Bounty Hunter lj-1

by William W. Johnstone

  Better for him, too, because he still couldn’t feel his legs or anything below the waist, and he would rather be dead than a cripple. He wouldn’t go back to the farm and be a burden to the rest of his family.

  Emily got up for a moment and came back with a wet rag. She leaned down and swabbed it over his face. The cool touch felt wonderful.

  Sometime while she was doing that, he passed out again. When he woke up, bright sunlight was slanting in through the cabin’s open door.

  “Huh. You ain’t dead after all.” That somewhat surprised statement came from Emily’s grandfather, who had taken her place in the rocking chair beside the bunk.

  Luke licked dry, cracked lips and husked, “I could use ... something to drink.”

  “Yeah, you’re pretty well wrung out, I expect. I’ll fetch you a cup.”

  The old man came back with a dented tin cup. Luke took a sip of the clear liquid in it and promptly spit it out in an instinctive reaction.

  “That’s a waste of good corn, son,” the old-timer said. “See if you can keep some of it down this time. You’re gonna need it.”

  “What do you . . . mean by that?”

  “I mean your fever may have broken for now, but that wound in your back’s in bad shape. That Yankee bullet’s got to come out if you’re gonna have any chance of makin’ it.”

  Two things were wrong with that, Luke thought. It wasn’t a Yankee bullet that had laid him low, but rather one fired by a renegade Confederate. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to have a chance of making it, not in the condition he was in.

  But the hatred of giving up was bred deeply within him. “All right, give me another sip of that shine.”

  The old man chuckled. “Emily said you was from up in the Missouri Ozarks. I reckon you prob’ly know good corn liquor when you taste it.” He held the cup to Luke’s lips.

  Carefully, Luke sipped the fiery stuff. His stomach rebelled against it, but he managed to keep it down. He drank enough that it affected him immediately and set his head to spinning. “You’re going to . . . cut the bullet of me, aren’t you?”

  The old man nodded gravely. “That’s the only thing to do. As soon as Emily gets back from the tradin’ post to hold you down, we’ll get started.”

  “Go ahead and . . . do it now,” Luke urged. “I can . . . stay still.”

  “You don’t know what you’re sayin’. Even with that liquor in you, it’s gonna hurt worse ’n anything you ever felt before.”

  “Look . . . Emily doesn’t weigh enough . . . to hold me down . . . if I start bucking around. I’m going to have to . . . control it . . . whether she’s here or not.”

  The old man rubbed his jaw as he frowned in thought. His fingertips rasped on the white stubble. “More than likely you’re right about that,” he admitted. “Might not make much difference whether the gal’s here or not.”

  “I don’t want her... to have to see it,” Luke said. “Give me ... a leather strap or something . . . to bite on.”

  “My razor strop’ll do.”

  “And maybe . . . some more of that moonshine first.”

  “We can sure do that,” the old man said.

  A few minutes later, after several more swallows of the potent liquor, Luke’s head was spinning even faster. He set his teeth in the leather strap and watched as the old man heated the long blade of a hunting knife in the fireplace until it glowed cherry red.

  He carried the knife quickly back over to the bunk. “The wound’s scabbed over, but I’ll have to open it again so all the pus can get out. You ready?”

  “Just . . . get it done,” Luke said around the strap. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  The old man was right about one thing: it hurt worse than anything Luke had ever experienced. His teeth bore down on the leather and every muscle in his body turned tight and hard as an iron strap . . . every muscle he could still feel, anyway. The mingled stink of burned flesh and corruption filled the room. Luke groaned.

  After what seemed like an eternity of torture, the old-timer exclaimed, “I got it!”

  Some of the terrible pressure Luke had felt in his back was released. The pain didn’t slack off much, but any relief at all was a blessing.

  He felt the old man wiping at his back with a rag. “You’re bleedin’ like a stuck pig, boy, but I reckon that’s a good thing. Maybe it’ll wash out all the festerin’. If you don’t bleed to death first, that is.”

