Nathanial

by J. B. Richard

  There was a rifle on the side of Fletcher’s horse, but Nate feared it was just for show.

  “I won’t leave without the others, without Jesse or Buck.” Nate was serious. He stomped his foot, rooting into the ground. He’d be damned if he would go another step, not without those he cared about.

  Fletcher glanced back the way they’d just come. Rifle fire boomed in the air. Then he glanced down at Nate. “All right. I won’t shoot anyone, but I’ll do what I can. You hide.”

  No shit, Nate thought while biting his tongue. This wasn’t the opportune time to cock off. He had just talked Fletcher into returning for the others. The last thing he wanted was for Fletcher to change his mind.

  “I know what to do. Just go!” Didn’t that fool understand that success would take every man working together? That every gun would be needed to extract the others from the battle and hopefully all in one piece?

  Fletcher spun his horse and disappeared back through the trees. What kind of help would he be? Not wanting to defend himself or anyone with a gun, the idiot would probably get himself killed.

  Nate climbed the nearest tree as quickly as he could step off the swaying limbs bending under his weight. Evergreen branches, thick and full but a mite prickly, were a good hiding place, and he could see some of the fighting about a quarter-mile off. Gunfire echoed between the hills. Smoke whirled through the air when the wind kicked up, making details difficult to distinguish. He couldn’t differentiate Cheyenne from Sioux, but white men wearing hats and holsters shouldn’t be hard to pick out among the sea of redskins.

  The booms seemed to be drawing closer. It was hard to tell from so far up at the tiptop. Then the sound of running horses caught his ears. Jesse and the others were coming. It had to be them.

  Nate scrambled down the tree, slipping several times because he was hustling so fast. The Indians wouldn’t be running away unless one side had decided to retreat, but most of them had been on foot, not mounted.

  Out of the tree line charged a battered lot of riders. Prescott was leading the way by a horse length, an arrow sticking straight out of his left thigh, feathery shaft and all. Pain had hardened his face into an awful grimace. Right behind him was Jesse, who was sickeningly pale and slumped far over his horse’s shoulder. Was he still bleeding? God, Nate hoped not. Tears stung his eyes.

  On Jesse’s tail and riding fast on Buck was Marshal Huckabee. His shirt on the entire one side was covered in bright-red blood, and he sat no taller in the saddle than Jesse. They were in piss-poor shape, but Nate couldn’t help but smile as he dropped from the bottom limb onto the ground. Everyone was at least half alive, and Buck was there too. Fletcher and old man Pike brought up the rear. Pike had his rifle in hand and kept twisting in the saddle, eyeing their backtrail.

  Nate ran toward Jesse. Jesse pulled up on the reins, but he didn’t put his hand out to pull Nate up, which he had expected. “Ride with Fletcher. His horse is in good shape, and he’s the only one of us that ain’t hurt.”

  Nate wasn’t about to argue. Jesse’s horse was scraped up, Buck was bleeding, and Prescott’s mount had a cut above its hock. Pike’s big roan wasn’t injured that Nate could tell, but Pike’s ear was bleeding and a fair chunk was missing from his hat. It appeared he’d come too damn close to losing his hair. Jesse wanted Nate to stay safe. The soundest horse and healthiest man would have the best chance of getting him out of there. Nate gave his hand to Fletcher and was pulled up behind him in the saddle.

  “Let’s git a move on, boys.” Pike snorted.

  They lit out as a bunch. Jesse led, spotting blood along the ground, showing their trail, and he wasn’t the only one. If the Indians decided to come after them, they wouldn’t be too hard to find. Pike hung a horse length back, watching over his shoulder while the rest of them were packed in the middle. Nate was scared. He didn’t trust the city dude to keep him safe. But Jesse was close by, so Nate had to be satisfied with that for now.

  They’d ridden a mile when Jesse yanked up on the reins, turned his horse, and guided the group of them into a hollow. There were a shallow creek and trees for shade and a rock cluster just big enough that if the Indians were to attack, they could defend themselves from behind a wall of stone.

  “If I don’t get stitched up soon, I’m gonna bleed to death,” Jesse said. He looked over at Prescott. “We have to get that arrow outta your leg.”

  “I got a needle.” Pike lifted his hat and pulled one from the lip inside. “Always carry one on me. Don’t have thread, though. Used it.” No one seemed to care. These were men accustomed to surviving on what was around them when need be. Nate had once been stitched up with a long hair from a horse’s tail.

