The Breckenridge Boys

by Carlton Stowers

  Several townspeople, aware of what had taken place and that safety had been restored, began visiting, bringing food and offering help. A local farmer arrived with a bottle of whiskey for Clay and Eli. “Last I got,” he told them, “but looks like you boys are needing a painkiller worse than me.”

  One afternoon, as Jennie was cooking, Jonesy asked what her future plans were. “I don’t think I got to tell you how sorry I was to hear of your daddy passing,” he said. “With him gone, I’m concerned how you’ll manage.” He didn’t mention the increasingly feeble mental state of her aged grandpa.

  “At the funeral,” she said, “there were some folks, Eli included, who kindly offered their help.”

  “What worries me,” Jonesy said, “is how much help they can be and for how long. Folks got their own business to tend and people to watch over.”

  “I know,” she said as she stirred the stew.

  “And what about the mercantile? You been running it by yourself since Madge left.”

  The mention of Madge changed the course of the conversation.

  “In all the confusion, I’ve not even asked about her,” Jennie said.

  “She’s doing fine, enjoying life in Aberdene and liking being married to Clay. Of course, I ain’t sure how pleased she’ll be to see the shape he’s in when we get back home.”

  Jennie laughed for the first time in days. “I know how she feels about him. Even if she gives him what for, she’ll be pleased just to have him back. Before you leave, I want to pick out something nice at the store for a late wedding present.”

  * * *

  * * *

  IT WAS DAYS before there was any talk about what had happened in the canyon. Even then Jonesy approached the subject grudgingly. “What’s done is done,” he said. “A bad man is finally gone, and we’re all the better for it.”

  Rayburn, however, continued to press for details. So did Paul Price, who, along with Anna, was spending more time at the livery than at the laundry.

  Jonesy insisted they wait until Breckenridge was feeling up to it before they discussed the matter further.

  Price mentioned that he’d spoken to the Boot Hill caretaker and the bodies of Doozy and Baggett had been taken care of. “I suggested they be burned,” he said, “but they got buried instead.”

  Clay’s healing was a slow process, even with the occasional sip of whiskey when the pain returned. Anna continued her role as nurse, changing bandages and applying sulfur powder twice daily. “I know you’re feeling weak,” she said, “but soon as you can, you need to stand on that leg, no matter how much it hurts. It’ll keep the stiffness away and maybe prevent your having a limp once you’ve recovered.”

  Though he had little appetite, Jennie insisted that he let her spoon-feed him her soup.

  Jonesy’s attitude quickly turned from sympathy to relief that his friend was going to live. “You’ll be running footraces before you know it,” he said. “And it could be that’ll come in handy once Madge learns you allowed yourself to get shot.”

  “When are we heading home?” Clay said.

  “A while yet, according to what Nurse Price says. She and Paul are even talking of movin’ you down to their place so you can have the comfort of a real bed.”

  Eli, overhearing, spoke up. “I think that would be a fine idea,” he said. “It’s getting mighty crowded here. And I got work to do.”

  Jonesy laughed at Rayburn’s foul mood. “Condition you’re in right now, you couldn’t even lift a hammer. And I see you ain’t been turning down any of the free cooking and attention you’re getting.”

  Rayburn limped away without a reply. As he did so, Jonesy said, “Once you get a smile back on your face, we got us some talking to do.”

  That evening, after a dinner of fried rabbit and collard greens provided by one of the women of the community, the three men gathered near the doorway of the livery to catch the breeze. Jennie had taken her grandpa home, and the Prices had washing that needed tending.

  “I been talking with Jennie,” Jonesy said. He explained his concern for her situation. “She’s stuck with that goat farm with only the promise of occasional volunteer help. Then there’s the mercantile, which her grandpa ain’t capable of running. And folks need it for their shopping.”

  Clay and Eli could see where he was headed.

