by Reed, N. C.
“Are we ready?” Adcock asked, examining his own people and then looking to Clay.
“We're ready to move,” Clay promised after getting a nod from everyone.
“Deputy Holloway, would you mind riding with me behind our point man?” Adcock requested. “Since you know, and are known by Deputy Bronson?”
“Sure,” Greg agreed, allowing his M-4 to rest across his saddle, hanging from its strap.
“I'd prefer to be the one who decides if we shoot or not,” Adcock added, looking at the civilians in turn.
“I'd prefer not to be shot at,” Clay replied. “And while I don't mind following your lead, we're all trained and experienced. If we're threatened, we will respond. How we respond will depend on the threat level. That's all I can or will promise you.”
“That's fair enough,” Adcock surprised him. “You aren't mine to command at any rate. You are, however, part of my party, which makes me nominally responsible for you. It also will make me responsible for your actions. All I ask is that you keep that in mind.” It was well put, and Clay admired the man for his tact.
“Unless we're directly threatened, we're just along for the ride, Captain,” Clay promised formally. “We'll be on our best behavior, and try not to cause you any difficulty.”
“Thank you, Clay,” Adcock nodded, smiling. He put his heels gently to the gelding he was borrowing and started for the roadway. The other followed, with Clay allowing two of the soldiers to take the rear behind him and the teens. If it was their show, they could be responsible.
They had gone no more than half-a-mile when they were met by two men on horseback, waiting in the middle of the road.
“That's Bronson,” he heard Greg say. “Don't know the other one.” The group halted as they reached talking distance.
“Mayor wanted you to come unarmed,” the large man that Clay vaguely recognized as Van Bronson said. “I told him that was unlikely and he may as well accept that, which he did. I'd appreciate it if you guys didn't make me look bad, since I promised him you were professionals and would mind your manners.”
“We will do our very best to be good visitors, Deputy Bronson,” Adcock promised formally. “Some of us are lawmen ourselves. We understand the importance of keeping the peace.”
“Good enough,” Bronson nodded. “We'll take you in. Straight down the road, here.” With that he and the other man, whom he had failed to introduce, turned their horses and started moving. Adcock was able to bring his point man in as they were following the deputy, and soon the group was moving to follow Deputy Bronson.
“That strike you as normal?” Gordy asked softly.
“No, but these aren't normal times,” Clay replied just as softly. “All we can do is keep a sharp eye out and see what happens. This isn't our show, other than we may find someone we can do business with. The main thing is this speaker guy that Bronson told Greg about. We really, really need to talk to him.”
-
It struck Clay as odd that they were a three-hour horse ride from Lewiston. Odd, because he didn't see any way that Bronson could have ridden his horse to Lewiston, talked with the mayor long enough to 'argue' with him about disarming the soldiers, and then ridden all the way back to meet them in time. The math in his head refused to add up. That meant that either Bronson had taken a vehicle at least part of the way, or else they had at least some limited communications ability.
As their horses topped a small rise, Lewiston came into view. Clay hadn't seen the place since he was Gordy's age. It had changed a good deal, but then so had Peabody, he remembered. He really had been gone a long time.
“Don't look the same?” Gordy asked him, teasing.
“Nothing looks the same,” Clay admitted. “Lot happens in ten years. Buildings come down; buildings go up. People die or move. Or buy businesses. Punk ass nephews grow up, too,” he added, eliciting a laugh from Gordy as well as Zach and Kurtis.
At first glance things looked almost normal save for the absence cars on the roads. People were out and about, some merely walking around while others seemed to be moving with purpose. Their arrival caught the attention of quite a few people, he noted, most of whom gathered on the sidewalks of main street to take a look at their guests.
Bronson had apparently not lied about Lewiston's mayor knowing they were coming, he decided. He counted no less than six men with rifles watching them from rooftops, and another dozen along the ground doing the same thing. A handful wore uniforms and badges, while the others dressed in camouflage, which struck Clay as slightly ridiculous. They were wearing wood patterns used for hunting that would offer no help in an urban battle. Quite the opposite, in fact. The camouflage would stick out like a sore thumb amid brick and mortar.
