by Danni Roan
“Very observant.”
Sarah Jane smiled. “She’s also in love with the brave who rode by on the brown and white pony just before we went into the church.” She said.
“How do you know?” Titus asked incredulously.
“She was busy wringing out the clothes when he rode by, but her eyes were always on him and when he rode away without any indication of seeing her she slumped even further.”
Titus turned his head to look at the woman again. He couldn’t see any signs of depression or defeat in her.
“How do I know you’re not just making it up?”
“Why would I?” she gazed up at him her dark eyes wide and full of truth. When she giggled, it caught him by surprise, and he wondered what was so funny. “The worst thing is the brave likes her just as much, but doesn’t know how to tell her,” she grinned.
This time Titus stopped crossed his arms and looked down at her skeptically. “You cannot know that.”
“Why else has he ridden through here three times then?” Sarah Jane tittered.
Titus shook his head. “Well I’d like to see if anything comes from your predictions,” he said. “I might need proof.”
A cold wind picked up the dust at their feet and Sarah Jane turned her back to it, pulling the black and white shawl over her head.
Moving to the side to shelter her further from the wind Titus place a hand on her shoulder as the gust buffeted them.
“I think we’d better head back,” he finally said. “You’re parents will wonder what’s happened to us.”
“Sarah Jane, Sarah Jane!” the twins came racing toward them as they approached the Bentley household, “Pa said we could each have a puppy from the litter Blundering Bear’s dog had.”
“He did? And what did Ma say?” Sarah Jane asked.
“She said if we couldn’t take care of it and train it to have some manners, we couldn’t keep one.”
“I’m gonna have mine trained before yours.” Calvin said.
Titus had finally come to realize that one boy had a slightly narrower face than the other and could now identify the twins.
“No you ain’t. My dog is gonna be the best ever. I’ll train mine to do tricks and everything.”
“I think you’d both better wait until their old enough to leave their mother first,” Sarah Jane laughed. “In the mean time where will these dogs live once you each get one?”
Calvin looked at Melvin and Melvin looked at Calvin, their dark eyes uncertain.
“Hadn’t thought of that,” they both said looking at their sister.
“We could put them in the barn,” Melvin suggested.
“And what if one of the horses steps on them?” Sarah Jane asked sensibly.
“We could keep ‘em in our rooms,” Calvin ventured hopefully.
Sarah Jane crossed her arms and stared at her brothers, one raised brow speaking volumes.
“Oh. Well maybe not.”
“We could ask Father John to help us build a house for them,” Calvin suggested.
“Yeah! That’s a great idea. Thanks Sarah Jane,” Melvin called as he and his brother shot back down the path they’d just come from toward the church.
“That should keep them busy,” Sarah Jane said smiling at Titus. “Father John will have them working for days.”
Titus chuckled. He liked this girl. She was different than the young women he could remember, though those were few. She had intelligence and a quick humor that set you at ease from the beginning.
“I’d better go check on my stock,” he said escorting her to the door. “I’ll see you for lunch.”
Titus strode toward the barn, his quick steps warming him even with the icy breeze from the mountains toying with the dust of the path.
He couldn’t help but wonder what else Sarah Jane had noticed. She had demonstrated that she saw so much in the little world where she lived, and he was intrigued.
As he walked into the simple pole barn the brown mule stuck his mealy nose over a rail and brayed at him.
“You been missing me old man.” Titus said, walking to the mule and scratching his forehead. “I wish you could tell me who I am.”
The old mule nodded his head making Titus laugh. “Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought when I came off that hill,” he said. “Talking to a mule and thinking it could understand.”
The mule tugged at his shirt sleeve with its lips and he chuckled. “Well I guess you know me as well as anyone,” Titus continued.
Turning away from the mule, he walked to the feed bin and carried a handful of grain to both the mule and the little buckskin he’d purchased in Hester. They both belonged to him, and yet they didn’t feel like they were his.
Titus shook his head. Talking to Sarah Jane had done all sorts of funny things to his brain. The fact that she was attractive didn’t hurt either.
“I guess it’s about time I give you each a name.” He finally said watching the animals return to their feed.
For several long seconds he studied the mule. The animal was tall and brown and that was about all you could say about it. Perhaps as mules go, it had good legs and a decent confirmation or form, but it was a mule.
Outside the barn Titus could hear the boys coming, and he listened to their excited chatter as they walked toward the house.
“I’m gonna build the finest crate ever,” one boy said. “My dog will think he’s the king of the world.”
“Well I’m going to make mine all fancy and my dog will never want to leave it then.” The other boy replied.
“What good’ll that do? No point havin’ a dog if it don’t want to go anywhere with you.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Titus chuckled as he caught a glimpse of the boys turning up the path toward home, but he turned back to the mule.
“If what Sarah Jane said is true, and I was a sod buster, what would I have called you?” he mused scratching the mule’s forehead, then chuckling again. “I guess that’s what I’ll call you.” He said giving the mule a pat. “I’ll call you Buster.”
A strange feeling fell over Titus as he gave the mule a name as if something had filtered down into his heart that his mind hadn’t quite caught up with yet, some sense of belonging.
