Once an Outlaw

by Raine Cantrell

  Chapter Nine

  Logan used the simple law of survival to locate the boy. Every living creature depended upon three things. Water, food and shelter from predators.

  It was midmorning before he found the trickle of a stream and followed its course back to where it widened. Churned-up dried mud drew him to hunker down and study the spot. The soft sounds of water rushing over the rocky streambed soothed him. He let himself be distracted by thoughts of Jessie. If old Santo, more father than guardian of all that bore the Kincaid name, could meet Jessie, he would say she was a lot of woman. Logan would agree. It went beyond her lush body to a strong will and stubborn mind. He wished there was time to explore the feelings stirring for her.

  He wasn’t a man given to wishing for what he couldn’t have. Bringing his thoughts back to the problem at hand, he studied the ground. More than one set of bare feet had churned the mud. Rising, he scanned the bank with its low-growing brush. A few yellow-and-black dog-face butterflies hovered over the scattered wildflowers. Two hawks circled above, and he heard the incredible rapid whir of a hummingbird’s wings but couldn’t spot the tiny bird.

  There were plenty of places that would offer concealment. Logan began to quarter the area, looking for clues. Upstream he found a deeper pool, a place where the grasses had been crushed often and a small pile of flat smooth stones such as a boy might collect for skimming the water. He knew he wasn’t mistaken about the last. He and his brothers had often held contests to see who could send a stone skipping the farthest.

  Ty, the youngest, was an impatient cuss, he not much better, but Conner would have them hopping from one foot to the other waiting for him to select the perfect stone, the right spot to stand, even wetting one finger and holding it up to test the wind before he’d finally make his throw. Conner usually won, too.

  As he worked his way back from the stream, Logan thought of how sure Jessie was that no one had staked a claim on land near her. When he caught the smell of frying fish, Logan knew Jessie was wrong but he was on the right path.

  Concealed in a thicket, he carefully parted the brush and nearly gave away his hiding place. Two wagons—prairie schooners, for they were smaller than the larger and cumbersome Conestogas—canvas tops intact but wagon tongue empty of oxen or the draft horses needed to pull the sixteen-foot-long wagon, rested beneath a half circle of cottonwoods. In the center a small fire burned, and Logan saw two trout frying in the black pan. His mouth watered. It had been a long time since he’d fished and fried his catch. Too long.

  The campsite wasn’t new. Deadfall was piled high, an ax protruded from a stump, signs of the clearing being enlarged showed in dried clump grasses that had been pulled from the earth. Two rocking chairs sat off to one side. Between two trees a line was strung with a few pieces of clothing hanging over the rope.

  What Logan didn’t see was the boy, or anyone else moving around. Those fish sure smelled ready to come off the fire. Anyone leaving them to burn had to do so for a good reason. He knew before he heard the snap of a twig behind him that he’d been caught.

  “Come up slow and easy, mister.”

  Poked with a rifle barrel, Logan didn’t have any choice. “I didn’t come looking to hurt you. I just wanted—”

  “Makes no never mind. You toss that gun aside. An’ jus’ remember that I’m watchin’.”

  “Boy, when a man comes friendly-like to your camp you don’t hold a gun on him.”

  “Didn’t see no sign of you being friendly, mister. You’re creepin’ ’round back here, watchin’ us.”

  “Us?” So there was someone else taking care of the boy.

  “That’s what I said. An’ I’m still waitin’ on you.”

  Logan tossed the gun aside. He could have gotten the drop on the boy, but he wanted to prove he meant no harm.

  “Now what?”

  “Now you mosey into camp. An’ remember I’m right behind you.” Kenny swiped at the sweat dripping into his eyes. It was a good thing the man didn’t turn, or he’d see how scared he was. Marty was hiding, and not likely to come out.

  Standing in the clearing, Logan glanced around. The delicious smell of the frying fish made his belly rumble. “Your fish are gonna burn if you don’t turn them, boy. And since I’ve done what you asked, why don’t you tell me your name?”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Logan. You can’t think I’d hurt you after you saved my life?”

  “Can’t be too careful, mister. ’Sides, I seen the men you were with. I wouldn’t trust one of ’em iffen I was paid to.”

