“You aren’t upset, are you?” I asked in a worried voice.
“Nah,” Uncle Hayes shook his head. “First of all, a man like myself appreciates honesty, young lady. Second of all, if your folks sent you to me, then I know they did so for good reason.” Uncle Hayes checked the front door. His face became serious.
“Uncle Hayes, why are you so worried?” I dared to ask. “Is it those Norris Brothers?”
Uncle Hayes nodded his head. “Ain’t no sense in trying to throw straw over a hole,” he told me. “The Norris Boys killed a man last week. Now, usually I keep to my own business but the man they killed was the brother of Simon Johnson.”
“Who is Simon Johnson?” I asked.
Uncle Hayes turned and looked at me as if I were crazy. “Who is Simon Johnson?” he asked in an incredible voice. “Why Simon Johnson is a gunfighter. That man has gunned down twenty men in fights that were as legal as the sky is blue. There’s no telling how many he’s killed working in the shadows. No ma’am,” Uncle Hayes said and shook his head back and forth, back and forth, “Simon Johnson isn’t a man who wants to cross and Hank Norris knows that. That’s why the man is in town with his boys instead of letting them rip up the town alone.”
I wasn’t sure what to say? My mind was far too tired to concern myself with the likes of the Norris Brothers. As far as I was concerned if they killed an innocent man and that man’s brother carried a revenge killing, well then, that was justice. But, for some reason, Uncle Hayes was very worried. “Uncle Hayes, why are you bothered by this?” I asked.
“Oh,” Uncle Hayes said and rubbed the back of his neck again, “I reckon I shouldn’t be if I steer clear of Hank Norris and his sons. You see,” Uncle Hayes told me, “when Hank Norris gets in a bad mood he makes sure everyone in this area knows he ain’t happy. Now, I’ve never crossed Hank Norris and never plan to, but one of my mines stands mighty close to his property line and it just so happens that me and Old Jack is pulling some gold from that mine and—” Uncle Hayes stopped talking. He threw his eyes at me. “Now…you….you didn’t hear me say that,” he told me in a shaky voice. I could see that Uncle Hayes was afraid I was going to run out and blab to the world he had struck a little gold.
“Uncle Hayes, your secret is safe with me. I promise.”
Uncle Hayes let his shoulders drop. “I reckon it is,” he agreed. “You come from good people. My wife…she came from good people too.” Uncle Hayes walked his eyes around his cabin. “My wife believed that we would find gold someday. Cancer took her before we ever did. I…made a promise to her on her deathbed that I wouldn’t stop digging until I found gold. Now…I reckon I found just enough to fulfill that promise and finally rest.”
I felt my heartbreak. “I…I would love to help you, Uncle Hayes.”
Uncle Hayes walked over to the fireplace and checked the stew. “Stew is ready,” he smiled and gently patted my shoulder. “We’ll talk gold tomorrow. Tonight we’ll eat and rest and—” before Uncle Hayes could finish his sentence a hard hand struck the front door. Uncle Hayes froze. “Not a word,” he whispered and very carefully grabbed the rifle hanging over the fireplace.
“What…should…I do?” I whispered in a scared voice.
Uncle Hayes put his finger to his lips, crept over to the front door, and yelled: “Who’s knocking on my door?”
“I…I’m hurt,” a man’s voice yelled back. “I was bushwhacked.”
Uncle Hayes hesitated and then cautiously opened the front door. A man who was no older than twenty-eight staggered inside and nearly collapsed. Uncle Hayes eyes grew wide and white. “Simon Johnson!” he exclaimed and looked at me. “Uh…Niece, boil us some water…no…go get the doctor…wait, we ain’t got no doctor…uh…”
Simon threw up his right hand. “Mister, I took a bullet to my shoulder. When I was shot off my horse my head hit a rock…I’ll live…but I need…rest…”
“Sure, sure, of course,” Uncle Hayes said. He slammed the front door shut and helped Simon lay down on the couch. The man was badly hurt; his young and handsome face was soaked with sweat and blood—as well as anger and rage.
“What can I do to help, Uncle Hayes?” I asked.
Uncle Hayes brushed Simon’s black hair away from his forehead and checked an ugly gash. “I don’t touch the whiskey…I reckon I can boil some water and tend to his wounds the best I can. You stay here and watch him.”
