by Duane Boehm
When Gideon came out of the room, Ethan and Benjamin were sitting at the table and Sarah was finishing frying the eggs. Sarah put her hands over her mouth to stymie a laugh, but Ethan and Benjamin roared.
“When you grow up, maybe you can fit into big boy clothes too,” Ethan said between laughs, snorts, and breaths.
Gideon tried to think of a comeback, but nothing came to mind that was appropriate for a lady and child. “Whatever,” he said with a smirk.
“Mr. Gideon, I could get you some of my clothes. Maybe they would fit better,” Benjamin said as everybody, including Sarah, laughed now.
“I’m glad that I can bring such joy to all of you. I guess you nursed me back to health just to have something to amuse yourself with. It’s a good thing you’re not already eating your eggs or you would be spitting them all over each other,” Gideon said as he sat down at the table.
After the teasing stopped and breakfast was finished, Gideon thanked Sarah as was his usual habit. Rising from the table, he decided that clean clothes called for a bath. He grabbed a bar of soap and started limping to the creek. The uneven terrain made the walking hard, but it still was a joy just to be able to do it. Considering that a couple of weeks ago he had made peace with dying beside this very creek, it seemed to him to be quite a remarkable feat. The morning had put him in a good mood and spending time with Ethan and his family made him feel better about himself even if he could sense the darkness always lurking in the shadows ready to reclaim its place.
He found a sunny place where the creek pooled out of sight of the cabin that would serve the purpose for a bath. Striping, he stuck a toe in the water and yanked it back at the shock of the numbing cold. Ethan used to call him a sissy when they would go swimming and it was true that he had always hated cold water. Taking a deep breath and gathering his resolve, he walked into the water and then submerged his whole body before shooting up and gasping for air. He wondered if cleanliness was still next to Godliness if it included turning blue.
The rough soap felt good against his skin and in his hair. Even the water felt pretty good once he got used to it. Examining the bullet holes as he scrubbed, he was pleased to see that they were healing nicely with pink new skin. He would be back to good as new before long. After he finished scrubbing and sun drying, he put Ethan’s clothes on and headed back.
Sarah was hanging clothes out and he walked over to her. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to heat some water up and shave, and when my clothes dry, I’m going to ride to town and get some new ones,” he said.
“Help yourself, Gideon. Are you sure that you are ready to ride though?” Sarah asked as she continued with the laundry.
“We will see. The horse could use a ride and I’m starting to get cabin fever. Besides, if I have to wear this outfit again, I might have to shoot somebody the next time they laughed at me,” Gideon answered and winked.
After shaving and getting back into his own clothes, he could pass himself off for a new man. Strapping on his gun, he checked the bullets even though he had reloaded it the day he started walking again. Out of habit, he moved the gun up and down in the holster until he was satisfied that it worked freely, and then headed to the barn to saddle Buck. The horse had not been ridden since Ethan had taken him to town to get the doctor, and he was feeling frisky. Buck kept moving his hindquarters away, but with some effort and a threat, Gideon got the saddle on and cinched. Mounting on the right side would have been the easy thing to do, but Gideon was going to do it the correct way come hell or high water. He lifted his leg with his arms to get it into the stirrup, and then pulling with his hands on the saddle horn for all that he was worth, the leg worked well enough to mount. Wincing and taking a big breath to drown out the pain shooting through both his leg and shoulder, he tapped his heels into the horse’s ribs and started down the road.
Buck settled into an easy trot, and Gideon posted to the animal’s rhythm. Sitting up in the saddle, he could almost make himself believe that he was back to being his old self. He would soon have to get back on the trail of the rustlers that had shot him to finish the job he had started, and settle the score. Ethan, Sarah, and Benjamin had been good to him and he was not sure how he would feel about leaving them. He already knew that it would be the first time in years that he would have some regrets about moving on. The notion irked him a little that he could still develop feelings for people. It was something in which he did not deem himself worthy.
As he rode into Last Stand, it amused him to see that the town had not changed much at all. There were a few more houses on the outskirts, but that was about it. It still had two saloons, a couple of dry goods stores, a bank, and the other usual businesses that small towns had. None of them had even moved from their original buildings as far as he could remember.
He went into one of the dry goods store and looked around. All of the merchandise sat in the same spots as before, and the store’s smell of mustiness, candy, and whatever other odors that made it unique, took him back to his boyhood. He could envision himself running up to the counter with a penny to buy candy with his head barely able to see above it. Looking around, he found the clothes he needed and bought them along with some licorice. He limped out to his horse, hung his package on the saddle horn, and then headed to the telegraph office.
He sent Mr. Chase, the rancher that employed him, a brief message. “Got shot. Will finish job when can. Gideon.” The telegraph operator looked him over as if he were crazy, but did not ask any questions.
His next stop was Doc Abram’s office. The office was where he remembered it, and when he went inside, it looked much the same as it did in his youth, just more worn, like the man sitting at his desk.
“By God, you’re up and around already. Boy, you got more piss and vinegar than three normal men,” Doc Abram said when Gideon walked in.
“Just good doctoring and fine food,” Gideon said.
