“And furthermore, Brother McFadden, there comes a time that you must simply stand up for what’s right. You have to get up on your feet and....” The reverend continued.
McFadden’s eyes were watery and bloodshot, and he frowned as he tried to focus. Then he recognized the reverend and curled the corners of his mouth into a half-grin.
The reverend grinned as well. “Brother McFadden, you are a brave man to smile in the face of such adversity. In fact....” And he went on.
McFadden’s grin moved up his face to wrinkle the sweaty skin at the corners of his eyes.
The reverend, holding his breath against the aroma of his most wayward parishioner, smiled again too, wanting to show McFadden he was there to help. He leaned forward again, grinning broadly to encourage Brother McFadden, and said, “I’m here for you, Brother McFa—”
McFadden flung his mouth open and belched, long and loud.
As the hot, moist stench of alcohol and rot washed over the reverend’s nose and cheeks and ears, he quickly turned his face to one side, but not quickly enough. He arrested a gag reflex, and when he turned his head back to look at Brother McFadden again, his own eyes were watering.
Still grinning, McFadden said, “Oh, howdy reverend. Sorry about that. Hey, if you stopped by to see Edith, she ain’t here. Ol’ gal’s gone. Can y’believe it?”
Blinking back the tears in his own eyes, the reverend said, “Ah, well yes, she is gone indeed. And Brother McFadden, I know it’s hard to believe right now, but thing’s will get better.”
McFadden frowned at him. “Huh? Better’n what?”
The reverend thought the man must feel a terrible need to hold his emotions in check. Still, his job was to free those emotions so the healing could begin. “What I mean, the sooner you’re able to accept that our dear Edith has gone on to a better place, the sooner you’ll be able to get back to your normal life.”
McFadden’s frown deepened. “Huh?”
“I’m just saying it’ll be all right, Herbert. May I call you Herbert? I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but mark my words, everything will be all right with the passage of time. Why, one fine day you’ll be reunited, you and your good wife Edith.”
At that, McFadden frowned and stood, all six feet four inches and three hundred pounds of him, perhaps a bit too quickly. He staggered a half-step and nearly fell, but he caught himself on the table with his right hand.
Then he raised his left hand and extended his index finger in the general direction of the door. “You get outta here, reverend! I thought you was comin’ to say howdy, mebbe even celebrate with me a little bit. If you just came around here to threaten me, you get on outta here!”
The reverend’s eyes grew side. “What? B-but I was only saying that you and your lovely wife would be reunited someday and—”
“Lovely wife? Are you talkin’ about my Edith?”
“Wh-why yes. Of course.”
“So you’re a liar as well as a party pooper. Get on outta here! Go on, git!”
The reverend retreated toward the door, backing away, but somehow he was unable to stop dispensing worn-out platitudes. “Y-you’re just confused right now, Herbert.” He raised his right hand above his head and wagged that finger again. “For this too shall pass! The almighty lord god never would send more than you can bear! In the sweet by and by, on that beautiful shore beyond those gates of pure gold, you shall walk on streets of silver. And there, on that beautiful morn’, you shall be reunited with your beautiful Edith and—”
McFadden clapped both hands over his ears. “Ahh! Stop sayin’ that! Git! You git outta here, an’ don’t come back!”
The reverend finally had turned and hurried through the door, leaving the screen door half-open and canted at an odd angle as he flung himself off the porch. Feeling safe at last, he looked back and yelled, “You’ll feel different in the morning, Brother McFadden. All things work to the glory of the lord. I have to run now, no more time to chat. You come see me then, when you’re ready. Maybe we can talk about you continuing Edith’s tithe to the church.” The right arm shot up and that finger began wagging again. “For whatsoever ye give to the church shall be delivered back ten fold unto thee, and—”
The nearly empty bottle that had been laying on the table next to McFadden’s right hand sailed through opening and past the reverend’s left ear. “You git!”
The bottle hit a few feet behind him with a puff of dust and rolled several feet away. Then Herbert McFadden filled the doorway with his shotgun.
The reverend took only two steps to get up to full speed. He passed the bottle at a dead run.
