A very confused and troubled young man left Nettie Bowen’s house and set out for Hamilton Blunt’s palatial estate on the hill overlooking the freight yard. It was a walk of about three miles, so Jim had time to do a lot of thinking. For the most part, he tried to sort out the puzzling events that had ended with his mother living in the house of his father’s former employer. It was hard to accept the fact that Cameron was dead. Nettie Bowen had said that a loaded freight wagon ran him over. That was hard to believe—Cameron was an extremely careful young man. He’d be the last person Jim would figure to be the victim of such a freak accident.
Things looked busy at Blunt Brothers when Jim passed the office building and took the small winding road that led up the hill to the house. Hamilton Blunt had built a large white home that reflected his opulent tastes, with wide porches spanning the front and sides of the building. To Jim, it had always seemed like a great white castle hovering over the freight yard below. Blunt’s wife had had very little to say about the design of the house, according to what Jim’s father had told him. In fact, she only lived in the house a year before she suddenly became ill and died. Looking up at it now, Jim felt the cold, impersonal character of the structure. Grand as it was, there was no warmth in its facade.
Standing before a corner window of the freight office, Hamilton Blunt stared intently at the lanky youngster dressed in animal skins. He didn’t say anything until the boy turned in at the driveway to the house.
“Morgan, who the hell is that?” He didn’t wait for his brother to come to the window. “Is that that damn Tracey whelp?”
This captured Morgan’s attention right away. “What? Where?” He got up and joined his brother at the window. “Damn. I don’t know.”
“He’s supposed to be dead,” Hamilton growled.
They moved to a side window to watch the young man’s progress up the drive. “It couldn’t be young Tracey,” Morgan said. “LaPorte said he was dead. He wouldn’t have any reason to lie about it.”
Hamilton exhaled loudly, irritated. “I’m going up to the house. You stay here till I get back.”
* * *
Julia Tracey thought at first that she was looking at a ghost. She rose to her feet, forgetting the ball of yarn in her lap, ignoring it when it fell to the floor and rolled across the room. She rushed to the window and strained to see if the gangly young boy approaching the house was a trick her mind was playing. No—it was Jim!
For a moment she thought she might faint. Her head began to spin, and she grabbed the window sash for support. “Jim?” she heard herself whisper, still finding it difficult to believe that her son had returned. He had almost reached the bottom step of the porch before she recovered and hurried to the front door. As she rushed out to the porch, he looked up to see her.
“Ma!” he exclaimed and bounded up the steps two at a time. She hugged him tightly, released him to look at him for a few moments, then pulled him to her again. “I’m sorry, Ma. I’m sorry about Pa,” he blurted. “There wasn’t nothing I could do.” He suddenly felt guilty about coming home without his father, a feeling that he had somehow let her down.
“I know, Jim, I know. What could you do? You’re just a boy.” She held him at arm’s length again. “They told me you were dead too.” She looked him up and down as if to make sure he was all right.
“Well, I ain’t. I’m home now. I can take care of you. We can go back home.”
A frown creased her brow, and she said, “We’ll have to talk about that. You heard about Cameron?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He lowered his head and said nothing for a moment. “I reckon I’m the man of the house now.” He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got enough to take care of us for a while, till I can find work. We’ll be all right.”
They both turned then at the sound of a horse galloping up the path. Hamilton Blunt jerked the jet-black stallion to a halt, his hooves plowing up miniature dust clouds in the sun-baked dirt. Blunt had thrown a leg over his horse’s back before the animal came to a full stop. He dismounted only a few feet from the bottom step.
Jim had often seen his father’s employer, but not up close. He was surprised to see how big the man was. Dressed in English riding britches and a white shirt with a black string tie, he presented a formidable figure. He flashed a wide smile as he ascended the front steps and joined them on the porch.
“Well, well,” he said, “now isn’t this a wonderful sight for a mother’s eyes?” He turned his smile fully toward Jim’s mother. “This is Jim, isn’t it?” Turning back to Jim, he said, “We thought you were dead, boy.”
