Badge of Honor

by Susan K. Marlow

  Jem leaned over and whispered in Copper’s ear, “It’s too bad Nathan has to be such a sissy and spoil the afternoon.”

  “Jem, look,” Ellie whispered.

  Jem sat up straight and glanced to where Ellie was pointing. On the low bank of the creek, off to his left, a small flock of wild turkeys scratched contentedly amidst the brush and golden grass under the trees. There were at least a dozen gobblers, and Jem’s stomach rumbled at the sight.

  “Wish I’d brought along the shotgun,” he whispered. “Nothing’s tastier than turkey.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a series of short, staccato clucks. One by one, the turkeys’ heads jerked up from the ground. They stood stock-still, alert and listening. When Jem repeated the call, they answered.

  He sighed and shook his head. “Aw, nuts. Look at ’em. Just waiting for me to take a shot. Dumb birds.”

  From upstream, Nugget wandered into sight. He was sniffing along the creek bank, nose to the ground, when his head went up. One glimpse of the turkeys sent the dog chasing after them, yipping wildly. In an instant, the entire flock scattered and disappeared into the woods.

  “Nugget, no!” Jem shouted.

  “He can’t catch ’em,” Ellie said, laughing. “He’ll be back as soon as he figures that out.” Then she sighed. “I like turkeys. They’re just overgrown chickens. Might make good pets.”

  Jem forgot about Nugget for a moment. “Chickens and turkeys are good for only one thing, Ellie,” he said. “Eating.” But that didn’t stop his sister from trying to make a pet of nearly every creature that crossed her path. She had names for all their chickens, the milk cow, and even an injured crow she’d tended last year. Only frogs seemed beneath her notice.

  Good thing, Jem thought, or she might refuse to let the hoppers go to the café.

  The thought of Ellie trying to make a pet of a wild turkey made Jem think of the other wild animals roaming the woods. Ellie had been right when she’d warned Nathan. They could easily run into something more dangerous than a few turkeys.

  “I’m glad we brought Nugget,” he told himself. Then he yelled, “Nugget, get back here!”

  As usual, it looked like the golden dog had a mind of his own. Jem could hear him barking from a long way off. Still chasing those gobblers! He raised two fingers to his lips and gave a long, shrill whistle.

  No response.

  “He’s probably chasing those turkeys clear to Nevada,” Ellie said. “Let’s keep going. He’ll catch up.”

  Jem clucked to Copper and nudged him along. From behind, he heard Nathan whisper, “Good riddance.” Then the boy yelped and mumbled a quick apology.

  Jem grinned. Ellie must have given Nathan a good pinch. He knew he should scold his sister, but it wouldn’t do any good. Besides, their cousin deserved that pinch. His whining was getting on Jem’s nerves. This is the last time I take Nathan anywhere, he promised himself.

  Just then, Copper sidestepped to avoid a rock and stumbled. “Easy, boy,” Jem said, pulling back on the reins. He felt Nathan slipping and gripped his knees tighter against Copper’s sides. “Hold still, fella. You’ll be—”

  “Jem!” Ellie cried out. She and Nathan slipped farther off the horse. Jem tried to keep his seat, but it was no use. Nathan held onto his suspenders like a drowning man, pulling Jem down with him.

  Thud! Jem gasped in pain. There was not enough water to cushion his fall—just a clear trickle that did nothing to dull the burning ache in his shoulder and left leg. Slowly, he sat up and looked around for their horse. Copper, free of his riders, had lost no time getting out of the rocky creek. He stood on the low bank, swishing his tail and tossing his head as if to say, “I’m not going back in there.”

  Jem agreed. He should have taken the hint the other times Copper had stumbled. It had been a warning Jem had not heeded. Now—he grimaced as he gingerly moved his arm—I’m paying for it.

  Nathan’s howls split the air, and Jem turned his attention to the other sorry figures sprawled on the rocks. Ellie was sitting up, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her face was pale, and a large scrape showed red on one cheek, but she wasn’t crying. Nathan shrieked loudly enough for the both of them.

  He cries louder than a girl! Jem thought in disgust. “Ellie? You all right?”

  Ellie nodded, blinking back tears. “I … I landed on top of Nathan. That’s probably why he’s yelling. He took most of the hurt.”