Herbert laughed and lowered the shotgun. “Guess he didn’t want my offerin’ after all.”
But that had been five years ago.
*
These days the only other person who was around much was his boy Otis, him and that goofy kid who had come to live with them a few years back. And right now the two of them were out front, no doubt wanting something.
He stepped through the opening left by the screen door and put his hands on his hips. “Whaddayou boys want? I’m busy skinnin’ out a brace of jackrabbits out back.”
Just as Mac opened his mouth, Herbert held up hand, palm out, and wrinkled his nose. “Hold on.” He sniffed, then took a step and sniffed again. Finally he stepped down off the porch, his nose still wrinkled. The powdered ground on the well-worn path puffed a dust cloud up around his feet and ankles. He sniffed again. “You boys smell somethin’?”
Wes laughed and looked at Mac.
Herbert looked at him. “What’s funny?” He tilted his head and sniffed again. “Is that a skunk? You boys smell a skunk? It ain’t strong. Kind’a like mebbe like he was here but he’s gone now?”
Wes glanced past the man as a small black and white intruder ducked past the corner of the house and headed for his den in the roots of the elm tree near the field out back. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No sir, I don’t smell no skunk.” He looked up at his friend. “You, Mac?”
Mac looked at his dad. “No sir. I don’t smell no skunk either.”
McFadden looked at his son, then Wes, then back again. “Uh huh.” He sniffed the air. “Well, I don’t seem to smell it now either. Anyhow, what was it you boys wanted again?”
Mac said, “We got any biscuits left from this mornin’? Maybe a slice or two of bacon?”
“I think there might be. You plannin’ a trip?”
Mac nodded. “Yes sir.” He paused and looked at the ground, then back up at his father. “Somethin’ like that.
Herbert looked at them for a moment, as if appraising them, then nodded. “Plannin’ to be gone awhile I reckon.” He looked at the ground and shook his head, then looked at the boys again. “Wait here for a minute.” He turned around, grunted as he hefted himself back up on the porch, and disappeared through the door.
Mac looked at Wes, who shrugged.
Herbert came back out. He was carrying two gunbelts on his right forearm. His left fist was closed around the neck of a lumpy flour sack. He set the flour sack on the ground, then handed a gunbelt to each boy.
“I knew you’d be takin’ off ‘fore too much longer. I seen the way you look even when the stage comes through town.” He paused. “Ah, but it’s only natural. I remember them urges an’ that need to get out an’ see things. You’re gonna have to go do what you need to do.”
He nodded toward the guns in the holsters. “Those are Navy Colts. They ain’t the prettiest an’ they’re used. All I could afford. But they was both cleaned and tested, an’ they both work like brand new.”
Mac hefted his revolver, then slipped it back into the holster. He looked up at his father. “Thanks, Pappy.”
Herbert shrugged, then cleared his throat. “Navy Colt’s the best revolver out there right now. Some folks like the new Remingtons, but I’d go with a Colt every time.”
He paused. “Anyway,
no matter what you decide to do with your life, you can always use a good sidearm. Practice whenever you can. Don’t go for speed. Take your time, be calm, and shoot for accuracy. Speed will come with time. If it’s another man, aim for his middle. That’s the part that’s hardest to get out of the way fast.”
As the boys were strapping on the gunbelts, Herbert bent and picked up the flour sack. He offered it to Mac. “A little food. Just somethin’ to get you started. Matches. Stuff like that.”
Mac took the sack. “Thanks, Pappy.”
Herbert nodded. “Well, you prob’ly better to go on an’ go instead of draggin’ it out.” He looked toward the barn, then back at the boys. “You can take your horses or you can trade ‘em to me and pick out a couple others. Up to you.”
Wes said, “Mr. McFadden, I’m really partial to that two year old sorrel. Him an’ me get along real good. If you’re sure—”
Herbert nodded. “I been seein’ that. Go on an’ take him. He’d prob’ly just mope around here after you left anyway.”
Mac looked at his father. “Thanks for everything, Pappy. An’ I mean everything.”