  “I ain’t asking you to trust anyone but me. And Miz Winslow. Jessie, that’s her name, Jessie Winslow, is the widow you’ve been…er…trading with.”

  “What’d ya come lookin’ for?”

  “You and whoever you’re with. I need to leave Jessie, and I’d feel a mite better if you’d keep an eye on her. You say you saw those men that left me for dead. Then you can understand why I’d be worried about her being down there alone without a man to watch over her.”

  “I ain’t no man.”

  “Maybe not in size or years, boy, but I’d be proud to call you a friend. It was a mighty fine thing you did, taking care of me and getting me up to Jessie’s place.”

  “Yeah, well, jus’ so’s you know. We were buryin’ you when you started moaning. Like to scared me spitless, too.”

  “You were burying me!” Logan exclaimed. By almighty heaven, he’d had a closer brush with death than he had known. Buried? Lord!

  “That’s what I said. Couldn’t leave you for buzzard bait. Ain’t fittin’ for folks to be a meal for ’em.”

  “Then I’ll double my thanks. I’d still like to know your name. Can’t thank you properly unless I do. You can’t be running from the law?”

  “Like you, mister? Naw. We ain’t running from anyone. Guess I can tell you. It’s Kenny.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Kenny. Now that we’ve exchanged names, do you think I could sit down? It was a trek from the cabin and I’m mighty thirsty. Standing here and smelling that fish is making my innards grumble something fierce. Will your daddy mind if I join you?”

  “My pa’s dead.”

  “Sorry, boy. Mine is, too.” The question had been a wild shot, but Logan had no idea why he told the boy about his father.

  “Guess it’d be all right for you to sit over there against that big cottonwood. I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Trusting young’un,” Logan muttered beneath his breath as he settled himself on the ground. He hadn’t lied about his belly rumbling from the delicious smell of the fish, but he had a feeling that the wiry boy holding the shotgun on him wasn’t going to be won over easily. He’d never met such a distrusting kid. But it was that very trait that made Kenny perfect to look after Jessie. Not that he didn’t think Jessie wasn’t smart enough to take care of herself. She was. She had been doing fine until he’d come along. But he couldn’t forget seeing Zach nosing around. There was no question that he couldn’t stay, so Kenny was his next choice. If he could convince the boy and whoever was with him to do it.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Kenny. You can put that shotgun away. Maybe you should fetch your ma?”

  “She’s dead, too. I ain’t got no folks, no family but for my cousin.”

  “Then you got more than Jessie. She’s alone but for that swayback mare of hers and her chickens.” Once more Logan looked around, trying to find some clue if the cousin was near, was male or female.

  Kenny saw that the edges of the fish were browned and ready to come off. He grabbed a rag and took hold of the frying pan’s long handle, sliding it from the grate over the fire to a flat slab. His own mouth was watering to taste the fish he and Marty had caught. Marty wouldn’t come out unless he called him and told him it was safe. This Logan didn’t talk down to him, and there was something about the man’s eyes, the way he looked right at a person when he talked, like he didn’t have anything to hide. His ma sure set store by a person doing that
.

  Logan sat very still, sensing that Kenny was studying him and making up his mind if he would trust him or not. It made Logan lean toward thinking that the other half of the “we” Kenny had mentioned was a female. That only sent his curiosity flaring. Why would they be living here?

  “You know, Kenny, you really are a very brave boy. Not many would have gone through the trouble you did for me. I’d like…” Logan said, lifting his hip to get into his pocket, then remembered that he had given all his money to Jessie. “Damn! Listen, when Jessie gets back, I’ll have a little something to thank you with. But I promise you, Kenny, I’ll reward you for what you did.”

  “Don’t want nuthin’. I got all I need right here.”

  Logan stared at the boy. His wheat-colored hair hung to his shoulders, there was a rip on one shirtsleeve and his pants had been clumsily patched. His brown eyes, dark and shadowed too deeply for a boy his age, never left Logan. He was, to Logan’s mind, as patient as a peach ripening. Most disconcerting to have that direct gaze focused on you, making him feel as exposed as a chicken in a stewpot.

  “Do I get to meet your…er…cousin, was it?”

