Yester's Ride

by C. K. Crigger

  Not that it had been easy.

  Still, they’d managed, Yester by staying out of the way and letting the other two work. He smiled, thinking of the way easygoing Nat lost his temper and yelled at his helper, and Ketta, the aforementioned helper, yelled right back. She would never have done such a thing before. Never. But then, Nat wouldn’t have, either. Which of them had changed the most during this adventure?

  Or was it Yester himself who’d changed most. He’d killed a man, now. Two men. Most people never dreamed of taking another person’s life.

  They hadn’t been good men, he told himself. Best not to think of it.

  So, he didn’t. Not too much.

  They traversed the canyon and came down to the trail beside the river, backtracking the way they’d arrived yesterday. The trail became a road, where passersby surveyed the bundles aboard the horses and, eyeing the grim caravan, thought better of asking questions.

  Eventually the town of Lewiston opened up before them. Late afternoon found them drawing to a halt in front of the sheriff’s office.

  Yester was slumped in the saddle by this time, barely able to lift his head. Which elected Nat spokesman, calling out to the sheriff by name. A crowd gathered.

  Thankfully, the sheriff was in. Poised for trouble, he came to stand in the doorway, his hand on the butt of his pistol. Taking a moment, he surveyed the group.

  “Whatcha got here, boys?” he said, although, judging by the gathering crowd, anybody who had eyes could and had guessed the contents of the horses’ loads.

  “Dead outlaws,” Nat answered laconically.

  “Who killed them?”

  “Me.” Yester found it in himself to raise his head and speak. “Two of them. The rest got to fighting and killed each other.”

  The sheriff stared. “Who are they?”

  Ketta spoke up. “He told you. Outlaws. Thieves. Murderers.” She paused. “Kidnappers.”

  Narrow-eyed, the sheriff said, “Who’d they kidnap?”

  “Me.” To all appearances she didn’t even hear the crowd’s murmur. “Please, is there a doctor here? My brother has been shot.”

  As it turned out, Lewiston not only had a doctor, it had a hospital. A hospital in which, over his strong protests, Yester spent the next couple days while his wounds healed. To his disgust, the staff was plumb set on feeding their patients nourishing broths. Then came a bath, a badly needed bath. Yester’s problem was the pretty nurse not much older than he who was put in charge. Yester figured he’d feel better about it if he could just die. Yep. Right there on the spot.

  Meanwhile, due to the good will the sheriff promoted, Ketta and Nat were installed in a rooming house that had agreed to shelter them for as long as necessary. Maybe it wasn’t the best rooming house in town. What high-toned establishment wants to take in a Métis and a mixed-blood Chinese girl? However, the two found the meals filling, the rooms adequate, and, causing Ketta to squeal with delight and almost fracture Yester’s ears when she told him about it, the place boasted a modern bathroom. After some fuss and bother and an extra fee, hot bath water ran into a deep, claw-footed tub. She reveled in a bath. Two baths—she held up two fingers to show him—as if she could never be clean enough.

  Even Nat tried out the indoor tub.

  “Beats this hospital, for sure,” Yester said gloomily.

  They had money. The sheriff, once he got a look at the outlaws’ bodies, extended them a few dollars credit on the basis of the pending rewards coming through. Which they did, on the day after Yester joined Nat and Ketta at the rooming house.

  Finally, it was time to head home. Money in their pockets, or, more precisely, after some argument, wrapped in a bandana and buried at the bottom of a container of flour. Ketta’s idea.

  “In case somebody tries to rob us,” she said.

  Yester gave her a look, wondering how she’d gotten so wise.

  Nat flourished one of Heller’s six-guns, a pearl-handled .44 caliber Smith and Wesson Russian, a share of the spoils. “We got protection. Nobody is going to rob us. Nobody knows we have money.”

  Ketta’s nose wrinkled. “Do too. Don’t you think people are talking about us? About your and Yester’s exploits? Bet everybody in town knows. Bet everyone in the whole country!”

  “Better listen to her, Nat,” Yester advised, grinning at their argument. Ketta had been a whole lot more forceful in stating her opinion these last few days.

  “Yes. We bought all these supplies, didn’t we?” she was saying. “I got a new dress—two new dresses—and Yester and you both got some clothes. We bought gifts, too, and we paid cash. Of course, people know we have money.”