Herbert looked at him for a moment and nodded, then turned and started for the house. He stopped and turned around. “Boys, listen. You don’t have to end up like me, glued to one spot. I mean, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, but you can do anything you want to do. Don’t forget that. There’s only three secrets to it: the first is to know who you are. Don’t matter who the other guy is if you know who you are. The second is to know your abilities and don’t overreach ‘em. And the third is to be aware that most men will try to overreach theirs. Understand?”
Both boys nodded. “Yes sir,” Mac said.
“Yes sir,” Wes said. “If you don’t overreach and they do, that’s when you’ve got ‘em.”
Herbert grinned and nodded. “You’re gonna do fine.” He turned and stepped up onto the porch. On his way into the house, he took the time to close the screen door right.
Mac and Wes turned away and headed for the barn.
They each took an extra saddle blanket for a ground cloth, and they each took two wool blankets from their cots to make a bedroll. When they had everything stowed and they were mounted, they rode slowly past the house.
Herbert was standing back away from the window as the two rode past. “Vaya con dios, mijos. Go with God, my boys.” He turned and went back to his rabbits.
Mac twisted in the saddle, looked around. “I’m guessin’ Pappy got busy with those rabbits again.”
Wes nodded. “I ‘spect he didn’t wanna watch us ride off.”
Quietly, Mac said, “Can’t say I really blame him for that. Some ways I’m gonna miss this ol’ place.”
The boys walked the horses until they got to the corner. There they reined in for just a moment and looked back up the road at the house. Then they turned south and urged their horses to a canter.
Wes leaned forward and patted the sorrel’s neck. “We’re gonna have some adventures, boy. What sort’a name should I give you?”
The horse tossed his head and neighed. The sound that came out sounded remarkably like “Charley.”
Wes looked at Mac. “Did you hear that?”
Mac laughed and shook his head. “He said ‘Charley,’ right? Yeah, I heard it, but if you ask me in public I’ll deny it.”
Wes patted the sorrel’s neck again. “Good to meet you, Charley. An’ thanks for lettin’ me know.”
He and Mac were still grinning and talking as Watson faded behind them to the north.
Amarillo, the Texas Rangers and the rest of their lives lay before them.
* * *
Corporal Connolly and four weary Rangers rode back into Watson late in the morning the day after the Battle of Boquillas Draw. The corporal already had instructed his men. They would swap their gear onto their own horses, including his, while he was settling up with Mr. Billings.
As they turned into the livery yard, the cloud of dust that had followed them through town over the powdery streets drifted past. They slowed their horses to a walk, then stopped them and dismounted near the corral.
Corporal Connolly continued on foot toward the house as the others set to work. Just as he drew near the porch and started to hail whomever was in the house, Mr. Billings opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch.
He shook hands with Corporal Connolly. “You get ‘em?”
Connolly nodded. “Yes sir, we got all but one of ‘em. We lost two men though—good men—and one of your horses.”
Billings shook his head. “I’m really sorry to hear that about your men. As for the horses, it happens, I suppose.”
“Yes sir. We’ll let the governor know. He’ll reimburse you at a fair rate, like I said before. Also, we’re gonna leave a couple of extra horses here with you. They belonged to the men we lost. They’re yours as far as we’re concerned. No need to say anything to anyone about that. It’s our way of sayin’ thanks for helpin’ us out.”
“Oh. Well, you don’t have to do that, Corporal.”
“No sir, I know, but it’s all right. Actually, I think the men we lost—their names were Harold Reeves and Enrique Mimbres—I think they would have wanted you to have their horses.”
“Mimbres, eh? Sounds like an Indian name.”
“Yes sir. There’s a whole tribe of ‘em. Mimbres Apaches over around the Mogollon Rim country. Ricky was half Mex and half Apache. He was a damn good man.”
Billings looked at him. “Yes, I imagine he was.” He paused. “Listen, I want to thank you for what you do, all of you. And thank you for setting me straight, you know, before.”
“Yes sir. Well, it’s easy to lose sight of priorities when things are going too well for too long. You all just be watchful an’ you’ll be fine.”