“Really rolled out the welcome mat, didn't they?” Zach noted idly. Clay turned to look at the teen, but noticed that Zach had made no move toward his own rifle, but was merely looking around.
“What?” Zach asked, empty hands raised. “I'm just saying, man. Lot o' folks with guns giving us angry glares and shit. That's all.”
“I don't think they look angry,” Kurtis offered, turning to gauge the attitude of people around them. “They look more… belligerent… aggressive. Like they're expecting a fight, and they're ready for it.”
Clay nodded at Kurtis' comments, but remained silent. The hunter was right on the money, so far as Clay could tell. There were two kinds of people that he saw. Many, maybe most in fact, we just curious about who was coming to call.
But there were about two dozen he estimated that wore hard looks and were actively trying to stare a hole in Adcock and everyone in his party. That included Clay and his kids. His, because he felt responsible for them, despite how many gun battles they had been in already.
“They're hoping we do something that would justify them shooting us,” Zach spoke again, his voice flat. Clay was instantly on guard as Zach sounded eerily like Xavier, and Clay did not care for that in the slightest.
“Well, let’s try not to do that, then,” he said gently. “I don't want any of us shot.”
“Hell, me neither,” Zach snorted.
“Amen,” Gordy unconsciously rubbed his shoulder.
“I'm getting the feeling we ain't exactly welcome here,” Kurtis murmured. “These other folks is curious, but they don't like us being here, neither. They're just more subtle than the hunters are.”
Hunters. Odd choice of words until Clay remembered that Kurtis had once hunted man-eating predators for spending money. That took more than just balls. It took smarts. And it took the ability to be able to examine the scene of an ambush killing, too.
“Spread out just a little,” he said softly. “Do it accidental like, and don't touch a gun of any kind. Just put another horse space between us.”
None of the boys replied, but over the next thirty seconds, they had spread themselves apart just about enough for two more horses to fit between them. It wasn't much, but it was all Clay could do at the moment without possibly starting a shooting war that he could see no way to win.
Less than five minutes later, Bronson stopped his horse before Lewiston City Hall. Clay almost laughed as he noticed the old-fashioned hitching post now running along the front of the building. Bronson swung down and tied his horse to the rail. The other man kept moving around the corner, doubtless heading to a spot from which he could help shoot them, Clay decided.
“You, Holloway, and the men from Jordan can come inside,” Bronson told Adcock. “Rest can wait here.” Nodding in reply, Adcock dropped to the ground, handing his reins to the woman sitting next to his horse. Draper and Dawson slid from their own horses and tied them to the hitching rail. He saw Gordy, who had dismounted to loosen the cinch on Adcock's mount, frown when neither man loosened their saddle cinches and checked their horses, but again, the teenager said nothing. He knew when to keep his peace. Greg Holloway had already taken care of his horse and was waiting on the sidewalk.
“You gonna leave them horses like that?”
Kurtis challenged, as only a man who had once depended on horses to live might do. Clay closed his eyes and waited for the explosion.
“What do you mean?” Dawson asked, waiting. “What did we do?”
“It's what you didn't do,” he replied. “You see what he just did?” Kurtis pointed to Gordy. “He let the strain off that horse while there ain't no rider on 'im. You just walked off and left yours. That ain't no way to do.”
“What do you know, anyway?” Draper demanded.
“He knows enough to know you should be loosening that cinch,” Bronson replied from the other side of his own horse. Having finished with his saddle, he stepped out from behind his mount to nod at Kurtis. The teen returned it, but said nothing else.
Adcock and Greg waited as Dawson and Draper took care of their horses, then followed Bronson into City Hall.
“Sorry,” Kurtis muttered. “Man needs to take care of his horse. Might be the difference 'tween living and dying.”
“That it could,” Clay agreed. “It's alright.”