  “If you’re asking for a vote,” Rayburn said, “it ain’t necessary. It’s time we go visit the colonel and see he makes a contribution so Miss Broder can have proper funding to hire herself some full-time help with the farm and the store. And maybe someone to lend a hand caring for her grandpa.”

  Breckenridge agreed. “Not but one of us currently fit to go dig it up,” he said to Jonesy, “so that’ll be your responsibility.”

  “Where we going to tell her it come from?”

  “We ain’t,” Clay said.

  Ten days had passed since he’d been wounded, and Breckenridge was beginning to feel frustrated. Though he could walk short distances, the leg was still swollen, and the pain remained constant.

  The good news, Anna told him, was that there was no sign of infection. The bad news was that it was still going to be some time before he could ride a horse.

  It was midday when Jonesy appeared at the Price house and entered the room where Clay was just finishing a bowl of vegetable soup. “Got somebody here wanting to see you,” he said.

  Clay rolled his eyes. “I don’t need more soup,” he said.

  As he spoke, Marshal Rankin appeared in the doorway, a wide grin on his face. “I’ve come to make an arrest and haul you back to Aberdene,” he said. “Wasn’t aware you was laid up.”

  Clay’s mouth hung open before he was able to form a sentence. “I can’t believe . . .”

  Before he could finish, the marshal stepped aside, and Madge walked into the room. Clay tried to blink away tears, but his wife didn’t. She rushed to his bedside and threw her arms around him. They embraced silently for several seconds before Madge pulled back and placed her hands on Clay’s face. “I had to threaten to throw a hissy fit and shoot the marshal before he finally agreed to accompany me out here,” she said.

  Clay turned to Rankin and mouthed the word, “Thanks.”

  “I’ve learned you’re gonna live,” the marshal said, “so I’ll leave you two to yourselves and see if Jonesy can find me a cup of coffee.”

  “I got plenty of soup you’re welcome to,” Clay said.

  Madge was asking questions faster than he could answer them. He gave her a brief recount of chasing Baggett and the gunfight that had left him injured. He told her of Jennie’s father dying and assured her Eli would be back in good health soon. Anna Price, he said, had very likely saved his life with her nursing skills. “I ain’t never had so much soup in my life.

  “The most important thing for you to know,” he said, “is that it’s now over.”

  He then asked about things at home. Madge quickly went through the list. Everything at the farm was fine, thanks to Ruben. Sarge was wondering when he’d return. Same with Lonnie, who was back in school and doing better with long division. “He’s got a dog now. Named it after his pa,” she said. “Patricia’s been just as worried as I have,” she said, “and badly wanted to come with us. But the marshal and I convinced her that she needed to stay home and watch after Lonnie. We couldn’t leave him by himself for going on three weeks.”

  “You need to tell Jonesy that,” Clay said. “I think he’s been about ready to head home without me.”

  She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “Get some rest,” she said. “I’m going to go talk with him. Then, if you think it’s safe now, I might ride out and say hello to Jennie.”

  Clay smiled. “It’s safe,” he said. “That’s what we came out here for.”

  As she rode past the lot where her saloon had stood, Madge was surprised that she had no
nostalgic feelings at all. Nothing about the town, aside from a few people, interested her. She now had a better life in a better place.

  Jennie screamed and burst into tears when she saw Madge walking onto the porch. Even Grandpa Asa got to his feet and shuffled toward the door to greet her.

  “We were talking about you just yesterday,” Jennie said. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed having your company.”

  “And I’ve thought about you a lot, too,” Madge said. “I was so sorry when Clay told me about your daddy.”

  They drank lemonade and laughed, reminisced about times good and bad, and talked of how Clay might never eat another bowl of soup once he gets out of Tascosa.

  Jennie admitted her future had never been so uncertain.

  “One step at a time,” Madge said. “That’s Clay’s motto—and good advice.”

  * * *

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Marshal Rankin announced he was ready for everybody to head back to Aberdene. “If I stay away much longer,” he said, “the town’s liable to turn into another lawbreaking Fort Worth.”