Giving the mule another pat he turned to the sure footed buckskin. “Buck is just too common,” he said, lifting a pitch fork and tossing hay in to the horse then making the rounds with the seven other animals stabled there.
A sudden light seemed to ignite in his brain as he made his way back to the horse and he smiled. “I’ll call you Chance,” he said. “Jed gave me a second chance at living, and you’re my second critter so to speak. Who knows maybe together we’ll have a chance to figure out who I am.”
He handed another fist full of grain to the horse then one for the mule and hanging the pitch fork back in place stepped out of the barn headed to the house.
Titus knew that if a runner was sent to get a message to Sheriff Davis, he might receive a summons to return to Hester, but in his heart he knew that anything short of the Sheriff demanding he come back or word that Jed needed him, he wouldn’t be leaving the little valley.
Something inside Titus has shifted, he needed to understand his past more than ever, but more than anything he hoped that he might finally accept that memory or not he could have a future.
“You look different,” Sarah Jane said as Titus stepped up onto the front stoop and washed his hands in the basin there.
“I’ve decided that message or no, I’ll stay put for the winter,” Titus said. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I need to settle a spell and see what happens.”
Sarah Jane smiled at Titus. He was a handsome man, even with the scar that marred his temple.
There was something about him that drew her to him; a fascination that she couldn’t pin point.
“I’m sure my folks will be glad to have you around and who knows maybe you’ll escort us to Biders clump in the spring.”
&nbs
p; Titus smiled, “I might at that.”
“I do hope Father John can help with the message though. Everyone will be more settled if they know where we are.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Titus said.
“Titus,” Bill said, “just the man I wanted to see. The boys tell me you were working in the barn a bit ago, and I was wondering if you could help me with the wagon after lunch.”
Titus nodded. “I’d be glad to help,” he said as the rest of the family gathered around the table. “I’m grateful for you takin’ me in, and I’d like to help.”
“Good-good,” Bill Bentley said. “It’ll be a help having a bit more muscle around this winter.”
Chapter 19
A SUDDEN THUMP AND rattle at the front door startled Polly Esther from her chair in the good parlor where she’d been working on the mending.
“Good heavens!” she cried standing and turning toward the door. It wasn’t that she’d drifted off, but she’d needed to rest her eyes, and now the sudden commotion made her jump.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she called hurrying to the stoop of the Biders Clump Boarding house and opening the door.
“Sakes a live!” she nearly screamed, placing her hands on her cheeks as she stared down at the prostrate form of a young indian man on her door step.
“George! George!” Polly yelled bending and touching the young man’s face to see if he were alive.
“Polly, what’s all the commotion?” her husband George said stepping around her. “Heavens to Betsy!” he declared, “let’s get him inside.”
Together they half carried, half dragged the man into the house closing the door with a thud and stopping the cold from following them.
What do you think he’s doing here?” Polly asked looking past the arm she had slung over her shoulder at George.
George’s dark eyes were full of worry, and he shook his gray head. “I don’t know, but I’ll get someone to fetch the Sheriff right away.”
Polly nodded, her bright blue eyes dimmed with worry. “You don’t think there are more coming do you?” she asked as together she and George hefted the man onto her best settee.
“No tellin’,” George said. “Ain’t been any trouble in a long time.”
Polly nodded again as she pulled a warm blanket from the back of the settee and covered the man.
“He looks like he’s come a far piece,” George mused, noting the heavy moccasins, and warm buckskins.
“Hello! Hello!” another voice called from the stoop and George turned heading back to the door as heavy pounding shook its frame.
“It’s alright Major,” George said opening the door and gazing at an old man dressed all in blue. “We got an unexpected visitor’s all.”
The white haired man nodded once, pushing the hilt of his sword that he’d half drawn, back into its scabbard.
“I thought I heard Miss Polly calling for help,” the major said.
“You did,”George said, “and I’ll tell ya all about it later, but could you maybe go fetch the Sheriff for me just now?”
“As you wish Mr. Olson,” the man said making a smart turn and marching down the street.
George closed the door again. The chill had seeped into the hall way, and he wanted nothing more than to stoke the fires to force it out again.
“I’m putting on coffee,” he called as he moved down the hall to the kitchen. “Holler if there’s any change.”
Polly looked down at the young man on her settee. He looked road weary and worn. She didn’t recognize his pack or the markings on his buckskins, so she could only guess he’d been traveling from far away.
Moving to an old trunk by the fire place, she opened it and pulled out a heavy woolen blanket draping it over the man as well.
She’d just lifted the poker from the fire place rack when George came back into the room.
“Coffee’s started,” he said. “I sent the Major to fetch Sheriff Pike.” He looked up at Polly his dark eyes serious. “I hope there’s no confusion.”
“Major Jupiter has been doing much better since Ferd got him a job with the Sheriff.” Polly said. “I think keeping Mr. Williams from running us all down every day in that death trap of his has given him purpose.”
George nodded his head and smiled. “He still gets a bit confused some days though,” he mused.