Billings nodded. “Well, you all do whatever you need to do out there and I’ll hope to see you again someday. And thanks again.” He proffered his hand.
As they shook, Connolly said, “You’re welcome, sir. See you again, I hope it ain’t for the same reason. Good luck to you.”
“And to you, Corporal.” Mr. Billings turned and went back inside as Corporal Connolly headed toward the corral.
* * *
A few hours after they left Watson, Wes and Mac reined in to rest the horses at Coldwater Creek. It was little more than a trickle, but there was a small pool so the horses could drink and cottonwoods for shade.
Wes opened one of his saddle bags and pulled out a book. He settled at the base of a cottonwood, took off his hat and placed it on his bent knee, then opened his book.
Mac frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s a book.”
“Well hell, Wes, I can see it’s a book. Where’d you get it? And don’t say outta your saddle bags.”
Wes closed the book. “A’right. Fella was passin’ through town, oh, couple weeks ago I guess. ‘Member when I asked you to go fishin’ a couple weeks ago an’ you had somethin’ else to do?”
“You never asked me to go. I was cleanin’ up the barn. You were supposed to help.”
“That right? I didn’t know.” Wes grinned. “Hey, you should’a said somethin’.”
“I told you twice Pappy wanted us to clean up the barn that day.”
“Must not’a heard you.”
“You said all right, Wes, an’ a little while later you disappeared.”
Wes wagged one hand in the air. “Anyway, fella was in a wagon, looked like a big box behind him. I figured he lived in there.
“He asked me for directions to Amarillo. Said he had a load of books an’ he was takin’ ‘em down there.”
Mac frowned. “What kind of books?”
Wes shrugged. “I don’t know. All kinds, I guess. How many kinds are there? Anyhow, I showed him how to get to Amarillo an’ he gave me this book.” Wes held it up. “Guy named Shakespeare. All about kings an’ foreign lands an’ all kinds of stuff like that. Pretty good stuff.”
Mac looked around. “Sounds all right to me.”
Wes got up, carried his book to his horse and put it in his saddle bag, then unstrapped his bedroll. He walked back to where he’d been sitting among two large cottonwoods and a smaller one and rolled it out. His little camp was protected from the wind on three sides. “Think I’m gonna sack out right here.”
Mac said, “Looks like a good spot. Maybe in the mornin’ we can get in some practice with these Colts ‘fore we head out. First light?”
Still arranging his blankets, Wes shook his head. “I don’t need no practice. Neither do you, not really.” He turned and headed back to take his gear off Charley.
“Didn’t you hear Pappy, Wes? He said we was to practice whenever we got the chance.”
Wes carried his saddle in the direction of his bedroll. “I heard him. I also heard him say to stay calm, take aim and shoot for the center of the torso.”
He dropped the saddle at the head of his bedroll, then dropped the saddle bags on the ground next to it. He knelt and dug through one saddle bag. “Thing is, we both hit what we aim at already, so we don’t need no practice to do that. The only practice we need is practice stayin’ calm, an’ you can’t practice that when nobody’s shootin’ back.” He shrugged. ‘Sides, I figure we’d be better served to save our ammo in case we need it.”
He pulled a cloth out of the saddle bag, straightened and turned around. “Got a few biscuits here, and a little bacon. You want some?”
Mac shook his head. “Not right now.”
Wes nodded and took a bite of bacon. “Now then, Mr. McFadden, if you wanna go off up the creek in the mornin’ an’ blow off a lot of ammunition while we’re still out here on the prairie alone, be my guest. I’ll wait for you. Hell, I’ll even keep watch for all them Comanches your shootin’ll prob’ly bring down on top of us. Matter of fact, I’ll even go so far as to—”
Mac threw up his hands. “All right, all right. No practicin’. We’ll just get an early start.” He turned and stomped off. Under his breath he muttered, “Sooner we get to Amarillo, sooner we’ll be Rangers.” He stopped and looked back at Wes. “With any luck at all they’ll assign us to differ’nt outfits and I’ll finally be shut of you.”
The Rise of a Warrior Page 6