“Wait,” Simon told Uncle Hayes and grabbed his right arm, “I managed to crawl into a hiding…the two men who bushwhacked me…they took my horse…the Norris Brothers…”
“Are you sure?” Uncle Hayes asked Simon.
Simon nodded his head. “They figured me for dead…they bushwhacked me when I was riding through Gallow Canyon.”
“Gallow Canyon, why that’s three hours away on horse…and that’s riding your mighty hard too,” Uncle Hayes exclaimed. “There ain’t nothing between Gallow Canyon and my cabin but hard land and little water.” Uncle Hayes stared at Simon. “You’re alive because of grace, son.”
Simon raised his eyes and looked at Uncle Hayes. “I’ve seen you around…mining near the east side of Hank Norris’s ranch…” Simon changed his eyes and focused on my frightened face. “I can’t…place you…ma’am.”
“Of course you can’t,” I told Simon hoping my voice sounded firm and brave instead of weak and scared, “I’m visiting my Uncle from Tennessee. I just arrived today.”
Simon closed his eyes. “Ma’am, can I bother you for a drink of water?” he asked, and before I could answer, he fell unconscious.
“Uncle Hayes!” I cried out.
Uncle Hayes raised his hand at me and checked Simon’s face. “He’s breathing…” he told me. “Now, you stand right here and watch his breathing while I boil some water. It’s going to be a mighty long night.”
I watched Uncle Hayes rush into the kitchen and pick up a wooden water bucket. “Is this man going to live?” I asked.
“If he does live the Norris brothers are going to die,” Uncle Hayes told me. “I was sure wondering why those boys were in town making friends with the whiskey bottle knowing full well Simon Johnson was setting fire to their trail? I reckon Hank Norris ain’t too happy that his boys shot Simon but didn’t bring a body into town with them.” Uncle Hayes shook his head. “Here we are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Simon Johnson is a killer and so is Hank Norris and his sons. We sure can’t make a run for it, either. If that man lives and finds out we deserted him, why, he’ll track us down for sure. If we help him and Hank Norris finds out, why, he’ll come gunning for us sure as the sun is hot.” Uncle Hays shook his Head again. “Your folks will sure kill me if I get you killed too.”
I felt pity rise in my heart for Uncle Hayes. The poor man sure was in a tight fix. But what could he do? “Uncle Hayes, maybe we should…pray?” I asked.
“Niece, that’s all I’ve been doing since you arrived on the stage,” Uncle Hayes told me and worked on boiling some water. “After we tend to this man’s wounds I’ll fix us some stew. I know you’re mighty hungry. I reckon my belly is just as hungry. I spent a good part of this morning out at the mine and didn’t eat much.” Uncle Hayes looked at Simon. “I reckon I better stop gabbing and get to working.”
I watched Uncle Hayes boil water and then begin ripping a few old work shirts into rags. When the water finished boiling he poured it into the wooden water bucket and carried it over to the couch along with the rags. With worried but caring hands he began cleaning the blood off Simon’s face, tended to the ugly gash on his head, and then took off the black coat he was wearing. “There’s his wound,” he told me and pointed Simon’s bloodstained shoulder.
“What do we do?” I asked wishing I were back home in Tennessee, on my parent’s farm, enjoying a nice slice of apple pie. My mother was right: I wasn’t prepared to battle the world. I hadn’t been in Brush Flats for a whole day and I was already willing to raise the white flag.
Uncle Hayes took his hands
and ripped Simon’s shirt off his shoulder. “Don’t hold me to a gun for doing that, son…I have to check your wound,” he said.
I walked over to Uncle Hayes and looked down at Simon’s shoulder. An ugly, bloodstained hole grinned up at me. “Oh, Uncle Hayes…how awful.”
Uncle Hayes nodded his head and placed his hand behind Simon’s shoulder and felt around. “Bullet went clean through…I feel a hole on this side of him,” he told me in a relieved voice. “I was mighty afraid I was going to have to use my hunting knife and dig a bullet out of this man.” Uncle Hayes went a few rags and placed them over Simon’s shoulder. “I promised my wife I would never touch the whiskey…sure wouldn’t hurt to have some in the cabin now to use to clean his wounds. I reckon hot water will have to do until he can get to a doctor.”
“Where is the closest doctor?” I asked.