  “Yeah. My cousin. Don’t know if the feeling’s the same. Figure you’re a right sort of man judging by things my ma tol’ me. Marty!” he yelled. “Com’on out. He ain’t gonna hurt us.”

  “Thank you, Kenny,” Logan said with every bit of sincerity he could muster.

  “You’re welcome, mister. Com’on, Marty. Bring PeeWee with you.”

  “PeeWee?” Logan turned at a sound from the far wagon where a smaller boy was climbing down. Wrapped around his neck was a long thick fur. When he turned, blue eyes dancing with inquisitiveness, Logan smiled.

  “So this is your cousin?” The import of that hit him. Logan looked at Kenny, then the younger boy. These two…that thin-limbed little boy and Kenny…

  “Lord, I was figuring you were talking about a man-size cousin, boy.”

  “Me and Marty get by jus’ fine. I take good care of him. And we got PeeWee.”

  “Ah, yes, PeeWee. Just what is—”

  “Show him, Marty. Go on, get closer and let him see.” To Logan he said, “If you’re real gentle you can pet him.”

  Logan judged the smaller Marty to be about five or six. Like Kenny, the boy was fair skinned, but his hair, while as long, was straight corn-silk blond. He almost looked too pretty to be a boy, but Logan wisely kept his thoughts to himself. Kenny still had that shotgun within easy reach.

  “It’s all right, Marty. You can come closer to me. I promised Kenny I didn’t come here to hurt either one of you. And I’d sure like to get a better look at PeeWee.”

  Marty tilted his head to the side and rubbed his chin against the soft caramel-furred animal. Logan saw the inquisitive nose twitch, and he smiled, for it reminded him of the boy who held him.

  “PeeWee’s a ferret,” Kenny informed Logan. “He can climb trees and run so fast he’s a blur goin’ by. We got a muzzle for him to help us hunt rabbit. PeeWee goes down into their burrows an’ drives the rabbits out. Long as we keep him clean and warm, he’s happy to stay with us.”

  Logan reached out and stroked lightly over the ferret’s back. He was almost three feet long, with a black mask and black feet and resembled a small weasel. “Bet he likes to fish and hunt mice.”

  “An’ s-squirrels, too,” Marty added.

  “Don’t mind Marty’s stutterin’. He does that when he’s real excited or ’fraid of something.”

  The longer Logan spent with Kenny, the more he was coming to admire the boy.

  “I’m g-glad you’re all b-better, uh—” Marty broke off and glanced at Kenny. “What’s his name?”

  “My name is Logan, Marty. And I offer you the same thanks I gave Kenny for saving my life.”

  Digging one toe into the ground, Marty swayed back and forth. “Shucks, couldn’t do nuthin’ else. It shore was a sight to see the widow woman so happy when she found you that she was cryin’.”

  The last was said so fast that Logan found it hard to make out what he said. Jessie so happy that she was crying? Not likely. Not the Jessie he knew. She had probably cried out of frustration for finding him in her doorway. But they had gone on long enough about him. It was time that he got some answers.

  “You’d best go put PeeWee back in his cage ’fore we eat. He had his share, Marty, so don’t be lookin’ at me like that.”

  To Logan’s surprise, Marty obeyed him. And his fear grew that the boys were well and truly on their own.

  “Kenny, I think you should tell me what happened to your folks.”

  “Tol’ you, they’s dead.”

  “But when did they die? You and Marty didn’t haul those wagons here by yourselves.”

  Kenny hunkered by the frying pan and carefully divvied up the fish into three tin plates. He heard Logan repeat his question. Finished with the preparation, he rose and brought a plate to Logan.

  “All we got is water to drink.”

  “That’ll be fine.” Logan hated pushing the boy, but time was short and he refused to leave without the answers and the promises he had come for. “How long have you and Marty been here?”

  “I don’t reckon the days so good. Maybe three or four months. Know we set out in March, ’cause Pa was all het up ’bout that Hayes fella gettin’ elected.” Marty picked up a plate with two hands and carefully carried it to Kenny.

  “Can I sit with you?”