  Ouches and groans circulated as each man slid off his horse. The animals were left saddled in case a quick need to escape arose, and though they had moved off from the direct fight, it wasn’t unlikely they might encounter more warriors.

  Nate helped Jesse lay out his ground blanket. “I’ll get some firewood.” He sprinted off. He knew to stay within sight so Jesse wouldn’t worry.

  Fletcher turned and watched Nate. The others were all settling down to rest a few minutes. Except Pike, who was propped behind those rocks with his rifle and keeping a lookout.

  A few minutes later, Nate returned with an arm full of sticks weighing him down. He dropped the pile, fetched a pack of matches from Jesse’s saddlebags, then blew until a small flame came to life. He put on coffee while Jesse and the marshal hunkered over Prescott, eyeing the arrow.

  Pike joined them. “I think those Injuns have forgotten us. We’d have seen sign of them comin’ by now.” The old man looked over at Nate. “Fetch my whiskey.” If anyone could guess what those savages might do, it was Pike. It’d been said that he had killed his first redskin at the age of nine. He’d been fighting them all his life.

  Nate hopped to. Pike had barely knelt beside Prescott when Nate handed him the half-full bottle. Pike bit down on the cork and yanked it out. Without warning, he grabbed the feathered shaft, gave a jerk, and ripped it from Prescott’s flesh. Prescott screamed. Jesse slapped a hand over his mouth while the marshal held the man back from punching Pike, who didn’t seem a bit bothered. He then poured the whiskey all over the bleeding hole. Prescott cursed a streak through gnashed teeth and withered while being held down.

  The old man sniffed the stone arrowhead. “Smells like cucumber. Copperhead poison.”

  “But we don’t got copperheads ‘round here,” Nate said. Those were an eastern snake he’d read about in a book. It wasn’t a deadly snake, but Prescott would probably get hellish sick.

  “Every now and then, one will curl up in a Conestoga coming west. The varmint drops out on the ground somewhere along the trail, and the Indians take full advantage of it.”

  Pike pressed his lips tight around the bleeding flesh and sucked the poison out, then spit. He did that for better than a minute. Prescott’s blood painted Pike’s face more with each lip lock. Nate’s stomach felt queasy. A couple times, Pike had to swat a fly away from getting between his lips and that bloody hole.

  Pike looked around, searching for something. “Your shirt’s clean. Cut it into bandages.” He wasn’t asking Fletcher. The ornery old badger pulled his blade from his belt and handed it to the wide-eyed city dude who was profoundly dumbstruck.

  “What are ya waitin’ for, Christmas? Git to it.” Pike wasn’t letting off just because Fletcher was out of his element and probably had never seen anything so gruesome before. Besides that, Pike was demanding the man disrobe his upper half. Good thing Fletcher was wearing a suit coat. It would be something to keep his lily-white skin from being sunburned.

  Nate took the knife while Fletcher hastily unbuttoned his shirt. Everyone could see the blood spilling out of Prescott’s leg. Jesse’s leg was bleeding awful bad too. Nate took the shirt and sliced.

  “Go yank some horse hairs.” Nate lifted his chin toward the grazing animals while cutting the shirt.

  Fletcher went
.

  Prescott was the first to be sewed up and bandaged. Nate couldn’t help but notice the black grime under Pike’s nails, at least the ones he hadn’t bitten off, as he pulled the string taut through Jesse’s skin. It made him think of Pa at home, fighting infection. Jesse had better not get sick too. Nate couldn’t let himself think like that. Jesse would be fine. Pa too.

  Then the marshal had his turn with Pike’s so-called doctoring. None of the stitches lined up, and not all of them were tight together, allowing for a bloody discharge to seep out. Nate blotted at the ooze with a bandage.

  “Git out of my way.” Pike shoved at him.

  “Then do it right, old man.” There was a serious bite to Nate’s tone. He wasn’t pissing around.

  These men needed taken care of correctly. They all had a long way to ride to get home. It would be tomorrow sometime before they got near Gray Rock, and bleeding over forty-some miles wouldn’t get them to a real doctor any faster. Jesse, Prescott, the marshal, they needed their strength, so those leaks needed to stop.