“Doc Green is over in North Junction, but that’s a good day’s ride away,” Uncle Hayes explained. “Looks like we’re on our own for now.” Uncle Hayes looked up at me with worried eyes. “Niece, if Hank Norris and his boys find out Simon Johnson is here in my cabin they’ll kill us and him. We can’t let anyone know this man is here, is that clear between us?”
“Uncle Hayes, I promise with all my heart that my mouth will never tell anyone anything. All I want to do is go back home.” I felt tears sting my eyes. “Oh,” I said and spun around to face the fireplace, “how can I conquer the world when I can’t even make it through one night?” Back in Tennessee, my parents were working on a wonderful, beautiful, farm while I was trapped in a nightmare.
Chapter Three: Trip into the Cold
“This man needs more than hot water on his wound,” Uncle Hayes announced in a worried voice. He pointed at Simon’s shoulder. “I need to pour some whiskey on that wound to clean it right. Now, I’m no doctor but I know strong whiskey cleans a wound.”
I stared down at Simon. The man was burning up. His wound was very ugly and appeared to be infected in some way or another. Like Uncle Hayes, I wasn’t a doctor—I had never even seen a gunshot wound—but my eyes were old enough to understand when a wound was ugly and in need of medical attention. “Uncle Hayes, are you implying we have to go back to town?” I asked in a scared voice.
“I reckon it’s me that has to go back to town,” Uncle Hayes told me. He rubbed his beard and then began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “It’s mighty late…I reckon I could wake up the Old Bertha and have her slip me a bottle of whiskey…but that might wake up Hank.” Uncle Hayes shook his head. “No good…maybe I should wake up Old Nate, the fella who owns the saloon and have him get me a bottle of whiskey. Old Nate lives two miles out of town…but he sure is a nosy old fuss…and when he gets full of whiskey his mouth sure starts to run faster than his legs.”
I watched Uncle Hayes talk top himself, pacing back and forth, wondering what option to pursue. “Uncle Hayes, what would happen if you didn’t get a bottle of whiskey to pour on his wound?”
“Infection would kill him,” Uncle Hayes told me in a voice that sent chills down my spine. “Simon Hayes has a whole lot of enemies that might come for me if they think I’m the one that killed him. You see, Niece, a man kills in these parts because he wants to take another man’s reputation and latch it on to himself to make him appear to be a big man. Gunfighters from all around would give their right ear to pin Simon Johnson’s reputation on their gun belt.” Uncle Hayes shook his head. “Even if I were to prove the truth, I would be shot down out of anger.”
“Anger?”
“Anger,” Uncle Hayes nodded his head. “You take candy away from a baby and that baby will try and bite you. Understand?”
I did understand. That was the frightening part. “Oh, Uncle Hayes, what are we going to do?” I begged. And then an idea came to my shaken mind. “Uncle Hayes,” I gasped and grabbed his arm, “we can go back to Tennessee. We’ll both be safe there.”
“And leave this man to die?” Uncle Hayes asked me in a serious voice. “No such doing, I’m afraid. A man can’t leave another man to die no matter how tight of a spot he’s in. That’s the way of things. You gotta tough matters through, Niece, even when everything inside of you is begging you to scatter into the wind.”
Shame ran across my face. I was willing to desert a man and allow him to die in order to protect my own life. What would my parents think of me? “Oh,” I began to cry, “my mother was right. I’m not mature enough to leave home and handle the world all on my own. I haven’t been in Flat Brush one entire day and I’m already running scared.” I wiped my tears. “Oh, Uncle Hayes, I’m so ashamed of myself.”
“Now don’t go tearing yourself apart because you’re scared,” Uncle Hayes told me. He reached out and put a warm hand on my trembling shoulder. “The thought of running has crossed my mind once or twice. But there’s a difference between thinking on a matter and actually getting your legs to moving. Yes sir,” Uncle Hayes said, “thinking something and actually doing it are two different things all together. Why, how many times has a man thought about pulling his gun but thought better of it?”
“But I want to run as far away from this awful place as I can…and that desire is burning inside of my heart right now. I…worry for this man’s life…but I don’t want us to die, either.”
