Between the Rivers
Page 9
IS it working?” Amos inquired, looking up from the papers spread across his desk.
He found it ironically satisfying to see his eldest using the same technique he had used himself whilst raising four energetic boys. Idle hands, he had learned, inevitably fumbled about until they latched squarely onto mischief. And, since unclenching said fists could be a downright headache, Amos had adopted the practice of filling them with good, solid work.
“If you mean is Seb repentant, no,” Aspen answered with a twinkle. “If you mean is he tired enough to behave himself in town, he will be.”
“Where is our reluctant guest?”
“On the porch.” At his father’s doubtful expression Aspen added, “Handcuffed to a post. You know, Pa, he’s a good worker.”
“I thought saving lost souls was your brothers' habit?” Amos teased.
Fort and Lee were forever taking in one lost, injured or orphaned creature after another. It was their nature, and it made Amos proud, though at times he could have wished for it to be in only one of their natures. At the very least they could take turns.
Aspen shrugged. “Wasn’t it you who didn’t like the idea of him being taken to jail?”
“A moment of senility no doubt,” Amos replied. “I’d better get these finished.”
“Hmm.” Aspen peered at the cluttered collection of paperwork confronting his father. “Would those be last quarter’s reports or the one before?”
“Mind your manners or I’ll make you do this,” Amos warned, finger shaking.
“Yes, sir,” Aspen grinned, wisely opting to retreat.
The morning was nearly gone by the time Fort rode up with Aspen’s horse in tow.
“You’re back early,” Aspen ran a glance over his brother and the horses. “Was there trouble?”
“Micah Bailey saved me some time,” Fort answered cheerfully. “He was already on his way down with this critter. Said he was munching grass right where you left him. Smart animal. He appreciated the supplies too. Micah that is, not the horse.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Aspen could well imagine Micah’s ‘appreciation’. Had anyone smaller than Fort tried to replenish the foodstuffs in his cabin, they would have been bounced on their ear. He gave Fort’s knee a pat, “Why don’t you go on in, let Pa know you’re back.”
Gideon took Fort’s reins. The feel of the leather between his fingers sent a clear invitation. A split second and he could be cutting a trail to–
Aspen draped an arm over Gideon’s shoulders to squelch the thoughts he was so obviously thinking.
A good saddle was no luxury, and the saddle Gideon took from that horse was good. The tooling was simple, the bright-work beautiful without being gaudy. It was no show piece, but quality work and likely a custom job. Gideon took his time with the brushing and even allowed the sorrel to take a bait of grain from his hand. He wasn’t likely to see his own horse again. When that posse had shown up, sanity scattered from perdition to breakfast, driving his Henry right along with it.
Aspen leaned on the stall rail and smirked.
“Shutup,” Gideon told him.
He brushed traces of equine slobber onto his britches, annoyed that his reluctance to put up the sorrel had shown.
“Don’t worry,” Aspen assured him. “I’d lay odds Pa’s already packing up. We’ll be in town by tonight.”
Gideon’s expression spoke more eloquently than he ever could.
“Yeah, right,” it said.
They found Amos and Fort at the kitchen table, packing saddlebags with a mismatch of food stuffs.
Aspen gave Gideon a nudge that said, “Told you so.”
Gideon ignored him.
“I, for one, will be glad to have Cricket home tomorrow,” Amos asserted with some passion, and claimed the last of the cookies.
“He’s a better cook than any of us,” Fort agreed heartily.
Cricket? Despite his fretting, the name played with Gideon's imagination. What sort of man took the name of an insect? Indians often had names involving wolves or bears, but it was hard to imagine a warrior, all muscles and fierceness, charging down on his enemy with deadly determination and crying out, ‘I am a tiny black insect with spindly legs! Fear me!’
Boyo, you ain’t hardly got you no room to go oglin’ at a man for a-takin’ a name no mother done gived.
True for you.
“Cricket caters to your whims,” Aspen accused, jumping into the conversation, “that’s what you like.”
“What I like, older brother, is a little variation from beans and biscuits– something you do not offer.”
“Learn to cook,” Aspen countered blithely, tossing Fort a canteen. “Then your poor stomach wouldn’t have to suffer such unpardonable deprivation.”
Amos cut off their banter. “Let’s go. I want to make use of the daylight.”
Nobody mentioned Gideon one way or the other. But if they meant to leave him behind, they had another thing coming— he fully intended to knock the daylights out of the first one to open their mouth.
Shutup.
He had to agree with himself. He had already put up with miles and months of burning heat, freezing snow and gnawing hunger— somehow he’d manage to shake loose of the Rivers.