A Season of Dreams

by Gilbert, Morris

  Down below the house, Ollie Bean stared down at one of the men who was lying on the ground writhing in pain, holding his thigh. “Get me to a doctor,” the man was pleading. “I’ll bleed to death!”

  Bean looked up and rage stirred in him. “Come on! They can’t get away with this!” He led a charge up the hill, but it did not last long. He looked around to make sure that Ted Kingman was nearby, reached out, and grabbed his arm. “Come on, you’re going with me!” He jerked the younger man roughly up the slope. When they were within thirty yards of the house, he heard a hissing, and in the moonlight, saw a grenade come rolling down the hill. With a gasp, he turned Kingman loose and threw himself to the ground. Kingman turned to watch Bean and was taken off guard when the grenade went off. He felt a searing pain in his right side and was driven backward to the ground. From somewhere up above, rifle fire began raking the ground, and Bean rolled backward as a shot split the air beside him. Dropping his rifle, he ran down the hill, aware of the vulnerability of their position. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” he gasped, and the men, willing enough, gave ground. When they had regrouped at the bottom, he said, “Did we lose any?”

  “Bateson got hit in the leg,” one of them said, “and I about got a finger shot off.”

  “Where’s the boss’s kid?” another man asked.

  For the first time, Bean thought of young Kingman. “He’s back up there—hit—maybe dead for all I know. Come on, we gotta go tell his old man. Now, maybe he’ll let us bust ’em good.”

  On top of the hill, Dent and Pete waited, each holding a grenade. “I think they pulled out,” Dent said.

  “I believe you’re right. Wait a minute! I heard something!” Pete turned quickly and the two men listened. “Somebody’s moving down there. Here, take this rifle and go see about it. Be careful, though, Dent.”

  Dent moved down the hill and found a man lying on the ground. He was moving and seemed to be armed. “Hold it right there!” he said. “Throw your gun down!”

  Ted Kingman gasped, “It’s not loaded!” Nevertheless, he tossed the revolver down.

  Dent picked it up. “Where are you hit?”

  “In the side—here.”

  Dent leaned forward and saw that Kingman’s shirt was soaked with blood. Lifting his head, he hollered, “Bailey! Get down here!” He waited until the huge form of Bailey appeared and he said, “He’s hit. We gotta carry him inside.”

  Bailey picked Kingman up and marched back up the hill. When Pete appeared, Dent said, “One of their guys got hit. We better take a look at him. He’s losing a lot of blood.”

  “I can walk,” Kingman protested, but Bailey paid him no attention and carried him straight inside.

  “Light the lanterns,” Pete said. “We’ve got a wounded man here.”

  Maury was closest to the lantern. She struck a match with a trembling hand, lit the wick, then resettled the globe. When she turned around she held the lantern high and moved around to where Bailey had put the man on the couch. His right side was covered with blood and his face was pale. Maury gave a gasp and said, “Ted Kingman!”

  Her voice came to Kingman. He opened his eyes and looked around the room. “Hello,” he said weakly. He looked down and said, “I–I’m afraid I’m bleeding all over your furniture.”

  Maury could not believe her eyes. Nevertheless, she said, “Take his shirt off. We’ll see how badly he’s hurt.”

  Kingman felt his shirt being removed, and the pain ran through him. It was bad enough that he passed out.

  Pete looked carefully at the wound and said, “Well, he’s not going to die, but he sure got this side chewed up. We gotta clean it out.”

  “What about a doctor?”

  “I don’t think we better try going through that line tonight,” Dent said. “They’re gonna shoot anything that moves.” Looking at the wound, he shook his head. “I think he’ll be all right.”

  Maury looked down at the pale face of Ted Kingman. “I’ll get some water heated,” she said.

  MR. KINGMAN GETS A SURPRISE

  Horace Kingman’s face was livid. He had shouted at Ollie Bean until he was hoarse—and for once in his life, Bean made no sharp reply. He saw that the owner of the company was ready to do anything, including firing him! The thought of looking for an easy job that paid as well as the one he had disturbed him, and he finally interrupted feebly.

  “But Horace, you were the one that told Ted to come with us. It wasn’t my idea.”

  Kingman did not like being reminded that he had made a bad judgment. He stared at his lieutenant and said, “You botched it, you fool! Now they’ve got a hostage.”

  “We can take ’em,” Bean said quickly. “There’s just a handful of ’em. We’re ready for ’em now. Let us have another crack at it.”

  “You idiot, my son’s in that shack!” Suddenly wrinkles appeared on his brow and he fell silent, his mouth making a tight line. Bean stared at him with some confusion, not understanding that particular look. He had seen Horace Kingman in most of his moods, but this was a new one for him.

  “Something wrong, Horace?” he asked tentatively.

  “I–I don’t want anything to happen to Ted.” The voice was almost a whisper, and Kingman fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a watch, and stared at it. “We’ll have to do something. I’ll go get the law! They’ve kidnapped him, actually.”

