As she left she said, “I really like your work.”
Youngblood wore a scowl. He said, “We should sell at Jamestown before going to Sonora or Columbia.”
Pyro said, “Both Sonora and Columbia want deals and are willing to pay more.”
Youngblood said, “We’ll have to make major revisions to our system to accommodate other town’s needs. Can’t they wait?”
Pyro said, “People don’t want to wait. We need to act. I’m going to hire several trainees and gave them basic training in repairs so that we can expand our operation.”
◆◆◆
A week later, Pyro was ready to put their plan into action. Youngblood and Pyro were wary but hopeful a fair deal could be struck. They went to see Fox first.
“Please, sit,” said Fox settling once more behind his mahogany desk. “You must be happy with all your success.”
Pyro smiled. “How can we help you?”
Fox said, “It’s easy. I want a discount on the items I’m buying in bulk.”
“You owe me for last week’s deliveries already and you’re trying to make new demands?” asked Pyro
Fox said, “Don’t get excited. Haven’t I always paid.”
“Always late.”
Fox said, “Yeah, but you always you got your money. We’ve been doing business long enough to trust each other.”
Pyro scowled.
“Don’t get mad. You can trust me.” Fox added, “You know what will happen if you disappoint me. Some people can get their leg’s broken.”
Pyro said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m a cat. I always land on my feet. What do you do with all the money you make reselling our products?”
Fox said, “You know the cost of everything. A fellow has got to live.”
“You’ve seen our work. You know there’s money there.”
Fox said, “What’s this going to cost me? And how much will I get?”
“Ten percent off the top.”
Fox said, “Yeah but I’m taking all the risk while you sit back safe. I’m thinking a 20 percent discount would be better. In addition, I’ll get you more recruits and you can train them to work exclusively for me.”
Pyro said, “No deal. We’re going to deal with Sonora instead of you.”
Fox shouted, “Get out! I never want to see you in town again. If you come back, I’ll release the dogs on you. Get Out!”
Chapter 16
Quiet is Good
Although only midday, the clouds swept through the sky making it seem closer to evening. For several days, Jamestown had been pelted by a stiff easterly wind carrying an angry rain storm that encouraged townsfolk, farmers, and ranchers alike, to seek refuge in the town’s indispensable sanctuary, the Branch Water Saloon. Low-beamed, noisy, dirty, and not particularly well-lit, it remained a solid uncompromising social refuge for the community.
Youngblood sat wedged in a corner in the back of the long room half-listening to the babble of voices nearby that boomed above the clatter of plates and mugs and the splatter of rain against the roof. There was an aroma of food and beer mixed with tobacco smoke. Every time the door opened allowing the brisk wet weather to enter, a chorus of angry exclamations cursed the interloper.
He glanced at the crowd of men and women. Some were young, others much older.
Across the room, rancher Malcolm Terrance, who was a stubborn man willing to crow and spout off but without the bite to go with it, said, “Jarod’s gone too far to back down now, or ever. I always thought he had a nasty look about him. If he can’t intimidate us, he’ll do worse until we go meekly to the slaughter. It’s only a matter of time before he does.”
“Jarod won’t make big trouble now that he’s collected his taxes. He hasn’t resorted to killing settlers, only strangers. What more can he do that he hasn’t already done?” asked Lew.
Lew Thomas lived outside of town and enjoyed dissecting the news. While he was proud to offer his opinion on any subject, he was unwilling to act on his own advice. He was the last person one might expect to believe in anything strange, or unusual because he considered himself a sensible farmer and not given to nonsense.
Henry Jackson was a big beefy man whose mustache invited comment. As a friendly neighbor, he often soaked up Thomas’ words like a sponge.
“Lew’s right. So long as they take their piece and leave us the rest, we shouldn’t worry. Jarod wouldn’t set his gang on us. He’ll squeeze us to get what he wants, or take it by force if he has too, but no killing. He wouldn’t kill the golden goose.”
Lew said, “He’s left the valley with his ill-gotten gains and he’ll probably be gone for several weeks.”
Henry said, “Maybe longer. He’s headed to the mountains with his loot.”
Malcolm said, “It’d be great if he never came back.”
“Since he left, his gang has been quiet.”
“Yeah, Lew’s right. They take it easy when he’s not around to drive them on.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable. He’ll be back.”
Lew said, “I think his next big move will be to go after that fellow Youngblood. Jarod doesn’t like technology and he’s already singled him out as a target. That wildfire was set by Jarod to drive Youngblood out of the valley and it won’t be his last attempt.”
“Yeah, he’ll want to make an example of Youngblood. It’s personal now.”
“He’s done it before when someone stepped out of line.”
Youngblood leaned back in his chair unperturbed by the local’s insights. Stronger and healthier than when he first arrived, his illness had gone into remission, allowing a quiet serenity to seep into his life as the summer waned.
Pointing at Youngblood, Lew said, “He doesn’t look surprised, or worried. In a strange fashion, he’s a marked man, but it hasn’t intimidated him. In fact, he looks as if he welcomes it.”
More conversations of this variety were carried out as the summer lull continued. There wasn’t a lot of activity from gang members. The locals were sure that something from Youngblood’s past accounted for this, but they couldn’t tell what.