Jim explained how he happened to escape the fate his father had met when the war party attacked their camp. He apologized once more to his mother for not being in camp to help his father.
“I doubt it would have made any difference,” Blunt said. “Did you get a look at any of them, boy? Were they all wild Indians? That’s what we were told.”
“Well, I didn’t see all of ’em, but they were Injuns all right. Blackfoot, Buck said—that’s a feller I was trapping with.”
Blunt put his arm around Julia’s shoulder and pulled her close to him. She flushed slightly, looking a bit uncomfortable when she saw the look in Jim’s eye. “Well, Julia,” Blunt said, “I know you will get some comfort knowing Jim here is all right.” He turned his smile on the boy again. “Has your mother told you about us?”
Seeing the startled look on Jim’s face, his mother said, “Not yet, Hamilton. I haven’t had time.”
“Then it’s time we told him. Jim, your mother and I are going to be married.”
The announcement staggered Jim. He stepped back, recoiling from the impact of the words. “You’re what?” he exclaimed, not really knowing what to say. When his mother smiled and quietly nodded, the boy suddenly felt sick inside. “Why, Ma?” Then, trying to bring her to her senses, he pleaded. “You don’t have to do that, Ma. I’m back now. I’ll take care of you.”
“It’s not a question of having to—” Hamilton Blunt started.
“Don’t listen to him, Ma,” Jim interrupted. “You don’t have to marry nobody. Let’s go home. I’ll take care of you.”
“Son, you don’t have a home to go to anymore—” Blunt started once more. This time Jim’s mother interrupted.
“Let me talk to him, Hamilton. It’s an awful lot for a fourteen-year-old boy to understand.”
“As you wish, my dear. I’ve got to go back to the office now anyway, but I’ll see you at supper.”
Jim stood there trembling with hurt and anger as Blunt descended the steps and stepped up in the saddle. He fixed the boy with a stern look before pulling the black’s head around and kicking his heels into the animal’s sides.
“Ma, why are you doing this? You don’t want to marry that man.”
She took his hand and led him to a chair and bade him to sit. Patiently, she tried to explain. “Jim, I know it must be hard for you to understand. But when your father was killed, and then Cameron—and you, I thought—I was alone in the world. I had no place to go and no way to support myself. Hamilton Blunt came to my rescue, Jim. He was there when I needed someone desperately. I couldn’t afford to stay in the house. Where could I go?” She looked away, a wistful look in her eye. “He was kind enough to offer his home, and after a while. . .” She didn’t finish the statement. “Well, you don’t know Hamilton like I’ve come to know him, Jim. He’s a kind and generous man, and quite charming.” She took his hands in hers. “You’ll see. Wait till you get to know him better.”
He pulled his hands away. “Ma, I don’t want to hear you talk like that. Pa ain’t been dead more’n three months. How could you even think about getting married?”
“Sometimes you do what you have to do, Jim.” She tried to cheer him up. “Why, it’ll be a good thing for you, too. Hamilton is a very wealthy man. There may be opportunities for you.”
“There won’t be no opportunities for me. I’m John Tracey’s son and that’s who
I’ll always be. I don’t want nothing to do with that man. I’ll make it on my own, and if you do the right thing, you’ll come on home with me.”
“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m staying here.”
Jim was angry. He couldn’t understand his mother’s attitude. To him, it was an insult to his father for her even to be in Blunt’s house. It didn’t look right, and the thought of Hamilton Blunt stepping in and taking his father’s place made him feel sick inside. He prayed that wherever his pa was, he wouldn’t see what had come to pass. Exasperated with his mother and at a loss as to what he could do about it, he got up to leave. “I’m going home—to our house,” he emphasized. “Maybe when you quit acting crazy, you’ll come on home.”
“Jim,” she called out, but said nothing more when he turned his back to her and did not respond. It tore at her heart to see him act this way. He was too young to understand that she couldn’t depend on a boy of fourteen for support. She stood, wringing her hands as she watched her only surviving son striding determinedly down the path. I’ll speak to Hamilton, she thought. Maybe he can talk to the boy.