  Clay was delighted to hear the news, but apprehensive about how he’d be able to make it. The leg was still weak and bothering him considerably.

  “Your friend Eli and a couple of his buddies have found a solution to that problem,” Rankin said. “If you can make it up to the barn, I’ll show you.”

  Clay hobbled his way up the slope, stopping a couple of times to briefly rest. He felt exhausted when they finally arrived. There, in the center of the room, sat Eli’s wagon, freshly painted, its wheels greased. In the bed were blankets laid over a thick bed of straw. There were several feather pillows donated by local residents. “Ain’t exactly the way heroes are supposed to make their return home, and you’ll be facing backward all the way,” the marshal said, “but you can be assured of a fairly comfortable ride.”

  There was one more thing left to do.

  Clay summoned Madge to his bedside just as it was getting dark. “Jonesy’s got a chore to attend to, and I thought you might go along and keep him company,” he said.

  Though puzzled, Madge agreed. Her horse was already saddled when she returned to the livery.

  When they reached the entrance to Boot Hill, Jonesy handed her a torch and lit it. “I’ll need you to hold this while I do my digging,” he said.

  “Oh, my stars. Dig what?”

  Jonesy laughed into the warm night. “There’ll be no dead folks dug up, I promise,” he said. “The colonel’s just been keeping something for us.”

  Despite the size of its headstone, it took Pate a few minutes to locate the grave site of the famous Basil Jay Hawthorne. Once he did, it took only a few minutes to unearth the strongbox that contained the canvas bag. He handed it to Madge. “Look inside.”

  The sight of so many bills and gold coins took her breath away. “So this is what it was all about,” she finally said.

  “For the most part, yes. Some other matters as well.”

  They returned to the Price house, where Clay and Eli were waiting. They quit counting after the total reached several thousand dollars. Pate and Breckenridge insisted that Rayburn take a small portion “to make up for earnings lost while being stove-up and so grouchy.”

  “Also, for the purchase of your wagon, since I ain’t planning on bringing it back,” Clay said.

  Eli argued against it before reluctantly accepting. The rest went into the same saddlebags in which it had been found.

  Later that night, when he was certain Jennie was asleep, Jonesy crept onto the porch of her farmhouse and left the saddlebags.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE WAGON WAS hitched and loaded before Anna Price finished cooking breakfast. There was an uncomfortable finality to the meal, and there was very little conversation. Everyone, even those headed home, was feeling melancholy. Anna gave Madge last-minute instructions for tending to Clay’s wounds, insisting all the while that she was confident he would be fine. Eli ate sparingly and said nothing.

  Jennie arrived, carrying two boxes she’d stopped by the mercantile to get. In them were Stetson hats for Clay and Madge, belated wedding presents she said. “I hope they’re the right size.”

  She waited until Jonesy and Eli were helping Clay settle into the wagon before she spoke again. “A miracle took place out at the farm last night,” she said. She didn’t elaborate further, nor did the men ask for details.

  Jonesy climbed onto the driver’s seat. “Never thought about having to haul your skinny behind home,” he called back to Clay.

  “Just be sure you make it a smooth ride,” his passenger replied.

  After hugs and a basket of hot biscuits from Anna, they were off, the marshal and Madge riding alongside. “I hope never to see this place again,” Clay called up to his driver.

  Jonesy popped the reins to speed the horses along.

  * * *

  * * *

  LONNIE HAD JUST returned from school when his new dog began barking at the sound of the wagon coming down the road. Patricia stepped onto the porch to see what the commotion was about.

  She watched silently for several seconds, then said, “Honey, it’s them. Thank the Lord.” She untied her apron and tossed it aside, then began racing Lonnie and his dog to meet the arriving caravan.

  Jonesy jumped from the wagon to embrace his wife and hug Lonnie. He looked down at the black puppy, its tail wagging furiously. “Don’t believe I know this little fellow,” he said.