Youngblood was aware, as well. It was difficult to accept that it was only a few months since he emerged from an underground mausoleum. He could hardly believe how he had recovered his physical strength and acquired new skills to run a business. At first, he doubted he would ever be able to learn all that was needed of him. The bewildering complexities of machines and computers. The basic skills of survival in the wilderness which confronted him every day. But he understood the unwritten law of friendship and loyalties in the valley where he was neither fish nor fowl.
The rain stopped hammering against the roof.
Youngblood stood and stretched his legs, leaning over he whispered to Kira, “I’m going to the bunker.”
She looked apprehensive.
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”
He left the saloon, but after riding a hundred yards outside of town, he met trouble.
William’s thin drawn face turned into a frown at the main gate when Murdock came riding out from behind a cluster of boulders in Youngblood’s path.
Murdock dismounted and looped his reins over a bush.
Youngblood leaned easily in his saddle without concern.
Murdock pretended not to notice but didn’t approach. He said, “I didn’t expect you to have the nerve to show your face outside of town.”
He sucked his lower lip and rubbed his fist in his eye. “I owe you.”
Youngblood let his hand slide down to the knife on his waist.
Murdock frowned, and his eyes grew dark. He unshouldered his gun.
The lean muscles of Youngblood’s jaw were rigid. Ben had been in the stable when William told him what was happening. Now he joined Pyro and several others watched from the gate.
It was so quiet it hurt. But nothing happened.
The two men watched each other.
Youngblood started riding passed Murdock.
Two more gang members emerged from behind the boulder and stood beside Murdock.
Youngblood was cool and easy. There was a curious flow to his movements as he dismounted and walked forward.
“And I still owe you,” said Youngblood. He bent down and in a smooth motion, he picked up some sand and threw it into the big man’s face. There was a quiet lingering stillness in the area as flakes of dirt fell off his face. He jerked up and swung at Youngblood, but he wasn’t quick enough. Youngblood dodged and lunged forward, grabbing Murdock by his jacket and pulling him forward so he tripped over his own feet and fell face first on the ground.
The two other gang members looked as if they were about to join in when the crowd of townspeople stepped closer.
Murdock struggled to his feet, but Youngblood never gave him a chance to get himself together. His hand slapped the man’s face repeatedly, then he punched and pushed until Bulldog swung around and was wrapped in his own jacket. Youngblood punched him repeatedly in the nose, breaking it. Forcing him off balance and to the ground once more, blood was dripping from his battered nose and face. His eyes red and watery. He swung wildly, but Youngblood avoided each action and then stepped closer, and punched again and again until the big man fell unconscious.
Youngblood looked at the other gang members and turned his hands up as if to say, ‘Do you want some?’
No, they didn’t. They started to leave.
Youngblood said, “Wait.”
He bent down and wiped Murdock’s face with his handkerchief. Murdock choked a little but started to come to.
“Take him home and get him cleaned up.”
After that Youngblood changed. He tried to keep the status between him and Kira and Pyro the same, but it wasn’t. On the surface, it was the same, but underneath he had lost the serenity that had seeped into him over the summer. He no longer sat and talked. Instead, he would stare at the mountains or lean against a tree and whistle softly to himself.
On occasion, he ran his hands along the mane of his horse and he treated her well, but without the past affection that had shone in his eyes. The horse nuzzled him when he groomed her, but he didn’t respond.
Kira was acutely aware of this change and tried to kid him into a friendlier mood.
For a week after Youngblood fought Murdock, the gang had not taken any action and the valley people enjoyed this time of peace.
They had been busy tending to their farms and ranches. But Youngblood and Pyro remained alert. They worked and traveled together, watching each other’s back while Kira remained jumpy.
On Saturdays, everyone came to town to trade and have a good time and collect the mail. The school teacher lectured the parents to send their kids to the new school house they were building. The day was beautiful and warm, clear and fresh. It didn’t seem possible anything bad could happen.
Youngblood savored a drink at the bar not looking for company nor shunning it. No one stood close to him.
William entered the saloon and walked over to him. He said, “Kilgore and Murdock are at the main gate demanding you come out.”
Youngblood nodded as if he had expected it and went to the gate.
Kilgore yelled, “We’re going to throw you out of the valley and we want you to stay out for good, or next time it will be the end for you.”
Youngblood had a perplexing look on his face, not afraid, almost happy as if he hoped for this, expected it, and was unafraid of the outcome.
He stepped outside the gate.
The gate guard leveled his shotgun at Kilgore and said, “No gunplay.”
Kilgore nodded and said to Youngblood, “What you did to Murdock was unfair. You didn’t fight fair. No one messes with our gang like that and gets away with it.”
Murdock and two more gang members appeared from behind the trees and approached.
Youngblood didn’t wait. He flowed into action, swift and sure. He scooped up a rock and whipped it on Murdock’s head with a crash.
Murdock reached out to strike back but missed. Youngblood grabbed his wrists and pulled him forward off balance and then flung him to the side causing him to crash to the ground.
