”

  “I’ve got a pony that I’m to leave with you. It’s from Chief George. He lent me its use to get down the Colockum, and he’ll pick it up here in a couple days.”

  “Chief George let you have one of his horses?”

  “He let us borrow one, sir. If you’re indisposed, I can stable her myself and then be on my way.”

  Jed Holcomb cocked his head at me and scratched at his mustache. “Why in the world did ol’ George let you borrow one of his horses? He’s a good man and a friend of mine, but I’ve never known him to be sending his horses off with strangers, and a child no less.”

  “It’s a long story, sir.”

  The man stepped back and beckoned me inside.

  “Well come in and tell it, then. It’s gotta be a good one.”

  “I ain’t alone, sir,” I said, staying right where I was. I’d had about enough of folks being rude to Ah-Kee. “I’ll just leave the pony and be on my way.”

  The man peered past me and saw Ah-Kee standing by the pony. His face didn’t lose its friendly expression.

  “Well, heck, he’s smaller than you are! You think I don’t got room for the both of you? Just get the pony in the corral for now and come on in the back, the pair of you.”

  A few minutes later Ah-Kee and I sat on sawed-off logs by the fire, chewing on cold potato stew the man had left over from dinner. The gristly meat that required five chews to get down was a mystery better left unsolved, but the meal was met with much rejoicing by my empty belly.

  “We sure do appreciate this, sir,” I said between mouthfuls. “It’s been a number of days since either one of us had a decent meal.”

  “You’re more than welcome. Now, tell me how it is you ended up with a pony from Chief George.”

  I told him the whole business, starting with Mr. Grissom back in Mission. I left out the bits about my pants falling down and all of Ah-Kee’s tumbles from the horse, and truth be told I s’pose it did make a pretty good yarn. When I got to our encounter with Ezra Bishop, I skipped over the shovel and the gun and the tying and gagging. I just told him that we’d learned that Mr. Bishop had sold my pony to Mr. Campbell, who was now on his way to Yakima and then Walla Walla.

  Jed Holcomb let out a low whistle when I was through.

  “You boys done had a time of it,” he said. He looked at me serious for a moment, firelight shining in his eyes. “That horse means a lot to you, don’t she?”

  I fought the lump in my throat.

  “More than anything in the world, sir. She’s all I got.”

  “I understand, son. What’s more, John Campbell will, too. He’s a good man. He deals straight and treats the Indians fair. If you tell him what you told me, he’ll sell you your horse back. We just gotta get you to Yakima before Campbell leaves. And I reckon I know just how to do it. You can head out first thing in the morning.”

  “In the morning? I was hoping to get a move on tonight.”

  Mr. Holcomb shook his head.

  “No point, son. Mr. Campbell is well away, and on foot in this dark you won’t gain any ground. I got something else in mind that should have you in Yakima a heckuva lot quicker, and with a night’s rest and a breakfast in you.”

  He stood up and took our now-empty bowls.

  “There’s only the one bed in here, but you boys can sleep in the stable. There’s fresh hay that’s a fair piece softer than my old mattress, and I got plenty of blankets to keep you warm.”

  I wanted to argue, wanted to keep pushing after my Sarah, who was now so close I could feel her heart calling to me. But just hearing the words sleep and blanket were about enough to melt my tired bones into a puddle. And my belly didn’t mind hearing the word breakfast, neither.

  “Thank you, sir. That’d be much appreciated.”

  Mr. Holcomb gestured to Ah-Kee, sitting silent on his log chair.

  “He ever talk?”

  “Just to grizzlies, sir.”

  Mr. Holcomb smiled.

  “Right. Well, let’s turn in. You boys gotta heckuva adventure in store for you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  When morning came the next day, it came early and it came cold. Neither Ah-Kee nor myself felt much like getting up when Mr. Holcomb shook us, but I reckon we both knew it was time. The sun was just glowing over the eastward edge of the mountains when we hit the road with a cold breakfast in our bellies. Jed Holcomb and Ah-Kee and I were walking out of Ellensburg, but not on the road to Yakima that climbed up over the hills. We’d just passed the edge of the town, walking on a two-rut wagon road through a grassy pasture. Our breath puffed out in silver clouds as we walked.

  “You’d never catch Campbell on the road,” Mr. Holcomb was saying. “It’s almost all uph
ill through rough country. It takes you up and around the Teanaway Mountains, see? But,” he went on, “since you boys are traveling light with no gear or horses or such, you can take the direct route. Through the mountains. On the river.”

  “On the river, sir?”

  “You betcha. It’s a straight shot from Ellensburg to Yakima, right through Yakima Canyon. The river’s quick but not too wild. And I just happen to know where you can get a boat.”

  “All right, sir. Well, I sure—” My words stopped in my throat, and I skidded to a stop right there. Ah-Kee, walking along behind me, bumped into my back with an oof.

  Mr. Holcomb turned around. “What’s the matter, son?”

  “That over there,” I said, pointing at a lonely little bunch of trees off the road a bit. My voice was kind of weak and shaky and not at all like a grown man’s, but I didn’t care. “That’s a cemetery, ain’t it?”

  “Why, yes. That’s the traveler’s cemetery. It’s a little one, for homesteaders and such passing through.”

  I swallowed. Walking through the morning dark, I hadn’t recognized where we were. Those days a year before had been such a misery that my memories were all fuzzy and patched together. But I recognized the place sure enough now. For the second time in four days, I found the urgency of my mission derailed by an empty cemetery.

  “You go on ahead,” I said quiet. “I’ll catch up. I got to pay my respects.”

  “You know a person buried over there, son?”

  “Yes, sir.” I took a few steps off the road and into the long, waving grass. “I know two.”

  I found their graves, and they weren’t no primitive boards like poor Papa’s. They were proper stones, straight and graceful. Engraved, too. Papa’d spent nearly all the money we had left for them.