  “I’m calling him Little Jeb,” Lonnie said.

  Patricia then looked into the bed of the wagon, where Clay lay. “Oh, my stars,” she said, reaching across the side to touch his arm. Lonnie had already climbed into the wagon.

  “I’m fine,” Clay said. “Just getting lazy in my old age.”

  Madge assured them he was on the mend and would be okay. “I’m gonna see that he gets a visit from the doctor tomorrow,” she said, “just to be sure.”

  Marshal Rankin tipped his hat and excused himself, saying he’d best be getting home. Before turning to leave, he looked at Clay and Jonesy. “Much as I’ve enjoyed knowing you boys, I hope it’s a long spell before I see either of your faces again.”

  * * *

  * * *

  DOC FRANKLIN ARRIVED at the farm midmorning. Clay was sitting on the front porch, drinking coffee and enjoying the familiar sights and the smell of the new-day air.

  The doctor carefully examined the injured leg, then asked Clay to stand and bend it. “This was a nasty invasion of your body,” Franklin said. “Could have killed you if you had let it get infected. Appears to me you had good care at the proper time.”

  Clay told him about Anna Price and the lessons she’d learned from her father.

  “It probably won’t feel too good for a while, but my verdict is that you need to get yourself on a regular schedule of walking. I can send out a cane if you’re not too proud to use it. I wouldn’t try doing any chores in the near future. But all that said, you’re healing nicely, thanks to that Anna woman.”

  He gave Clay a jar of ointment to apply daily.

  “One day, when you’re feeling up to it, I wouldn’t mind hearing how you came to be injured,” he said.

  Clay didn’t reply.

  “And before I go, I wonder if I might see that horse I tended last time I was here. It was your brother’s as I recall.”

  “He’s over in the pasture,” Clay said. “Not far.”

  “Then how about you walking down there with me?”

  Clay grunted and got to his feet. He drained the remainder of his coffee into Madge’s new flower bed. “Might take us some time.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” the doctor said.

  * * *

  * * *

  BEING BACK HOME far outweighed the pains that still occasionally took his breath away. Returni
ng to a normal life, viewing familiar sights, and sleeping in his own bed with Madge by his side were more comforting than he could have imagined. Even her constant fussing over him felt good. Sarge was never more than a few feet away, seeming to enjoy the return of a normal routine. He had assumed his spot at the foot of the bed in the evenings.

  Occasionally, Clay’s sleep was filled with restless dreams, always about his brother. But they were good, and he woke happy. In them, he and Cal were kids again, playing games, fishing, hunting, swimming, and always laughing. He came to look forward to nightfall and bedtime and the promise of visions of a glorious time in his life.

  Lonnie stopped by every day after school. After he told Clay that the county fair was scheduled for the coming weekend, Clay limped to the barn and saddled his horse. With some difficulty, he put one foot into a stirrup and swung the injured leg over. For a few minutes, he rode around the yard, then up the road a short way. His smile soon became a quiet laugh.

  On the porch, Madge stood, her arms folded across her chest, watching. Soon, she joined in the happy laughter.

  “Lonnie says he’s gonna run in the hundred-yard dash at the fair,” he said. “I think we should plan to go in and see that.”

  Madge followed him to the barn and watched as he carefully dismounted and began removing the saddle. “I ain’t exactly ready for rodeoing yet,” he said, “but that felt mighty good.”

  * * *

  * * *

  CLAY AND MADGE were already at the fair, wearing their new Stetsons, when Jonesy and Patricia arrived. It was the first time they’d been together since the return. Jonesy eyed Clay’s cane and laughed. “Good to see you up and about, old-timer.”

  Madge and Patricia hugged.

  They stood in the shade of a tree, waiting for the footrace. Patricia had cut a pair of Lonnie’s britches into short pants at his request. He was off somewhere preparing for the race, which he’d said would include the fastest runners in the county, men and boys.