  Jem immediately felt sorry for pouncing on Nathan in his thoughts. He hurried over and laid a calming hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “If Ellie fell on top of me, I’d be yelling too,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Must’ve hurt somethin’ fierce. Let me give you a hand up and we’ll see if anything’s broken.”

  Thankfully, Jem found nothing wrong with Nathan other than a deep, painful-looking scratch on his arm, and what would soon become a number of large, dark bruises. Thank you, God, he breathed silently. This could have been bad.

  Jem helped Ellie and Nathan up onto the embankment. Then he rounded up Copper and tied him to a nearby manzanita bush. “I think we’ve gone far enough,” he admitted. “Soon as you feel like it, we’ll head back.”

  Nathan nodded and made no comment. Neither did Ellie, which was unusual. She wasn’t one to give up up quite so easily. She must hurt more than she’s saying, Jem decided.

  Nugget’s incessant barking reminded Jem that he couldn’t leave his dog behind. “Nugget!” he yelled again and again, whistling between shouts. “Come on, boy! We’re going home.”

  A few minutes later, Nugget emerged from between the trees. He had stopped barking—at last—and his tail was whipping back and forth. In his mouth, he held something brown and bloody. It looked like part of a turkey.

  Jem slapped a hand against his forehead. “What have you done? Drop it, boy.”

  Nugget obediently trotted over and dropped his catch at Jem’s feet. Then he backed up and sat down, tongue hanging out. Jem didn’t want to look at the sorry remains of what had once been a large, splendid bird, but he couldn’t help it. He glanced down at his feet and gasped.

  It was not a turkey.

  CHAPTER 13

  A Terrible Discovery

  Jem’s gasp brought Ellie and Nathan over at a run. They stared down at the “prize” Nugget had brought back, but no one touched it. Finally, Jem picked up a short stick and squatted beside the brown and bloody something. He worked the stick under the object and carefully lifted it to eye level. “It’s a slouch hat,” he said, examining it on all sides. “Not part of a turkey.”

  Ellie let out a sigh. “That’s good.”

  Jem nodded. The discovery should have made him happy. Nugget had not ravaged a turkey after all. It was just an old, discarded hat—something only a dog would sniff out and find interesting enough to bring back. Toss it aside and get going, he thought.

  Then Jem paused, and a different, troubling thought began to swirl around inside his head. He couldn’t shake it loose. There’s something not right about this hat.

  “Was,” Nathan said just then. “It was a slouch hat. Now it’s just a bloody mess.” He wrinkled his nose.

  Jem dropped the stick and jumped to his feet. His heart raced. “It’s fresh blood all over this hat, not old, dried-up blood. See how bright red it is? This is recent.” He knelt down and peered closer. An invisible fist slammed into his stomach. “This could be Strike’s hat,” he whispered, looking up at Ellie and Nathan.

  Ellie sucked in her breath. “Oh, no!” She took two steps backward, as if the hat might reach out and grab her. Then she whirled on Nugget. The dog still sat in place, clearly waiting for the praise due him for fetching such a magnificent trophy. “Where did you get this hat, Nugget?”

  Nugget whined.

  “Yes, yes, you’re a good dog.” She scratched behind his ears and crouched next to him. “But you have to show us where you got the hat.”

  Jem picked up the stick—with the slouch hat still hanging off one end—and t
ook it to Nugget. Sometimes when Nugget brought back a raccoon or a possum, Jem convinced him to go after another of the varmints by saying, “More, Nugget!” However, more often than not, his dog brought back something entirely different.

  Jem never knew for sure what Nugget might do next. He wasn’t exactly reliable. But Jem had to try. He dangled the slouch hat under his dog’s nose.

  Nugget sniffed the hat and looked at Jem. His tail made a swishing noise as it fanned the grass and leaves.

  “More, Nugget!” Jem commanded sternly. He was not playing today. This could be a matter of life or death.

  In a flash, Nugget took off between the pine trees.

  “Please, God,” Jem prayed aloud, “make Nugget understand what I want this time. Don’t let him rustle up a skunk instead.”

  “Amen!” Ellie yelled. She leaped up. “C’mon, Jem. Let’s get Copper and go after him.”