  The pain continued to recede. Luke’s head slumped back to the bunk, and the leather strap slipped out of his mouth as his teeth released their grip on it. His pulse pounded inside his skull, and he breathed harshly and heavily.

  “Grampaw, what in hell are you doin’?” That startled cry came from Emily. “My God, there’s blood all over the place! You’ve killed him!”

  “Take it easy, gal. He’s alive. And I got that bullet outta his back.”

  “Is that why you sent me to the tradin’ post?” she demanded. “So you could start cuttin’ on him without me bein’ here to stop you?”

  “Shoot, I didn’t even know he was gonna wake up. His fever broke, but it would’ve come right back if I didn’t get that bullet out. Look there . . . that’s healthy blood comin’ out of him now. We can go ahead and stop it, and he can start gettin’ his strength back.”

  Emily went closer to the bunk and bent down to peer at Luke’s face. He saw her only vaguely through his pain and weariness.

  “You mean he’s gonna be all right?” she asked.

  “I mean he’s got a chance now,” her grandfather told her.

  But the biggest question, Luke thought just as he slipped back into unconsciousness, wasn’t whether he would live or not.

  The question was whether his legs would work . . . or whether he was going to be a cripple for the rest of his life, however long that was.

  CHAPTER 15

  The fever didn’t come back. When Luke woke again, he was ravenously hungry, but able to eat only a few bites of the stew Emily fed him before it started to sicken him. He kept it down, though.

  From talking to Emily, he found out it wasn’t the day after she’d rescued him from the riverbank. As a matter of fact, three days had passed since that stormy afternoon.

  “You were burnin’ up with fever and out of your head most of that time,” she told him as she sat in the rocker beside the bunk. “You kept ravin’, but I couldn’t make much sense out of most of it.”

  “What did I say? Did I talk about anybody in particular?”

  “Oh, your ma and pa, of course. I’d expect that. And somebody named Kirby.”

  “My little brother,” Luke said.

  “And Janey.”

  “My sister.”

  “And Potter.”

  It was all Luke could do not to snarl in hatred. “He’s not part of my family.”

  “I hope not, the way you were talkin’ about him. Remember how I said I could cuss pretty good? Well, you had me beat all hollow while you were talkin’ about that fella Potter.”

  “He’s the man who shot me,” Luke said. “He and his friends are deserters and renegades.”

  “Well, then, you’ve got good reason to be cussin’ him. I figured somebody must’ve waylaid you and robbed you when I didn’t find no horse anywhere thereabouts.”

  Luke waited a moment, then asked, “Did I talk about anything else?” He wanted to know if he had said anything about the gold while he was out of his head.

  “Not really. There were some other names . . . Renny, somethin’ like that?”

  “Remy,” Luke said. “A good friend.”

  “And Dale and Edgar. Who are they?”

  “More friends.” Luke didn’t offer any further explanation. Their bodies must have been taken by the river before Emily found him, otherwise she would have asked him before now who those dead men were.

  Just as well, he thought. He didn’t want to tell her about the gold, about the way he had lost it and gotten his friends killed. That was a burde
n he was going to bear alone.

  “Grampaw says it looks like that bullet hole in your back is healin’ up better now,” Emily went on. “I was sure upset with him when I came in and found that he’d been cuttin’ on you, but I reckon he did the right thing.”

  “What’s your grandfather’s name?” Luke hadn’t heard her call him anything except Grampaw.

  “Linus Peabody,” she told him.

  “A fine name. I’m in his debt ... and yours.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t owe me nothin’.”

  “You saved my life. I would have died out there if it wasn’t for you.”

  “It’s my Christian duty to help folks in need.”

  “I wish more people felt like you about that,” Luke said. “If they did, we might not have had this war.”

  “Grampaw says we didn’t need to have it anyway. We never had no slaves and didn’t want any. He tried to talk my pa and my brothers into not goin’ off and fightin’, but they said it was their duty because the Yankees had no right to invade us.”