  “Well, maybe we spent it all.”

  “Huh.”

  The sheriff proved amicable to Yester’s insistence that they be the ones to return Patton’s horses to him. Especially the Percheron. Yester felt duty bound, considering the rancher’s help in their quest. The sheriff had decided to keep Heller’s pinto for his own.

  Once gaining the top of the long, steep hill up from the Snake, they ambled slowly through the countryside, taking care for Yester’s wounds. On the second day, they passed through Patton’s freestanding gate, making sure to close it after them.

  Ketta laughed.

  Warned by the dog, Patton and his wife emerged from their house and watched them come. Patton’s right leg was splinted from hip to ankle, five dirty bare toes exposed to the elements, and he was leaning on crutches. Hatless, his head bore a thick white bandage wrapped around it. He was pleased to accept the animals and congratulated the three, shaking hands all around.

  “Young lady, I’m glad to see your brother got you back in one, whole piece.” Patton’s mouth curled under his mustache into a smile. “And you, lad, you done good.” His nod included Nat. “Both of you boys done good. And you’re both alive to talk about it.” He sounded a bit surprised at that, something Yester didn’t consider too complimentary.

  Yester had to shake hands using his left. “That we are, sir. We wondered, though, what happened to you. Last Nat and me saw, you and your hands took off after those outlaws. We hoped to meet with you again, right up until they all got together at the Chinaman’s cabin. By then we figured something had gone wrong.”

  Patton’s face turned a ruddy hue. “Horse stepped in a gopher hole, broke both his leg and mine. Had to shoot him. The boys almost had to shoot me, too. I’d bumped my head on a rock, and they carried me home on a travois. By the time I regained my senses, we figured the tracks were wiped out, and there was no use setting off again.”

  Yester couldn’t figure how the old man had ever imagined to fork a horse in his condition, let alone chase outlaws.

  “You still ain’t regained your senses, old man,” Mrs. Patton declared, “or you’d’ve invited these young folks into the house for a bite to eat.”

  Something other than trail food appealed to the three. They dismounted, Mrs. Patton taking Ketta under her wing.

  “Why, you seem a little older than I thought,” the lady said, her arm around Ketta’s shoulders. “I understood you were just a child.”

  “I’m small for my age,” Ketta replied shyly. “But I’m almost grown up.”

  “Yes.” The old lady looked deeply into Ketta’s eyes. “Yes, I see you are.”

  Their tale told in detail, they mounted up and headed out again, Patton’s insistence on paying a reward adding to their wealth.

  They camped that night, and sometime along midnight Yester woke up when he heard the animals stirring. He poked Nat, who lay nearby, in the ribs.

  “What?” Nat didn’t move, although his open eyes showed he was wide awake.

  “Got company.”

  “I heard.”

  The matched Smith & Wessons were drawn from beneath their pillowing saddles. Yester rolled into the cover of a tree stump, cursing as his arm took a knock, and when he looked back, Nat had disappeared.

  “Move on, you,” Yester roared. “We got you covered.”

&
nbsp; Ketta popped up, eyes wide.

  “Over here!” Nat yelled from the shadows.

  A shot rang out, the report loud in the night, which caused Ketta to dive beneath her blanket. Running footsteps retreated, then hoofbeats sounded.

  A minute later, Nat came back and resumed his bedroll.

  The other two stared at him.

  “Guess you didn’t get him,” Yester said.

  Nat shrugged. “Never even saw him.”

  Ketta scowled at him. “Then what were you shooting at?”

  “A tree. Got a dead tree.” Grinning, Nat lay down.

  “Told you people knew we have money,” Ketta muttered, and then, on a note of complaint, “The sheriff told everybody who’d listen about the three of us bringing in all those outlaw corpses. After that, you’d think people would be more cautious around us, wouldn’t you? Who’d ever guess there are so darn many thieves in the world?”

  This disturbance was the most exciting incident of the trip. The next day they rode into the Noonans’ ranch yard, and Barney, once he’d identified the riders, limped over to greet them on his three good legs, his tail wagging frantically enough to create a minor windstorm.

  Horses grazed in the meadow beyond the corrals. The outhouse was back in place, the barn in the process of being repaired, and chickens strutted in and out of the coop.

  Except for an attempt at fixing the step by laying a whole board over the burned part, as far as repairs went, the house hadn’t been touched. Not that Yester could tell.