  “Be my pleasure to have your company. Both of you,” Logan added. He poked through the flaky fish and picked out some bones, then, following his young host’s lead, ate with his fingers.

  “Where’d you set out from, Kenny?”

  “You sure do ask a lot of questions. Guess there ain’t harm in sayin’. We’re from Kansas. Ain’t that right, Marty?”

  The boy was ravenously attacking his fish, and barely nodded.

  “Maybe it’s painful for you to tell me, but I’d like to know how the two of you ended up here alone. Don’t you have kinfolk back home? I could send a telegram to them so they could come and get you.”

  It was only because he was watching them so closely that Logan noticed Marty paused in shoveling fish into his mouth, and Kenny shot him a narrow-eyed look.

  “Marty and me ain’t got no kinfolk back home. Jus’ him and me. Ain’t no one gonna separate us.”

  “Whoa, Kenny. I’m not looking to do any such thing. No need to get surly with me, either. I’m asking ’cause I want to help.”

  “We ain’t asked for any.”

  “Boy, I can tell you haven’t had anyone put a muzzle on your mouth for some time. I’m here. I’m gonna help, and in return, so it’s fair, you’ll help me.” He glanced at Marty and saw the boy blinking rapidly, sucking noisily on his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

  “That’s right. You shouldn’t.” Finished, Kenny rose and went by Marty. He placed his hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “Marty here gets real upset with yelling. So don’t do it again or you’ll have to leave.”

  “Best watch out the ’Pache don’t get hold of you, Kenny. They’ll make a warrior out of you.”

  “Already had a run-in with ’em when they stole our stock. Took the oxen teams, three horses, our milk cow, chickens and pigs. They ain’t been back, though. Guess they don’t figure same as you.” He walked over near the wagon, then carried a bucket and dipper to Logan, who helped himself to a drink of water. Next he took the bucket over to Marty and made sure he drank before he took a dipper for himself.

  All Logan could think at that moment was how much Kenny reminded him of his older brother, Conner. Conner the Caretaker was what he and Tyrel had called him behind his back, and never in kindly terms. But seeing Kenny care for the younger boy, cousin or not—Logan had not made up his mind if he believed that—made him understand something that both Sofia and Santo often said about Conner. He’d been a man before he ever had a chance to be a boy. The elderly couple had come with his mother up
on her marriage to claim the land grant that had belonged to her family in this new territory. They had helped hold the Kincaid family together when his father died. Logan knew he’d been rich with more than the family wealth; it was the family itself, including those like Santo and Sofia, that gave him more than these two boys had.

  And there rose within him a craving to be home, to be surrounded by people he trusted, by those he loved. But he wasn’t going anywhere without having finished what he started out today to do.

  “You finished, Logan?”

  He started, so deep were his thoughts, and found Kenny standing in front of him. “Sure, boy. I’m done. Best I’ve tasted in a long time.”

  Kenny nodded, but before he turned away, Logan caught the hint of a smile on his thin lips. He went to Marty, scraped the plates and reminded him it was his turn to wash the dishes, then bury the remains of the fish.

  “And dig the hole deep this time, Marty. We don’t want animals nosin’ around camp again.”

  The moment Marty headed off in the direction of the stream, Kenny came to sit alongside Logan. “I been doin’ some thinkin’. Iffen you ain’t stayin’, who’s gonna take care of the widow woman? Marty an’ me sorta figured that you an’ her—”

  “Hold up, Kenny. Let’s get finished with you and then we’ll discuss Jessie. You are going to tell me what happened here, aren’t you?”

  “Ain’t no reason not to. Couldn’t say much in front of Marty. He still gets real bad dreams. Sometimes he cries.”

  “Then he’s mighty lucky to have you.” But who holds you when the bad dreams come, boy? The question was not one he’d ask.

  “We come up on this place an’ Pa figured it was a good spot for us to stay for a few days. He was thinkin’ ’bout filin’ on a piece since they passed a…a…some kind of act.”

  “The Desert Land Act. It brought lots of settlers out to the territory to file a twenty-five-cent-an-acre claim on six hundred and forty acres. What no one tells folks is that the Apache have hunted this land for longer than white men have lived in this country an’ they ain’t about to give it over without a fight.”