* * *
Hamilton was already determined to talk to the boy, but it was not going to be the kind of talk Julia was praying for. He stood at the side window of his office, watching for Jim to return from the house. When the boy reached the main road, Blunt walked out to intercept him as he passed in front of the freight yard. “Jim, boy,” he called out, affecting a friendly smile, “let’s talk a minute.”
Jim had already seen more of Mr. Hamilton Blunt than he cared to that day, but it appeared it was going to be difficult to avoid additional conversation. “I best be getting home,” he mumbled, hoping to avoid the confrontation.
Blunt was a big man, and it seemed to Jim that he purposely stood as tall as he could in an effort to intimidate him. The smile remained fixed on his face, however, as he confronted the boy. “Jim, I think there’s some things you should understand. You love your mother, don’t you, boy?” Jim did not respond. “Sure you do, and you want what’s best for her. I know you do. I know it’s hard on you, losing your pa and all. But your mother has a chance to have a much better life than what your pa could have ever given her. Now you have to be a big enough man to get out of her way and let her be happy.”
He paused and leveled a steady gaze at Jim, gauging the effect of his words. When there was no noticeable change in the boy’s expression, he attempted to convey a benevolent facade once more. “You’ve grown up quite a bit since the last time I saw you. Looks to me like you’re about ready to get out from under your mama’s petticoat and be off on your own. There’s not much work for a young man starting out around here. Maybe you’d have better luck if you tried the city.”
Jim looked at the man who was said to have been so kind to his mother. He decided right then that he didn’t like Hamilton Blunt—and not just because he was set on marrying his mother. There was something about the man that made Jim skeptical of everything he said. When he realized that Blunt was waiting for an answer from him, he said, “I think Ma will change her mind and come on back home, so I reckon I’ll just stay.”
He turned and started to leave, but Blunt caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Look here, boy. I’m trying to be nice to you. But if you don’t have enough sense to read my message, let me put it plain to you. I don’t want you around here. Your mama doesn’t want you around here. So I’m advising you to get the hell out of here and find someplace else to live—the farther from here, the better.”
Jim snatched his shoulder free of the powerful hand that pinched into it. “Now I’m advising you. Don’t ever lay your hand on me again.” He backed away, keeping a wary eye on the imposing man. “And I reckon I’ll go where I damn well please.”
“You little snot,” Blunt growled as the boy walked briskly away from him. We’ll see if you stay or not.
* * *
Jim had a great deal of thinking to do. He had been defiant toward Hamilton Blunt because he didn’t like the man—and he sure as hell didn’t like for anyone to tell him to get out of town. On the long walk back to his father’s house, he thought about the meeting he had just had with his mother. She was genuinely glad to see him—he was certain of that. On the other hand, there seemed to him a part of her that saw his return from the dead as inconvenient. When he recalled his mother’s last words to him, and the look in her eyes when she spoke them, he was struck with the cold realization that she was content to stay with Blunt. It was a bitter potion to swallow. He shook his head, trying to rid his mouth of the taste of gall.
By the time he reached the rough little cottage on the Milltown road, his mind was laboring with the decisions he struggled with. He was of a mind to take the gold he had brought back and head back to the West—look for Buck and Frank. But it was his mother! Maybe he should take up living in the house, and when she saw that he could take care of them, she would come home. Blunt had said Jim couldn’t pay the rent. Well, he didn’t know about the pouch Jim had hidden under the front porch the night before. He still wasn’t sure what he should do, but he made up his mind that he would stay there for a few days—if only because Blunt had told him to leave.
Having made a decision, at least for the time being, he spent most of the day cleaning and dusting. The house had been neglected since his mother had moved her things to Blunt’s house. Maybe, he thought, his mother might come by to see if he was here. If she did, he wanted things to look nice. After he had done about as much as he could to improve the appearance of the place, he decided he’d better get up to Trotter’s before the merchant closed for the day. There was nothing to eat in the house, and he had had nothing since Mrs. Bowen fixed him breakfast.