  “They were right about that. I just wish it had never come to that point.”

  Emily sighed. “Wishin’ don’t do folks a lot of good, Mr. Jensen . . . I mean, Luke. If it did, there’s a whole heap of things in the world that’d be different.”

  She was certainly right about that, Luke thought.

  Because if wishing did any good, his legs would work again, and so far . . . they didn’t.

  It really hasn’t been very long yet since my injury, he reminded himself several times that day . . . and the next and the next and the day after that.

  By the time a week had passed, Luke’s appetite had returned and so had some of his strength. He was able to sit up in the rocking chair with a pillow to cushion his wounded back, as long as Peabody and Emily helped him get there from the bunk.

  But he still had no feeling in his legs, and when he sat there and stared at them and willed them to move, nothing happened. The legs remained limp and lifeless.

  “I wish I could help you with the chores,” Luke said at supper one evening. “You folks saved my life, you’re feeding me, and I can’t do a blasted thing to repay you.”

  “Nobody’s asked you to repay nothin’,” Peabody said.

  “I know that, but I want to, anyway.”

  “Maybe the time will come that you can. You can’t never tell.”

  Another couple days passed. Luke continued to get stronger. Peabody built him a bunk of his own, so he and Emily could return to their own beds. He checked the wound in Luke’s back and changed the dressing on it, then proclaimed, “Looks like that hole’s just about healed up, son. I got to admit, I didn’t think it’d happen that way, but you must be durned near as strong as a mule . . . and stubborn as one, too.”

  Emily said, “Grampaw!”

  But Luke threw back his head and laughed, which was something he hadn’t done much of for a long time. “My pa used to say the same thing about me. The stubborn part, anyway. But the real reason I’m not dead is because you and Emily took such good care of me, Mr. Peabody.”

  “The gal wouldn’t have it no other way,” the old-timer said, which brought another blush to Emily’s face.

  Peabody went out to work in the fields, leaving Emily to finish cleaning up after breakfast before she joined him. With just the two of them to take care of the place, they both worked from dawn to dusk most days. They had gotten behind on the chores during the time they’d had to take turns looking after Luke, and knowing that added to his feeling he owed them more than he could ever repay.

  A short time after leaving, Peabody hurried back into the cabin just as Emily was finishing up with the dishes. Luke saw instantly that the old-timer was upset about something.

  Peabody didn’t keep them in the dark about it. “Yankees comin’.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Emily said. “How many?”

  “Just a dozen or so . . . but that’s plenty if they’re lookin’ for trouble.” Peabody frowned at Luke. “You’re sure they ain’t huntin’ you?”

  “I don’t see how they could be.”

  An old single-shot rifle Peabody used for hunting game hung on hooks attached to the wall. He took it down and checked its load.

  “You don’t want to start trouble,” Luke warned him. “Not if there are a dozen of them.”

  “Don’t plan on startin’ it. But if they force me to it, I’ll fight.”

  Luke thought swiftly. “How close are they?”

  “About a quarter mile, I’d say.”

  “Put the rocker on the porch and help me into it. I’ll hold the rifle in my lap, under a blanket.”

  “They’d be able to see it anyway,” Emily said. “I have a better idea.” She opened a cabinet and took out the Griswold and Gunnison revolver Luke had brought with him from Richmond.

  He didn’t know what had happened to his rifle, but the sight of the revolver lifted his spirits a little. Only for a moment, though. He recalled how wet the gun had gotten. “The charges in that are bound to be ruined.”

  “They were,” Emily agreed, “until I cleaned it up and reloaded it.”

  “Where’d you get ammunition for that gun?”

  “Bought it at the tradin’ post the other day. I thought we might need it sometime.”

  Luke hoped that time hadn’t come. Even with the revolver, he wouldn’t be any match for a dozen Yankee cavalrymen, especially stuck in a rocking chair with useless legs.