  Instantly, Ollie Bean shook his head. “You don’t want to get the law in this thing. I mean, after all, we did a little shooting, too. Better let my boys handle it.”

  “Your boys have done enough damage. Now I’m going to take care of it. Can’t trust fools like you to do anything.” He turned away with a worried look still on his face.

  Bean moved out of the room, anger on his blunt features. “What’s the old man gonna do?” one of the men asked him.

  “Gonna use the law to try to get the kid back. Funny thing, though, he looks worried. I never thought Horace Kingman worried about anybody, not even that kid of his.”

  “Well, if he’s got a soft spot in his heart, he’s kept it pretty well covered up. I think he’ll let the kid go.”

  Ted twisted away from Maury’s firm grip. “Ow,” he said, “that hurts!” He was bare to the waist, and she was dipping a wad of cotton in alcohol and applying it liberally to the raw flesh where the shards of metal had plowed ridges along his ribs.

  Maury was intent on what she was doing. “Be still,” she said with some irritation. “I’ve got to be sure you don’t get any infection.” She put her hand on his chest, pushed him down flat on the bed, and firmly bathed the injured side with the alcohol. While she was doing that, Kingman was staring up at her at a loss for what to say. She had done this twice, and both times he had been embarrassed. She had stripped off his shirt as if he were a child and thoroughly cleaned his wound. Now as she bent over him he was fascinated by the determination in her eyes. He noticed that there were small gold flecks, or so it seemed, around her pupils and thought, I’ve never seen anybody with eyes like that. She was very attractive. “Can I sit up now?” he pleaded.

  Maury looked at him, then smiled. “All right. I’ve got to put some bandages back on. Sit up.” Reaching behind his back, she helped him to a sitting position. He put his feet over on the floor and held his arms up while she taped fresh bandages on the wound. “We’re using a sheet for bandages,” she said, “but I scalded it, so it ought to be sterile.”

  Cautiously, Ted lowered his arms and winced as he touched the side. “Never had a hand grenade go off under me before,” he said. “Seems like a pretty dumb thing to be in the way of something like that.” He looked at her curiously and said, “Did you know Pete was going to roll hand grenades down on us?”

  “No, I didn’t know anything about it—but I heard the rifle shots and the bullets hitting the house. I don’t think you have a complaint about what comes back down the hill when you do a thing like that.”

  Actually Ted Kingman was more worried about the attack than
she knew. He had been opposed to it from the beginning, and now wished bitterly that he had stood up to his father, but he could not say this to her. When he did not answer, she looked at him. He looked embarrassed and she said, “What’s the matter?”

  “Could I have a shirt to put on?” he said.

  Laughter glinted in Maury’s eyes and she said, “Well, you’re modest, even if you are a bully.” She handed him one of Pete’s old shirts. He put his arm through the sleeve, protesting, “I’m not a bully.”

  “What would you call it? Opening fire on a house with women and children in it.”

  “I—” He couldn’t think of any defense and shook his head.

  At that moment, Mona and Stephen came in to stare at him. Stephen’s eyes were unwavering and his mouth was turned down in a severe frown. “Is he gonna die, Maury?” he demanded.

  “Why no, of course he’s not going to die.”

  Stephen looked at the injured man for a moment and said, “You’re a bad man! I thought you were like the good guy in that movie, but you’re not. You’re like the bad one!”

  With this judgment, he turned around and walked away. Mona, however, saw the hurt look on Kingman’s face. She reached forward tentatively and touched his hand, which was resting on his knee. “I don’t think you’re a bad man,” she said. “You’re not, are you?”

  Kingman did not know much about children and had had little contact with them, but the girl’s trust pleased him. He reached out and put his hand on her blond hair lightly and mumbled, “Well, I’m not very good, I’m afraid, Mona.” He added, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “That’s all right,” Mona said. “I’m not very good either sometimes.” She was very matter-of-fact about it and nodded wisely. “You can be better. All you have to do is want to.”

  Maury was amused at the child’s self-assurance. “There, Ted! There’s your philosophy for the day. All you have to do is want to and you’ll be better.”

  Kingman, however, showed no amusement. The words had struck home and touched some deep part of his spirit. It was as if the girl had been given some sort of superior wisdom, and he said stiffly, “I guess she’s right. Trouble is, I never wanted to. Not enough, that is.”

  Mona patted his hand. “You’ll do better; I hope so, anyway. Do you like to play checkers?”

  Her abrupt change of subject did bring a smile to Kingman. “I love to play checkers, but I’m not very good.”

  “I am,” Mona said. “I beat everybody I play, don’t I, Maury?”

  “You sure do, Honey. Well, you play checkers with Mr. Kingman while I go help fix supper.”

  Kingman was amused at the attitude of the child. She brought a battered checkerboard and announced, “We have to use some bottle caps. I lost some of the checkers. Do you want red or black?”

  “Which do you like?”

  “Oh, I like the black.”