“Then I reckon here comes the part of the trail where you have to make a choice,” Uncle Hayes told me. He nodded his head down to Simon. “Do you do as the Good Lord commands us to do and love each other or do we worry about what’s in our own pockets?” Uncle Hayes looked back at me. “You know,” he said, “I think a lot about Jesus Christ when I’m out there mining. I think about Him dying on that there cross and how He suffered all because of me.” Uncle Hayes shook his head. “Why He could have stayed up in heaven just fine and dandy, but instead chose to suffer and die in my place…rejected and alone. Yes sir, Niece, that’s a mighty special love, and I reckon if I can’t show the same love, then life ain’t worth living.”
The words Uncle Hayes spoke struck my heart like a hot iron. “I…never thought about it that way before.”
“Man has a lot of time to think when he’s in a dark hole alone,” Uncle Hayes assured me. “Now, let’s get back to the problem. I need a bottle of whiskey.” Uncle Hayes began pacing back and forth again. “Could be the Norris Boys are still drinking it up at the saloon and Old Nate isn’t even home…I could sneak out to his place and get me a bottle of whiskey…but that’s stealing…unless I left some money…and then…hey!” Uncle Hayes snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I’ll sneak out to Old Nate’s, take a bottle of whiskey, and leave some money behind.”
“What if this man is home?” I asked.
Uncle Hayes rubbed the back of his neck. “I reckon if Old Nate is home…well then…I’ll just say I need the whiskey to tend to a wound and won’t go into much talk. If Old Nate starts asking a lot of questions I’ll just leave and take my chances with Old Bertha.” Uncle Hayes looked at me. “Let’s just hope Old Nate isn’t home.”
Uncle Hayes rushed into the small kitchen, ran into a corner, bent down, and removed a piece of flooring. He reached down into a dark hole, pulled out a small bag of gold, put the flooring back in place, and then hurried to put on his hat and coat. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” I asked watching Uncle Hayes put on his coat.
“Pray,” Uncle Hayes told me and pulled open the front door. A cruel, icy, wind howled through the front door and struck my face. “I’m taking Old Jack with me. Everyone knows I don’t go nowhere without my mule. You just stay inside and keep this door close, you hear. Also,” Uncle Hayes pointed to the rifle he had hung back up over the fireplace, “if worse comes to worse take that rifle down and shoot it. All you got to do, Niece, is aim and pull the trigger.”
I cradled my arms together. “How long will you be gone?” I asked.
“Couple of hours…maybe three? Depends on how fast my legs can walk and what kind of trouble I run into,” Uncle Hayes explained. H
e reached his head out and studied the dark night. “Yep, mighty cold one,” he said and with those words vanished out into the cold.
“Oh my,” I fretted. I turned and focused my eyes on Simon. Simon lay unconscious on the couch, breathing hard and slightly turning his head back and forth as if he were having a nightmare. “Who are you?” I whispered. “Uncle Hayes told me you were a gunfighter. That makes you a bad man in my book, yet, Uncle Hayes is risking his life for you. I hope you can appreciate that.” Simon didn’t answer me. Instead, he continued to turn his head back and forth. I backed up to the fireplace and warmed my hands. Silence. The cabin became still. The winds howled. My thoughts became loud inside of my mind. “Oh,” I fussed, “I can’t stand the silence.”
I looked toward the kitchen and decided to wash up the two supper bowls Uncle Hayes had served the stew in. If I stayed busy, I told myself, time would pass quickly. “Yes, that’s the key to overcoming this difficult situation,” I said and hurried to wash up the dishes. Only, washing up two bowls and two spoons didn’t take but a minute. I found myself back at the fireplace staring at Simon. The man looked awful. “What am I supposed to do?” I whimpered. Then, without really understanding why or how I carefully eased over to couch and felt Simon’s forehead with my soft hand. “He’s burning up,” I whispered and threw my eyes at the small kitchen. “I’ll make him a cold cloth.”
I hurried back into the kitchen, found a rag, soaked it with cold water, and ran to Simon. I placed the cold rag on his forehead and stepped back. “Don’t die,” I begged. “Being alone with a dead man…I couldn’t stand to bare that.” Simon didn’t answer me. He lay like on the couch like a rock breaking apart. His face was red and sweaty. His eyes were shut but were clearly moving around behind his eyelids. And his mouth was trembling like he was trying to say speak what his closed eyes were seeing. “Hurry, Uncle Hayes. Oh, please hurry,” I begged and stepped back to the fireplace and waited.
Amanda's New Beginning: Contemporary Romance Page 2