“Where did you learn so much about horses, kid?” Sergeant Gleason asked. He was the only one of Adcock's NCOs that could ride. He was clearly curious, rather than challenging.
“I'm from Montana,” Kurtis shrugged. “You live and work on some of the big outfits out there, you better learn to take care of your horses. You don't, you just might die.”
“Makes sense,” Gleason nodded. “I worked with some fellas once, a good while back. They liked to use horses, too. They treated their horses better than their families, sometimes. I asked, once, why that was. The answer was fairly simple. A man's worth among warriors was measured by his horse. If his horse was poorly kept, he'd be looked down on. At the time I felt like their priorities were out of whack, to be honest. But I've seen what happens to men on poor horses. After that, you gain a better appreciation of their attitude toward their horses, if not their families.” He looked at Gordy and then Zach.
“What about you kids?” he asked. He clearly did not mean 'kids' as an insult. The man was in his mid-fifties. Almost everyone in the group was a 'kid' to Gleason.
“I grew up with horses,” Gordy shrugged. “We use them to ride herd, no pun intended, on our cattle. We got a lot of fence to ride. As to caring for 'em, that was simple. I either did it, and did it right, or I got my ass beat,” he laughed. Most of the group laughed with him.
“I'm still learning,” Zach admitted. “I knew how to ride a bit, but as to caring for horses, I'm learning now how to do that. Gradually.”
“He means slowly,” Gordy threw in, to another round of laughs. Zach laughed too, shaking his head.
“Shame we can't look around some,” a soldier down the line said quietly. “Seems like a nice place.”
“Except for the angry looking guys on the rooftops with hunting rifles, I'd agree with you,” a female soldier murmured. “They definitely don't like us, it seems.”
“It's probably Uncle Clay,” Gordy took a jab at his uncle again. “He's usually not welcome anywhere twice.” The soldiers laughed once again as Clay glared at his nephew in mock anger.
“Mouthy little shit,” he growled. “See if I take you anywhere else.”
“And you figured I'd be the one to make trouble,” Zach snorted, earning him a look from Clay.
“Zach, you have to admit that you tend to be a trouble magnet,” Clay raised an eyebrow at him.
“Who is it that puts me in those places again?” Zach appeared to ponder a minute before snapping his fingers. “That's right! It's you!” he pointed at Clay with wide eyes. Once more the entire group laughed. Clay took a cautious look around as he chuckled and realized that many of the people who had been watching them had lost interest. He carefully glanced around, taking in the buildings and their rooftops.
Yep. Still angry looking men with rifles up there. They weren't losing interest.
He heard the door the others had disappeared into open, and turned to see Bronson walking out with Greg and Adcock.
“Deputy Bronson is going to try and help us find our prophet,” Adcock said simply. Gordy fixed Adcock's saddle and remounted as Bronson and Holloway did the same.
“He disappeared to the south after he took a pretty bad beating,” the deputy said, leading them at a slow walk through town and toward the south end. “He was trying to preach his brand of religion to a couple drunks, and they took exception to it, and that was that,” Bronson chuckled slightly. “We got there before they could kill him, but they still got some good licks in.”
“Do you have that kind of trouble often?” Adcock asked.
“We never had anyone just walk into town preaching doom before,” Bronson was shaking his head.
“I actually meant the drunk beating thing,” Adcock laughed.
“Oh,” Bronson shrugged. “Sorry. Well, we do have a few stills running, and one man trying to make decent beer, so we get a few rough and rowdy fellers once in every while, but it's manageable. Most folks are just going about their business and doing right. Always have that one character in the crowd, though. Ain't that right, Sanders?” he said suddenly, over his shoulder.
“Which Sanders?” Gordy asked before his uncle could reply. Bronson turned in his saddle to look behind him.
“Well I'll be damned,” he grinned. “Gordy Sanders himself. Holloway didn't mention you was out here. How you doing, kid? Sorry about the ride,” he said before Gordy could answer.