  Nate could feel Fletcher’s eyes on him. That bothered him very little because he was so focused on helping tend to these injured men.

  The blister of an old goat jabbed Nate with an elbow in the gut to git. “I’m doin’ my best.” He finished the last row, and to Nate’s surprise, it was straighter.

  The cut on the old man’s arm wasn’t bad, and Fletcher had been asked to do the sewing to give the other three wounded men time to handle their pain. They were all too shaky at the moment to do any stitching. Nate was glad when the doctoring work was done.

  Everyone had coffee except him. Nate refreshed Jesse’s canteen, drank from that, then filled everyone else’s canteens as well. He brushed down the horses, and Pike stitched Buck.

  Nate tried to shake off Fletcher’s gaze, trailing Nate’s every step. It was like having a nagging toothache. Fletcher didn’t appear worried. In fact, he was expressionless. Instead, it felt like the man was studying Nate. Maybe he had something to say, something Nate didn’t want to hear. There was only one reason for Lem Fletcher to be there, and that was to claim Nate. Otherwise, he’d be on a stage right now, headed away from Gray Rock. Judge Parker must have ruled in favor of the Fletchers. Nate tried not to think about it and ignored Fletcher the best he could. Old man Pike was leaned against a tree nearby, keeping watch while the others slept.

  “Will we camp for the night?” Nate figured he’d unsaddle the horses if they were staying there. It would be dark in a few hours.

  “No. We’ll put a few more miles between us and that fight back yonder.” Pike spit.

  “Ya think they’re still fighting?” Nate recalled that both sides had come at one another screaming like frantic lunatics and waving their weapons. He doubted either side would give up.

  “By now, there’s probably a winner. The loser will tuck tail and run. The winners will likely lick their wounds for a short time. Then they’re gonna spread like locusts across this area, and if they find anyone who don’t belong … well … Why don’t you go wake those boys up? We should get movin’.”

  With a bum leg, it wasn’t easy for Jesse, nor Prescott, to step into the saddle. Nate helped as much as he could. The marshal sat wearily on Buck, as did the old man on his horse. The day was catching up to him. Pike wasn’t badly hurt, but he wasn’t a young man either. Fletcher, with his suit coat buttoned to his neck to hide his bare skin, reached for Nate’s hand. Nate didn’t care if the locusts came. What time he had left would be spent with family, and that meant Jesse. Nate turned his back.

  “Jesse.” Nate pleaded with his baby-blue eyes. He didn’t have to say more.

  Jesse was smart. He knew why Fletcher had risked his life riding into Indian country. It wasn’t to help Jesse or the marshal. Prescott had probably come to keep things civil between Jesse and Fletcher, and Pike, Nate would bet, had been hired as a guide.

  Jesse leaned down, took Nate by the wrist, and hauled him up into the saddle. Nate hugged Jesse’s waist. Their time together was ticking away, and they both knew it. Surely, Nate would get to say good-bye to Ma and Pa before leaving Gray Rock.

  He’d find a way to get away from the Fletchers. But with the threat of Indians, Pa barely hanging on to life, Jesse done in good, and Ma probably beside herself, it wasn’t the time for Nate to pull any more stunts. Plus, he was just plumb exhausted.

  CHAPTER 31

  The sun was all but hidden behind the mountain when they made camp for the night. No one said a word. The horses were picketed and chewing grass. Pike had built a fire. Everyone was spread around it on their blanket rolls. Jesse’s head was pillowed by his saddle, and he was snoring. Prescott’s eyes were closed. His face glistened in the orange firelight. Pike was sponging at Prescott’s forehead. Marshal Huckabee stared off into the flames. He was probably thinking about his family. Pa had said lots of times that’s what he thought about when stuck out on the trails, and Pa and Huckabee were cut from the same cloth.

  Fletcher smartly stayed quiet and glanced around. It wasn’t like he was a favorite among them. He had hardly been of any use, but he wasn’t in anyone’s way either. Except that he gave Nate a sad, lonely feeling for what he still had at the moment, a mother and father, but would lose real soon, maybe the very minute they rode into Gray Rock. Jesse, Huckabee, and Prescott all needed to be looked at by Doc, so that’s where they would go. He curled up tight next to Jesse.