  Nugget yapped in the distance, beckoning the kids to follow, but Jem held his ground. He needed to think things through. They didn’t dare wander too far from the creek bed—their only sure path home. The afternoon was trickling away, and he had no desire to be caught out in these woods after dark. Besides, Pa expected him to watch out for Ellie and Nathan. Rushing madly after a dog was the height of foolishness, no matter how anxious Ellie was to get going.

  It might not be Strike, he reasoned. Just a raggedy hat left behind on some old, abandoned claim.

  But the longer Jem looked at the slouch hat, the more convinced he became that it belonged to his friend and partner. Even if the hat didn’t belong to Strike, the fresh blood came from someone … someone who might need help.

  “Jem! Let’s go!” Ellie had untied Copper from the brush and was jamming the reins into his hands.

  “All right,” Jem said, “but we can’t ride. We need to mark the trail as we go, so we don’t get lost. And”—he glared at Ellie—“we go only for as long as I say, and we keep the creek in sight the best we can. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Nathan muttered. He looked like he didn’t want to go at all.

  Ellie nodded her eagerness and ran ahead. If she disagreed with Jem about his instructions, she was keeping it to herself. “I’ll tie you up and haul you back if you don’t do what I tell you!” he yelled after her.

  “With what?”

  True enough. They’d ridden Copper bareback. The coil of rope Jem was threatening Ellie with hung from his saddle—the saddle back home in the barn.

  Roasted rattlesnakes! Sisters can sure be a bother.

  Jem chirruped at Copper and led him after Ellie, toward the sound of Nugget’s barking. Nathan shuffled along behind his cousins, one hand gripping the horse’s chestnut mane. As they trudged up a steep slope, Jem found a clump of low-lying manzanita and whacked at the branches with his pocketknife. He scattered them on the path, then smiled. The ground was soft, and Copper was leaving a clear trail of hoofprints behind. Feeling better about not getting lost, he quickened his pace.

  Ten minutes later, they stood at the top of a small ridge. Jem glanced around to get his bearings. To the southwest, he could see the outline of the creek. It was easy to follow the line of leafy trees and underbrush that hugged the creek on both sides. He even recognized where the three of them had left the creek bed. A high shale bank on the far side of the stream was partially visible between the tall pines that covered the hillside.

  Nugget soon joined them, whining and circling their legs. A red bandana hung from his mouth. Jem took the piece of cloth and whooped. “This is Strike’s. I’ve seen it plenty of times.” He threw his arms around Nugget and hugged him tight. “Good dog,” he said, ruffling his fur. Then he stood up. “More, Nugget!”

  Nugget gave an excited bark and led Jem, Ellie, and Nathan along an open path between the trees. Another ten minutes brought them to a small, rocky clearing, where their dog was hanging over a bundle of red, brown, and black rags.

  “It’s Strike!” Jem shouted. He threw Copper’s reins around a stubby pine tree and tore across the clearing at a dead run. His heart slammed against the inside of his chest like a hammer. “He’s gotta be all right. He’s just gotta be!” He heard the pounding footsteps of Ellie and Nathan behind him, trying to keep up.

  Jem sank to the ground beside the old prospector. Strike lay sprawled out on his stomach, as still as death. His shoulder-length hair was matted with blood, both dried and fresh. A deep gash sliced the side of his forehead. How long has he been like this? One day? Two? More?

  Ellie whimpered. “Is he … is he … ?”

  “No!” Jem whirled on her. “He’s not.” Neither one spoke the dreaded word aloud. Ellie might be thinking it, but Jem refused to believe Strike-it-rich Sam could be dead.

  “How can you be sure?” Nathan stood a few yards off, keeping his distance. His face was drained of color. He stared at his cousins and the injured man.

  “I just am,” Jem said. But he wasn’t sure. Not really. There was no outward sign that Strike was alive. He didn’t move, and Jem could not tell if his friend was even breathing.

  There was one way to find out. Taking a deep breath to steady his shaky hands, Jem bent closer. He gingerly pressed an ear against the old man’s back and listened. A faint thump, thump, thump rewarded his effort. “He’s alive.” Jem sat back and sagged in relief. “Thank you, God.”