  But being armed was always better than being defenseless, so he held out his hand for the gun and slipped it into the pocket of the overalls he was wearing. It was a good thing Linus Peabody was a fairly big man. His clothes fit Luke without being too tight.

  Peabody dragged the rocking chair onto the cabin’s front porch, then he and Emily helped Luke get seated in it. She hurried back into the cabin to grab the blanket from the bunk, which she draped over the lower half of Luke’s body.

  It was the first time he’d been outside since the day of the storm. The air was warm and smelled good. It was a beautiful spring day.

  At least, it would have been if it hadn’t been marred by the sight of those Yankee troopers riding toward the cabin.

  Peabody came out onto the porch holding the rifle. He said to Emily, “Get back inside, gal. And don’t come out no matter what happens.”

  “You know damn good and well I ain’t gonna do that, Grampaw.”

  “Blast it. For once in your life, do what I tell you!”

  Emily looked angry and upset, but she said, “I’ll be right inside,” and moved back through the door.

  Luke put his right hand under the blanket, slipping the revolver out of his pocket and gripping it tightly as he watched the Yankees ride closer. He had to fight down the impulse to yank out the gun and start blazing away at the enemy.

  Or are they the enemy anymore? he suddenly asked himself. They were laughing and talking among themselves as they approached the cabin. They certainly didn’t seem to be looking for trouble.

  The officer in charge of the patrol, a lieutenant judging by his insignia, heeled his horse into a trot and rode ahead of the others. He came up to the cabin with the others trailing behind him and reined in. With a friendly nod, he touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Good morning, gentlemen. Does one of you own this farm?”

  “I do.” Peabody’s voice was flat and hard.

  “Then I’d like to ask your permission to water our horses.”

  Peabody took one hand off the rifle and jerked a thumb toward the north. “River’s about half a mile that way. Plenty of water there.”

  “Oh,” the lieutenant said. “I didn’t know that. I’m not that familiar with the area. We’re obliged to you for the information. We’ll just water our horses at the river.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Peabody stood stiffly, both hands tight on the rifle again.

  The Yankee officer hesitated, then said, “Sir, you have heard the news, haven’t you?”

/>   “What news?”

  Luke had a hunch he knew what the answer was going to be even before the lieutenant spoke.

  “The war’s over, sir,” the young officer said. “General Lee offered his surrender to General Grant nearly three weeks ago at a place up in Virginia called Appomattox Court House.”

  Luke closed his eyes. He’d been right.

  And Potter and the others had been right, too, about the Confederacy collapsing. They hadn’t been traitors, after all.

  Just murdering, back-shooting rogues.

  “The fighting is all over,” the lieutenant went on. “There’s no need for you and your son to worry, sir. We’re all countrymen again.”

  Peabody didn’t correct the man about Luke being his son. He just said, “The river’s up yonder.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “We’ll be going, then. Good day to both of you, and thank you again.”

  The cavalrymen rode around the cabin and headed north. Luke listened to the sound of their hoofbeats fading as Emily came out of the cabin.

  “I’m sorry, Luke,” she said.

  “About the war being over?” He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m not. I knew that was how it was going to turn out. Better to have it end before more good men were killed for no reason.”

  “Amen to that,” Peabody said.

  Luke took the revolver from under the blanket and handed it to Emily. “I guess you can put that away again.”

  “All right.” She hesitated, then said, “Luke . . . what are you gonna do now?”

  He looked up at her and realized he had no idea.

  CHAPTER 16

  Luke balanced himself on the crutches, reached into the bag he held, and slung grain onto the ground for the chickens clustering around him. The fowl went after the stuff with their usual frenzied enthusiasm.

  He draped the bag’s strap over his shoulder, got a good grip on the crutch handles so he could turn himself around, and stumped back toward the cabin.

  Emily came out onto the porch before he got there. “I was gonna feed the chickens,” she told him with a grin.

  “No need,” Luke said. “I took care of it.”

  “There’s just no stoppin’ you, is there?”