  Nate’s eyes fluttered open to Jesse shaking him awake. The hours passed too quickly as they made their way toward town. Nate’s heart thumped harder with each mile put behind them. He blinked fast, fighting back the tears in his eyes. If anyone noticed, no one tried to console him. What would they have said anyway?

  Everyone wore a grouchy look on their face, except Fletcher who rode staring straight ahead and seemed to be off in his own world, contemplating something that was going on miles from there.

  Rooftops came into view. Gray Rock was still a few miles off, but not as far as Nate would have liked. He quivered. Jesse must have felt it and pulled Nate around to sit in the front of the saddle.

  “Leave us,” Jesse said in a stern voice.

  Old man Pike and Prescott, who were riding side by side, passed them without hesitation. Pike turned and tipped his hat at Nate. That was about as much affection as the old man ever showed, though he had always been kind to him. Nate put up a hand.

  Fletcher pulled up reins next to them. His lips pursed to argue otherwise. Jesse’s face hardened. Before either could say a word, Huckabee shoved Buck between them.

  “Move on, Fletcher,” Huckabee barked.

  “Like hell.” Fletcher glared right back at Huckabee. “How do I know he won’t let the kid escape again?”

  “Ya don’t,” Huckabee said. “But we’re gonna give them some time alone anyway. Might be the last they get.”

  Fletcher hesitantly turned his horse. Huckabee nudged Buck to fall in behind Fletcher.

  “Wait,” Nate called.

  Huckabee pulled up reins, as did Fletcher, but that wasn’t who Nate was thinking about.

  He reached out and rubbed Buck’s neck. “I wish you could go with me, boy.” Nate sniffled. “Jesse will take good care of ya.” Buck lifted his head and blew at Nate. He grinned through his tears. “Bye, boy.” He patted Buck’s soft nose.

  Huckabee nudged Buck. A tear slid down Nate’s face as the mustang walked away. Nate eased back, leaning against Jesse. This was the worst day ever.

  Jesse steered his horse into the tree line. The path was one Nate was familiar with. He and Jesse had ridden this trail many times. It led to the overlook on the side of the ridge. All of Gray Rock could be seen from there.

  When they got to the ledge, the spacious view seemed to take away all Nate’s troubles. There was a whole big world out there, and he was but a speck of it. Jesse reined in. They sat quietly taking in the town a mile or so below them and all the green hills surrounding them. This was a spot Nate would never forge
t.

  “Partner.” Jesse broke the silence. Nate looked up at him. Jesse stared straight into his eyes. “I know you too well. I want you to promise me that you won’t run away from the Fletchers.”

  What in the hell was wrong with Jesse? He had to be out of his mind if he thought for one damn minute that Nate would stay with those city folks. No way. Nate adamantly shook his head.

  Jesse grabbed him by the shoulders. “I mean it, partner. I can’t take the thought of you being out there on your own again, barely surviving. What if ya get hurt or get into some kind of trouble that ya can’t get out of and get yourself killed?” Tears made Jesse’s eyes shine. “Ma and the sheriff ain’t in no shape to shoulder bad news like that. The Fletchers will at least take care of ya.”

  “Don’t you want me to stay?” Nate’s insecurities always surfaced when it felt he was being pushed away by someone he trusted, someone he loved.

  “Hell yes, I want ya here. You know that. But … I need to know you’re safe, and I ain’t the only one. Your mother and father will both be a mess as it is.”

  Nate could imagine the worry on their faces. “Do you think the Fletchers will let me go home and say good-bye before leaving Gray Rock?” Nate really did want Jesse’s opinion, but he had also cleverly changed the subject so he didn’t have to lie. Nate couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t run away, not honestly anyway.

  Jesse let go of him as he thought for a minute. “Don’t see why they wouldn’t. That’d just be ignorant if they didn’t.”

  Nate supposed that was true, but the Fletchers had proved themselves capable of being heartless. After all, they were about to rip Nate from his family. Jesse turned his horse toward the trail to finish their ride into Gray Rock.

  “I wanna hear ya swear it. No runnin’ off.” Jesse hadn’t been fooled, nor had he forgotten.

  Nate nodded. But he should have known Jesse wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Jesse nudged him. He squirmed. Not because of the elbow jab. His gut had tightened. He didn’t feel right lying to Jesse, but what choice did he have? Jesse would gripe the whole way there until he gave in, so he might as well just say it, though he wouldn’t mean it.