A knock on the door announced another arrival, and Polly moved toward it allowing George to finish building up the fire.
“Polly, the Major said there was a problem over here,” Sheriff Pike said stepping into the hall as Polly opened the door, and sweeping his hat from his head of snowy hair.
“You’d best come in Sheriff,” Polly said leading him to the parlor. “We have an unexpected guest.”
The sheriff stopped at the doorway to the parlor staring at the young brave sprawled across Polly’s elegant settee.
“Where’d he come from?” Sheriff Pike asked still gaping.
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” George said rising from his place by the fire which now blazed brightly.
“It don’t make sense a fella like him being all the way up here,” Pike scratched his head.
“You know the tribe?” Polly asked.
“Based on what I can see of his gear, I’d say he’s Shoshone, but they don’t come up this way much anymore.”
“Do you think there’ll be trouble?” George asked his eye flicking between the sheriff and the young Indian.
“I haven’t heard of anything.”
“Well no point worrying about it till we know why he’s here,” Polly said sensibly. “Come on into the kitchen, and we’ll have cup of coffee.”
“And maybe a cookie or two,” George volunteered hopefully.
“George Olson, you and your cookies,” Polly groused with a grin.
“Is it my fault I married the best dad-gum cookie baker in the whole state of Wyoming?” George grinned.
Polly shook her head but smiled. She loved the fact that George was proud of her baking. What was the point of cooking something if it wasn’t appreciated?
The trio settled at the table with a piping cup of coffee in hand and plate of oatmeal cookies to share.
“Anything new on the Bentley’s kin?” George asked as the silence grew.
“No, and Bob’s pretty worried,” Pike replied. “He says it’s not like his brother to not get word to him.”
“Travel’s hard anytime even these days,” Polly mused. “Taking the train is one thing, but if you’re movin’ your whole family by wagon it’s seldom without some troubles.”
“That’s the truth,” George agreed. “Even taking the train can be a trial sometimes. When we brought Althea’s brood up to stay why I thought we’d never get here.”
“Chasing after four young rambunctious children is like that,” Polly added with a chuckle.
Sheriff Pike turned his head, tipping an ear toward the hall. “Did you hear something?” he asked half rising from his chair.
“I think he’s waking up,” Polly said standing. “We’ll go see.”
Together the three town elders walked back the hall stepping into the parlor just as the brave pushed the heavy blankets off.
“Hello.” Polly said drawing the man’s dark brown eyes to her.
“Sheriff!” the brave said as his eyes fell on Pike. “Sheriff!” he said again pointing as a bright smile spread across his face.
“Yes I’m Sheriff Pike.” The older man stepped between his companions to stand before the brave who was franticly clawing at his clothes.
With a sigh of satisfaction they young man stopped rummaging and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper handing it to Pike.
Taking the paper Sheriff Pike angled toward the light streaming through the window and began to read.
“Sheriff it is with regret that I inform you that my family and I will not be able to make it to Biders Clump this year. We are safe and well. Please inform my brother Bob Bentley. Regards, Bill Bent
ley.”
George and Polly looked at each other then turned to the sheriff, before looking back at the brave who sat smiling proudly on their settee.
“Where’d you get this?” Sheriff Pike asked the Indian.
“Father John give to me. He say to take it to sheriff.”
Polly studied the young Indian skeptically; the twinkle in his eye told her there was more to the story than he was saying.
“Do you think you’re strong enough to come to the kitchen and eat something?” she asked.
“Yes.” The brave said pushing himself to his feet.
“What should we call you?” George asked leading the way to the kitchen, “and do ya drink coffee?”
“I am Lame Antelope,” the young man said, “but Father John calls me Francis, sometimes Fran.”
“Well Fran you’re welcome here.” George said.
“Thank you,” Francis said, “and I drink coffee.”
George smiled, now that they knew that the brave was a messenger, he was happy to offer him food and lodging.
“George, Polly, Francis,” Sheriff Pike nodded to each of his companions; “I’ll just head on over to the Bentley’s and let them know about the note.”
“Thank you Sheriff,” George said, turning to walk his friend to the door, while Polly pulled down a skillet and carved off several hearty slices of bacon.
“I’ll whip you up some bacon and eggs, for now,” Polly said addressing the young man who had taken a seat at the table. “Later we’ll have a real meal.”
Francis nodded his head, sipping the cup of coffee Polly had given him moments ago.
“So where’d you come from anyway Francis?” George asked walking back into the kitchen and refilling his cup.
“Shady is closest town,” Francis said. “I work with the Father-brothers one day away.”
“Father-brothers?” George asked sitting down. “What’re they?”
“Men of the church,” Francis replied, “like Father John.”
“Priests,” George said, “now I see. You live at one of them mission places.”
“Yes.”
Polly placed a plate of bacon and eggs and toast before the young man and smiled. “We’re glad you made it here safe,” she said, “and we’re mighty please to hear that the Bentley’s family is well, but I’m a little confused as to why this Father John would send you all the way to Biders Clump to tell Sheriff Pike when you could have taken the message somewhere closer to home.”