“That Sarah can cook, that’s for sure,” Doc said as he pulled off his glasses.
“I wanted to stop in to thank you and pay my bill,” Gideon said.
“You know you have beat death twice now. It’s time you started being more careful.”
Smiling, Gideon said, “I have to keep you in business. And besides, I hear that I make for pretty good gossip.”
The doctor grinned and rubbed his chin. “That you do, my boy. That you do.”
Gideon paid the doctor before walking to the saloon. The name on the sign hanging on it read Last Chance Last Stand Saloon, where in the old days it had simply been Wet Whistle. He guessed somebody else ran it now. Walking in, the place was spruced up and cleaner than it used to be, but it still reeked of stale beer and smoke. The afternoon crowd, mostly cowhands, was starting to drift in and add their own note to the aroma. He could feel their eyes follow him as he sat down at a table and ordered a bottle of whiskey and a glass.
One of the two saloon girls brought the bottle on a tray. Gideon noticed that there were two glasses on it. The girl was a pretty thing, petite with shiny black hair. Most of the girls that worked the saloons started looking haggard after a few years, but this one’s ivory complexion and big smile would let her pass for a Sunday school teacher.
“Hey cowboy, my name is Mary. Mind if I sit down and have a drink with you?” she asked.
Gideon stood and pulled the chair out for her. As she sat, he got a whiff of her lilac perfume. She smelled like a bouquet of flowers.
“Well, aren’t you a gentleman. There’s not many of them around here,” Mary said as she poured the whiskey into the glasses.
Gideon had observed a huge man standing at the bar when he walked in. Now that man came lumbering towards the table. He was as tall as Ethan and weighed a good deal more. Out of habit, Gideon moved his hand under the table and checked to make sure his Colt was sliding in its holster smoothly.
“You’re the legend Gideon Johann, aren’t you?” the man said in a heavy southern accent.
“No legend, but yes, I am Gideon
.”
“Well you would think Jesus Christ himself had returned the way everybody is going on about you,” Hank Sligo said, borrowing the line from his boss Frank DeVille.
“And you are?” Gideon asked.
“My name is Hank Sligo. I am the foreman for Frank DeVille.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Sligo?”
“I hear tell that you were a blue–belly in the war,” Hank said.
Gideon picked up his glass and looked at the whiskey’s clarity before taking a sip. The place had gone stone silent and all eyes were on them. “That was a long time ago. We’re all on the same side now and I try to forget about those days.”
Hank put his hands on the table and leaned over menacingly. “Well, I’m from Alabama and I will never forget what you blue–bellies did to the South.”
In a voice that was calm and quiet, Gideon said, “Hank, since you seem to know a lot about me, you probably know that I am mending from getting shot all to hell. I am in no condition to fight you, and even if I was, I doubt I would stand much of a chance against a lard–ass like you, but I’m pretty sure I could put two bullets in you before those hams you call hands could touch me or your gun. So, if I were you, I would go back to the bar and mind your own business. And give my regards to Frank.”
Hank remained leaning over the table, seemingly thinking what his next move would be. Finally, without saying a word, he turned and walked back to the bar as the patrons resumed their drinking and talking. Gideon kept an eye on Hank until the troublemaker was back to drinking his beer.
“You’re a brave one,” Mary said. “Hank is used to bullying his way into getting whatever he wants. That’s the first time I’ve seen him back down to anyone.”
Changing the subject, Gideon said, “How long have you lived in Last Stand?”
“My husband and I moved here about five years ago. We came here from Indiana. Eugene planned to make his fortune. We homesteaded and then the damn fool got himself killed. I didn’t have any family to go back to and there is not a lot of ways for a woman to make a living around here so I turned to what I was good at doing,” Mary said with wink.
Gideon sipped his whiskey. “What happened to Eugene?” he asked.
Melancholy settled on Mary’s face as the question caused her to turn from glossing over the circumstances of her life to reliving its tragedy. She took a quick sip. “Somebody shot him out on our place. It was coldblooded murder. Eugene had picked a good homestead and I think somebody wanted it to stay open range. He was a good man and I loved him, but he didn’t know what he was getting into.”
“Any ideas on who shot him?” Gideon asked.
“There’s good ranchers and there are bad ones. I guess it was one of the bad ones. I don’t want to speculate further than that,” she said.
The conversation lagged and they both took a sip of their drink to fill the void, then Mary giggled. “Hey cowboy, tell me about the legend of Gideon Johann,” she said.
Gideon rubbed his scar and smiled with a grimace. “Not much to tell. I grew up here, fought in the war, and have been wandering around the west ever since,” he said.
“I know men, cowboy. You say wandered, but your eyes say you are running from some pain.”
Gideon looked at her uneasily. It made him uncomfortable that she could read him so effortlessly. “I’m just a drifter. It’s a big world out there and I like to see it.”
“Take me upstairs and I can make you forget that pain for a little while. I might even give you a discount for cleanliness,” Mary said with a wink.
Gideon tipped back his glass and finished his drink. “I just might take you up on the offer the next time, but I need to get back.”