  Alerted by Barney’s baying, Yellow Bird Fontaine appeared in the doorway. She held a broom in her hands as if wishing it were a rifle until she saw who they were. Then a broad smile lit her face.

  There was no sign of either Big Joe Noonan, or Magdalene. A chill swept Yester’s euphoria away. It was left to Nat to lead them to the hitching rail in front of the scorched house.

  “Mother,” Nat announced, “we are home.”

  Yester and Ketta exchanged looks. Mrs. Fontaine had told Yester she’d stay with Magdalene until they returned. That she was still here seemed a good sign.

  Ketta jumped from her horse without bothering with the stirrup.

  “My mother,” she said, rushing up to Mrs. Fontaine. “Is she . . .”

  “In the bedroom.” Mrs. Fontaine soothed her. “Resting. She’ll be fine now that you and Yester are home. Though she will be worried by that,” she added, indicating Yester’s arm, still supported by a sling.

  She set aside the broom and gathered Nat into her arms for a brief hug. “My son,” she murmured, “I’m glad to see you.”

  “And I you.” Nat smiled. “Told you I’d be fine. And I am.”

  Magdalene was sitting up in her bed peering toward the door as Ketta and Yester tiptoed in. Her face and arms still bore traces of the bruising she’d endured at the outlaws’ hands. Pain lines marked her expression, lines that cleared as Yester and Ketta approached. A frown touched her face at the sight of Yester’s wound, but when Ketta skipped with excitement, it faded away.

  “I brought her home, Ma. I told you I would. Me and Nat.” Yester’s grin stretched wide.

  “They didn’t hurt you?” Ma asked, catching Ketta to her. “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. He—” Ketta stuttered over this part. She plumped down on the bed beside her mother. “Kuo protected me from the others. He died protecting me.” She sounded like she still had trouble believing it herself.

  Magdalene’s eyes, hazel like Yester’s, opened wide as she stared up at her son. “He’s dead?”

  “Yes. All of them are.”

  “Tell me,” Magdalene said, clapping her hands together. “Immediately.” Nothing would do but she hear the story of her offspring’s victory over a whole gang of outlaws.

  Yester took a deep breath afterward. He’d been dreading this next question, but he had to ask. “What about Pa? Where’s he?”

  Ketta, he noticed, watched their mother anxiously as she shrugged.

  “Out working, I suppose,” Ma said, her face expressionless.

  “No, I’m here,” Big Joe said from the doorway.

  They hadn’t heard his approach. Not a one of them stirred. It was as if they all were frozen in place.

  Ma had changed while they’d been gone, Yester thought. Maybe because she’d been near death. Maybe because of him and Ketta and what they’d been through. But, for whatever reason, Ma didn’t seem to care one way or another about Big Joe. In the past, she’d have jerked around and shied away and acted all nervous.

  And Ketta, too. She would’ve run for her hideyhole at the mention of Big Joe’s name, let alone having him right there in person. Now she didn’t even look up as he entered the room.

  The silence held.

  Then Big Joe said to Yester, “I see you made it home in one piece, son. And you brought her with you.”

  The “her” clearly meant Ketta.

  Yester didn’t know what to say. That he was glad to be home? That he’d stay? But he wasn’t any too sure whether he would or whether he wouldn’t. A lot depended on Big Joe and his attitude, but mostly on himself. And on Ma. And Ketta. Especially Ketta.

  He didn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on his sister.

  Just then Barney stuck his nose into Ketta’s hand, and tears spurted into her eyes. “I thought you were dead, Barney,” she said, scratching his ears. “And you, too, Mama. I thought . . .”

  She took a sustaining gulp of air and looked right into Joe Noonan’s eyes. “I’m glad to be home.”

  As for Big Joe?

  He didn’t rant or rave or shout or stomp. He didn’t call her names.

  He didn’t tell her “Welcome home,” either.

  But he nodded.

  Yester figured that was enough for now.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  C. K. Crigger lives with two feisty little dogs in Spokane Valley, Washington. A big fan of local history, all of her books are set in the inland Northwest and make use of a historical background. She is a two-time Spur Award finalist, in 2007 for Short Fiction, and in 2009 for Audio. She reviews books and writes occasional articles for Roundup magazine. Contact her through her website at www.ckcrigger.com.

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