“If that's all I lose, I'll be okay, Mister Bronson,” Gordy shrugged. “I'm glad to see y'all doing so well,” he added.
“We've had rough patches, but pulled through.” He noticed the soldiers looking confused.
“In case you gentlemen, and gentleladies,” he nodded to the two women, “didn't know it, you're in the presence of our equivalent of a celebrity. Young Sanders there was headed to UT, probably as a starting linebacker in his first year. Would have been this year, wouldn't it?” he sounded as if he was asking himself. “Anyway. Kid can absolutely knock a bull off his feet. More like Sidell than you, Clayton.”
“Robert always was bigger than me,” Clay shrugged. “I didn't figure you'd recognize me,” he added.
“Didn't,” Bronson replied. “Ain't seen you in what? Ten years? Holloway tuned me in that you was here. I didn't recognize the boy since he wasn't knocking somebody's helmet off,” he chuckled.
They made small talk for another five minutes or so as they rode slowly through town. Bronson slowed as they came to an area where the buildings were thinning out.
“Last time anyone seen him was through here,” the deputy told them. “I know he's camping somewhere out here, but I've never had reason to search him out so I don't know exactly where he is. We'll have to just amble through the bramble till we find him,” he laughed at his own joke. “I guess half of you come with me, and Greg can take the rest that way,” he pointed west. “You boys go where you're a mind to,” he added to Clay. “Just stay within sight and shouting range. Lot o' boys ain't happy with y'all being here.”
“They hide it so well, though,” Zach snorted. Bronson turned and caught sight of Zach.
“Well, now,” he smiled. “Zachary Willis, as I live and breathe. Funny seeing you here again. They had just got the sign put back up at the Piggly Wiggly when the lights went out.”
“That was not my fault,” Zach said at once. “I don't know who that asshole from Shelbyville was, but he was the one that rammed that sign.”
“After the two of you lit the street up at the green light,” Bronson raised an eyebrow.
“That is not the same thing,” Zach maintained. “If he couldn't handle it, he shouldn't have stood on it. I had no part in his crashing into the sign. Nor in his running off, now that I think on it,” he added.
“Ah, nobody cares anymore anyway, except maybe Hilda Martin. She don't get out much since her store closed, so you should be okay,” Bronson laughed.
“Can't carry you anywhere, either,” Gordy complained, and got a one finge
red salute from his friend in return.
“Alright,” Adcock tried to get things on track again. “Sergeant Gleason, take three men and go with Deputy Bronson. The rest will come with Deputy Holloway and I.” He looked at Clay.
“Zach and I will ride with you,” Clay told the Captain. “Gordy, Kurtis, you go with Sergeant Gleason. He's the lead. It stays that way until we meet up again.”
“Yes, sir,” the two teens replied in unison, moving at once to join the Sergeant. Gleason looked at Clayton with a raised eyebrow. Clay shrugged and gave the sergeant a little smile, which was returned. He goaded his horse forward, as Greg and Adcock were already moving away.
“Let’s go see if we can spot a crazy man, Zach,” Clay jerked his head toward Greg.
“What if he ain't crazy?” Zach asked as he caught up to Clay.
“What?”
“What if the guy ain't crazy,” Zach repeated. “What if he either really believes all that horseshit he's shoveling, or else he's just using it to get something he wants?”
“Well, it depends,” Clay shrugged. “If this guy we're looking for is a zealot, and he's being used by a bigger zealot, then that produces one kind of trouble. If he's a zealot being used by the second type, the one who's after something, that presents a different problem, because the man behind this guy will be thinking straight, whereas the zealot may not be. Now,” he adjusted his position in the saddle, “if he's a peon, then whoever he works for probably won't ever realize he's gone. But if he's someone important to whoever is pulling the strings, then it becomes a bigger issue. They may send someone looking for him if he goes missing. Might even send a bunch of someones.”
“Which is worse to your way of thinking?” Zach asked. “The zealot, or the criminal?”