“Suit yourself. It has been a pleasure to talk to the legend Gideon Johann. You take care,” Mary said and patted his arm.
Gideon corked the bottle, stood, and tipped his hat. “Nice to meet you, Mary. See you around.”
With bottle in hand, he walked out into the bright light of the sun tilting to the west. He guessed it to be about three o’clock in the afternoon. A dog was barking and growling at a man that was cussing as he threw rocks at it and its pack of puppies that looked to be a couple of months old.
“Goddamn dogs are always running up and down the street. Get out of here,” the man yelled.
Another man walked to his horse and started to draw his rifle from its scabbard. “Old Miss Herring’s damn dog has puppies every time you turn around. I’m going to put an end to it,” he said.
Gideon stepped toward the man, drew his pistol, and stuck it in the man’s crotch. “If you shoot that dog, I’m going to blow your balls off.”
“And who the hell are you?” the man asked.
“Mister, if I were you, I would be more worried about my balls than who I am,” Gideon warned.
The man slowly slid the rifle back into the scabbard. Gideon holstered his pistol and then quickly drew the gun again, smashing it into the man’s scrotum and sending him crashing into a heap on the ground. “Nothing better happen to that dog or I will find you,” Gideon said as he leaned over the man.
He turned towards where the other man had been, but he was already down the street, making a fast exit. “Does Miss Herring still live where she always did?” Gideon asked the onlookers.
Someone answered that she did.
Squatting down, Gideon held out his hand and started talking to the dog. She remained wary, but the more he talked the closer she came until one of the pups bounded past its mother and sniffed his fingers. He scratched it under the chin and kept talking until it pressed against his knee. The mother and the rest of the pups soon followed as he petted and talked to them until they were about to knock him over with their excitement.
After picking up the first puppy, Gideon headed to his horse with the dog in one hand and the bottle of whiskey in the other. The man he had toppled was nowhere to be seen and the onlookers had moved on down the street. Much to Gideon’s chagrin, he had to ask a passerby to hold the pup while he labored to mount. Once he was astride his horse, he placed the puppy across the saddle in front of him and headed to Miss Herring’s house. Thankfully, he did not have to dismount as Miss Herring was out in the yard trimming her bushes. He guessed that the woman had to be at least eighty–five years old. She had seemed old even back when she had been his teacher.
“Miss Herring, I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I am Gideon Johann,” Gideon said and tipped his hat.
Miss Herring looked up and studied him. Smiling broadly, she said, “Gideon. Of course, I remember you. I am old, not senile. I heard that you had returned.”
“Ma’am, I would get down and give you a proper greeting, but my leg is injured and I don’t think I would be able to mount again if I did,” Gideon said.
“Doctor Abram came by here and told me all about it. He said he thought you were going to die. You were a mischievous boy, but a good one, and smart too. You should make something of yourself and not go around getting shot,” she said.
“Well, ma’am, I did not ask to get shot,” Gideon said, feeling like he was back in school.
His former teacher giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. “No, I guess you probably did not. I see you have one of my puppies there.”
“I heard in town that they were yours. I was wondering if I could have this one to give to Ethan Oakes’s son, Benjamin. He does not have one and a boy needs a dog,” Gideon said.
“Ethan comes by here and sees me sometimes. You two were quite a pair,” she said seemingly lost in reminiscing. A moment later she added, “I already tried to give him one of them. He would not take it.”
“Miss Herring, you should know a teacher does not ask her student to do something, but tells him to do it,” Gideon said.
The old woman burst out laughing and slapped her thigh. “You are correct. Go ahead and take him and don’t get yourself shot anymore.”
Gideon tipped his hat again and rode off towards Ethan’s pl
ace. On the ride back, there was nothing to do but think, and the day had provided plenty of material to review. Trouble, women, and dogs made for memorable times.
Traveling as fast as he dared without jarring or scaring the puppy to death, he hoped that they would make it back to Ethan’s place before supper. The pup looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to be taking it all in stride. Gideon expected a bit of a dust–up with Ethan, but one that Ethan was bound to lose.
Even though he had half–expected Benjamin to be on the step whittling, nobody was out in the yard when he arrived. It seemed a bit early, but he feared that they had started supper without him. He berated himself for dallying in town and taking a chance to miss out on one of Sarah’s meals.
“Benjamin,” Gideon called out.
Benjamin walked out onto the porch with Ethan behind him, drying his hands on a towel.
“We were just cleaning up for supper. Thought that maybe you were staying … What is that?” Ethan said warily.
“Come here, Benjamin, and take this,” Gideon said as he handed the puppy down to the boy.
“What are you doing bringing a dog here?” Ethan asked.
“It’s a gift. Every boy needs a dog. You always had one,” Gideon said offhandedly.
Irritated by the turn of events, Ethan said, “It is just something else to have to take care of. That should be my decision.”
Benjamin was not saying anything, deciding that it was best if he stayed out of the conversation. The puppy was taking his full attention anyway, licking his face, and wiggling in his arms. It was just about the cutest dog he had ever laid eyes on with its speckled white color, brown and black spots, floppy ears, and big feet.