  At this good news, Ellie surged forward. She fell to the ground beside her brother and exclaimed, “He looks bad off. How do you suppose it happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter how it happened,” Jem said, recovering from his initial shock. His thundering heart was slowly returning to normal, but the twisting in his gut told him this day was far from over. He looked up. “There’s plenty of daylight left. We have to get Strike back to town, so Doc Martin can fix him up.”

  “Oh, sure,” Nathan burst out, “easy as pie.” He slumped to the ground and let out a long, uncertain breath. “How are we supposed to do that?”

  Jem gave Nathan a furious look. “I don’t know yet, but first things first.” He took the bandana he was still clutching and pressed it against the gash in Strike’s head. “Nathan, get over here.”

  The tone in Jem’s voice propelled Nathan to his feet. He hurried over and dropped to his knees beside Jem. “What?”

  “Hold this firmly against the cut, while I find something to tie it on with.” Much to Jem’s relief, Nathan did what he was told.

  Jem quickly fished his knife from his pocket and beckoned Ellie over. “Let me have a strip of your hem for a wrapping.”

  “You can have my whole skirt if you want it,” Ellie offered.

  “No,” Jem said, giving her an encouraging smile. “I just need a narrow piece.” He snatched the edge of Ellie’s skirt, sliced it through with the knife, and then ripped it all the way around. “I hope Aunt Rose doesn’t give me what-for, seeing as I just ruined your only everyday dress.”

  “Pa won’t let her scold you,” Ellie said. “Not if my dress helps save Strike.” She laid a hand on Jem’s arm and pleaded, “It will, won’t it, Jem? Once the bleeding stops, he’ll be all right, won’t he?”

  Jem wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway. He hoped it didn’t turn out to be a lie. “He’ll be fine. Nathan, lift up his head.”

  Jem worked quickly to tie the strip of cloth around Strike’s head, then sat back on his heels. Nathan gently lowered the prospector’s head to the ground.

  Without warning, Strike let out a low, agonized moan. His eyelids fluttered open. “W-w-water,” he whispered. Nathan leaped away as if stung.

  Jem fell backward in surprise but quickly recovered. “Strike, it’s me, Jem. We have to turn you over so you can drink. We’ll be as gentle as we can.”

  A slight movement from Strike looked like a nod, so Jem waved Nathan over to help. Together, the boys carefully turned the prospector onto his back. His head lolled to one side, and he groaned. Blood had seeped through parts of his flannel shirt and showed on one trouser leg.

  Jem
caught his breath at the sight. “He must have taken quite a fall. I hope nothing’s broken.” He yanked the canteen off his shoulder and fumbled to get the cap off. Then he gently raised the old man’s head so he could drink. “Here’s water. Take little sips.”

  Strike tried to swallow, but most of the water trickled down his chin. He coughed. “S-so … tired.” His eyes closed.

  “We’re taking you home,” Jem told him. “But we have to get you up on Copper. If we help, can you stand?”

  The old prospector seemed to rally what strength he had and tried to sit up. Then he sagged against Jem. “I can’t, boy. Hurts too much. Gotta … rest …” His voice trailed off, and he lost consciousness. Jem lowered him to the ground and sat back. What now?

  “Somebody should go for help,” Nathan said.

  Jem frowned. Who could go? Nathan? He’d probably lose his way before he reached the creek. Ellie? She wouldn’t get lost, but it would be dusk by the time she got home, and Strike would have to spend another night up here. And I can’t go. I can’t leave Nathan and Ellie out here alone.

  “No,” he said. “There’s not enough daylight to get to town and back. We’ll have to get Strike up on Copper somehow.”

  Nathan looked at Copper, munching on the sparse grass near the tree where Jem had tied him. Then he looked at the unconscious figure lying on the ground. “I can’t lift an unconscious man up on a horse. Besides, he doesn’t look so good. A trip like that might kill—”

  “Strike’s not very big,” Jem insisted. “We can do this if we work together. Someone can sit on Copper and keep Strike from sliding off.” He turned to Ellie. “Go get the horse.”

  Ellie shot to her feet and sprinted to the edge of the forest. Jem watched her go. He could tell by the way she tore at the reins and yanked on Copper that she was scared.

  “Now what?” she asked when she returned, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Copper snorted and tossed his head.