The other gang members launched forward and began to batter Youngblood, but they only fed his fierce energy. He burst out of the melee whirling and plunging about. Like a jackrabbit, he hopped out of reach and avoided their attack. He kicked and thrust against them. He picked on one man and punched and drove him back, then another. A slow and clumsy man suffered the worst of the next beating, and exasperated, he grabbed at thin air.
They were wary of Youngblood now and held back, not so eager to meet his fists.
After a minute, they lunged together and finally caught him and pinned back his arms. They took turns pounding him.
Youngblood’s face was purplish and bruised. He slumped over and would have fallen if they didn’t hold him up.
Then Pyro and Ben came from behind the gang members. Pyro was terrible, big, and mad. Ben was cagey, and his blows were targeted. The gang members didn’t know the two were coming until Ben broke a branch over the first one and used it to pound the second.
The gang members scattered, giving Youngblood a chance to collect himself and join his friend.
One gang member pulled back to strike a blow but never made it. Pyro was fast and deadly with his large fists and powerful arms sending one man reeling across the road. Youngblood exploded back into action and yanked another man away and hit him.
Murdock was tall but not as tall as Pyro and he was strong but not as strong as Pyro. They paired off, matched against one another, punching one for one, until finally, Murdock crashed to the ground his face puffy and red-mottled. He bellowed and screamed but stayed down.
The sounds of the fight diminished until they were mostly heavy wheezing and moaning as everyone was exhausted and bruised.
Forgetting all caution, Youngblood leaped forward and struck at the remaining men until they panicked and fled. He pulled himself erect and limped after them, his eyes blazing. Straight, tall, ready, not a tremor.
Later, Lew told the story all over town, “I never saw anything like it,” he said, and the story grew with each telling.
No one in town was bothered by the gangs the next week. The gang was busy licking their wounds and left this side of the valley to the settlers.
Malcolm said, “Jarod is still in the mountains and nobody knows why.”
Lew said, “He’s got a tiger by the tail and he’s afraid to let go.”
Henry said, “I don’t like waiting.”
Malcolm said, “He talks big, maybe he’s all bluff.”
Lew said, “Things are quiet.”
Henry said, “Quiet is good.”
Chapter 17
Six Years Old
Ben’s house in the center of Jamestown was old, drafty, and creaked in a strong the wind; at least a hundred and fifty years had passed since its foundation had been laid, but that in no way diminished the love and joy that radiated throughout its walls on this day.
The small rustic house was full of clutter including parts to machines, but it was also alive with chatter and laughter. The dining room table was piled high with food and drink. There were a few family pictures adorning the walls. The living room was small and cramped with a wooden table stacked high with presents and chairs packed around it.
Despite the stark poverty, Youngblood recognized the rich hospitality the home offered. Smiling at Ben, he said, “Thank you for including me.”
“We’re glad to have you, aren’t we, Kira?”
“Certainly,” said Kira.
Ben said, “Come, join the rest of the party.”
Lorrie's friends, two little girls and three little boys from town, were there to add to the excitement. There were homemade party hats and simple craft decorations. Everyone was talking at once.
They were exhausted by the time Ben called them to dinner. “We’ve Kira to thank for most of this bounty.”
The dinner was a
feast of thick slices of wild turkey drowning in gravy, and platters bursting with potatoes, and greens. Bread and milk and coffee were ready to wash it down.
Ben said grace and then the laughter continued unabated for an hour.
Kira heaped Lorrie’s plate with food.
Despite chewing mouthfuls of food, the animated conversation never stopped.
Everyone had a story to tell.
Then Kira brought out a cake with lit candles and ‘Lorrie’ written in large frosted letters.
All eyes turned to Lorrie as her large alert eyes grew wide and she lit up almost as brightly as the six candles on the cake. She exclaimed, “My birthday cake is wonderful!”
“Kira managed to scratch together the ingredients for that cake, bless her,” said Ben.
Ben gave Lorrie a protective hug and guided her to the center of the table when her friends began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. As the group sang the melody, she joined in, singing with all her heart.
“Make a wish,” yelled Pyro.
Lorrie thought for a moment and then nodded.
Pyro shouted, “Blow out the candles.”
Lorrie stood on a chair and placed her hands on the table. Then she inhaled a deep breath, and leaning forward on tippy-toes, she let out a gust of air that blinked out five of the candles.
A quick sharp puff from Ben snuffed out the last reticent flame before Lorrie could draw another breath.
She began to unwrap her presents. These weren’t conventional gifts. They were handcrafted personal tokens of love. Her puppy, Goldie, jumped up and down, while she opened them.
Not for the first time, an argument broke out at the table, a spirited debate over who had given the best present.
Kira’s gift was a rustic Raggedy Ann doll that she had sewn together from fabric scraps and painted a cute face.
“I got my wish!” said Lorrie, her face as fresh as falling rain. She said, “I’ll call her Annie.” She gave the doll a warm embrace, after which the doll became her constant companion.
They played games and handed out prizes to the children, but the adults enjoyed the activities as much as the little ones. Ben suggested a treasure hunt and gave each child a treasure map. The next minutes were a delight as the six small creatures scurried throughout the house to find the treasure of chocolates.
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