After making sure there were no curious eyes around, he reached under the corner of the porch and took a small amount of dust from the sack. The thought struck him that it might be pretty risky to leave that much gold lying around. For want of a better solution at the moment, he crawled back under the porch a little farther and scraped out a hole next to one of the stone posts. When it was covered up and smoothed over, he deemed it safe enough for the time being.
He was beginning to fear that he had waited too long to walk up to the store, but he was relieved to find Mr. Trotter still there. There were a couple of customers milling around when he walked in. One of them was a lady he did not know. The other was a man who appeared to be looking at a harness on the far side of the store.
“Well, I’ll be!” Mr. Trotter exclaimed. “I heard you were back from the dead, young fellow. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trotter.” Jim nodded politely to the smiling storekeeper. “I need some things. I can pay for them.”
Jim browsed around the store while Mr. Trotter waited on the lady. His mind was occupied with thoughts of the items he was going to need if he decided to stay in the house. It occurred to him that he needed a horse and a rifle. He wondered how much his pouch of gold would convert to in dollars. What if it wasn’t as much as he needed? His thoughts were interrupted when he almost bumped into the man looking at harnesses. “Beg your pardon, sir,” Jim offered.
“Hello, Jim,” came the subdued reply.
Surprised, Jim glanced up at the man’s face. “Oh! Hello, Mr. Bowen.” After his initial surprise at bumping into Mr. Bowen, his next thought puzzled him. Travis Bowen had probably been his father’s closest friend. They had worked together at the freight company for years. It struck Jim as odd that the man hadn’t greeted him as soon as he walked in the door. It even appeared that Mr. Bowen had purposely remained over behind the harnesses. Jim wondered if he would have spoken at all if Jim hadn’t practically cornered him.
“I heard you was back,” Bowen said softly, his words carefully chosen as if someone was eavesdropping. “I’m real sorry about your pa. He was a good man.”
“Yessir. Thank you, sir.”
Bowen fumbled for words. “And about Cameron,” he added. “But I’m glad to see you’re all righ
t, son.”
Travis Bowen had always been outspoken and friendly in the past, a man who enjoyed a good joke and liked to tease youngsters like Jim. But now, the man suddenly seemed so sober. Jim supposed it was out of respect for the deaths of his father and brother. He was about to tell Bowen that he had had breakfast at his house that morning when Bowen suddenly blurted out a quick good-bye, abruptly dropped the harness and headed for the door, saying he had something at home he had to attend to. Damn! He acted like I smell bad or something, Jim thought.
Bowen paused just before going outside. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back toward the boy. “Jim—be careful, son.” When the boy seemed mystified by his warning, Bowen fidgeted a moment more before adding, “If I was you, I’d stay well clear of the freight company.” Then he was out the door, leaving the boy to puzzle over his strange behavior.
The lady soon finished with her purchases, and Jim was left alone with Mr. Trotter. “Well, Jim, what can I do for you?” Trotter asked.
Jim explained that he needed a few things right away and the only currency he had was in the form of gold dust. He then produced the small amount he had tied up in the rag. Trotter took it and examined it under a glass he kept behind the counter. After a few moments of serious study, he pronounced it to be the genuine article and poured it on a scale to weigh it. “You’ve got about thirty dollars’ worth here. What do you wanna do with it?”
Thirty dollars! That seemed like a lot of money to Jim for not much more than a good-sized pinch of the yellow dust. His mind immediately started working on multiplying it times the pouchful he had hidden. “Uh,” he stammered, “can you set me up a line of credit?”
“Sure I can,” Trotter replied. “Have you got more of this somewhere?”
Jim hesitated before answering. His father had always said that Trotter was an honest man. Jim decided he could safely confide in the man. “Yessir, and I’d sure like to get it changed into something I can spend.”
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