  “Well, that’s good, because I always liked the red.” He sat there playing, amused at the seriousness of the child’s concentration. She was an intelligent and interesting girl and he enjoyed losing to her, which he managed to do four times in a row. “You’re just too good for me, Mona,” he said, shaking his head in mock amazement. “I just don’t understand it. How’d you learn to play so well?”

  “My pa taught me. He’s the best checker player in the whole world—except for me.”

  Maury came in then, saying, “Supper’s ready. You want me to bring you something?”

  “I can get to the table, I think.”

  Kingman got to his feet, moving very carefully. His side was hurting him badly, and once when he brushed against something, it brought a sharp gasp from him.

  “Maybe you’d better lie down. I don’t mind bringing you something to eat,” Maury said quickly.

  “No, that’s all right. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  They entered the crowded main room of the cabin. “Our guest is able to sit up and eat,” Maury smiled. “I hope you’ve got something good, Violet, for the heir of the Kingman Oil Company.”

  Ted’s face flushed at her words, and he sat down cautiously in the chair that Bailey pushed under him. “You sit right down there,” Bailey said encouragingly. “You’re sure gonna get something good to eat. Violet’s a good cook.”

  The meal was very simple, consisting of beans, fresh baked bread, and salt meat. There was only water to drink, except for the children, who had what remained of some tea. Kingman was startled when Pete Stuart bowed his head and began to pray. “Father, we thank you for this food, for every blessing you’ve given us. We ask you to bless our lives—” and there was a slight hesitation, “—and bless this guest and give him recovery from his wound. We ask it in Jesus’ name.”

  An “Amen” ran around the table, and Kingman picked up a spoon and began to eat the beans. He discovered he was hungry, but he also discovered that no one had seconds. He didn’t need to ask why, for he knew they had been holding out for nearly three weeks on whatever food they had on hand when Kingman Oil had thrown a cordon around the house.

  Pete looked up at him and said, “I’m glad you’re not hurt worse, Kingman,” he said. He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t like bullets and hand grenades.”

  “I don’t either,” Ted said simply.

  “Then why’d you throw all that lead up here?” Dent demanded. “All we’re asking here is to be let alone.”

  Maury listened as Dent probed steadily at Ted Kingman. She began to feel sorry for him and finally said, “Be quiet, Dent. Ted’s a guest.”

  “Ted? Oh! I didn’t know we were on a first name basis.” Dent was amused at Maury and gave her a second look. A thought occurred to him and he smiled and shook his head, but muttered only, “All right, I’ll leave off.”

  They were just finishing the meal when Ray came in. He had been outside standing watch. “Better come out here! Looks like trouble!”

  At once Pete got up and walked out the door. He saw a strange car parked down the hill, and Horace Kingman was approaching with a tall man wearing a white suit. “That’s a deputy,” he said. “I’ve seen him in town. Look at that. Kingman’s got a white flag. He’s not taking any chances.”

  “I guess we better go hear what he’s got to say,” Dent said. “At least he didn’t bring his gunslingers along.”

  Pete and Dent walked twenty yards away from the house and waited until Kingman and the deputy, whose name was Smith, got close. “I’ve come to get my boy,” Kingman said.

  “Get off my land,” Pete said. His voice was hard. “The last time you came up here you were shooting everything up.” He turned to look at the deputy. “Smith, ain’t there a law of some kind about shooting at unarmed people?”

  “Unarmed?” Kingman almost yelled. “Why, you threw hand grenades down at my men and nearly killed two of them!”

  Smith looked embarrassed. “Mr. Stuart, looks like there’s been a misunderstanding here.”

  Pete swung his arm around the line of men and cars and tents that surrounded them. “Why don’t you talk to Kingman about that? He’s the one that’s got us under a state of siege. He’s the one that sent his gunmen to shoot us up.”

  He began to excoriate Kingman in no uncertain terms, and finally Kingman saw that it was useless. “I’m going to get a warrant for your arrest. You’ve got my boy in there and that’s kidnapping.”

  Inside the house, Maury was standing at the door. At these words, she turned around and looked at Ted, whose face was pale. “Well, you’ve been kidnapped,” she said quietly. She fully expected him to get up and walk to the door, but he did no such thing. “Aren’t you leaving? Pete wouldn’t stop you, or Dent.”

  Ted Kingman had a peculiar feeling. The sound of his father’s angry voice seemed to have some sort of adverse effect upon him. His side was giving him considerable pain, but he could have walked down the hill. He knew all he had to do was go and he would be taken to a hospital, his wounds dressed, and everything would be back as usual.
<
br />   Back as usual! Somehow the words seemed distasteful to him. Visions flashed before him of how his father had forced him to come on the raid, of how he had argued with him against bringing pressure on the Stuarts, in any case, and had been shouted down. Somehow Ted didn’t want to go back to things as usual. He settled down in his chair and shook his head. A trace of humor ran under the surface of his serious manner and he said, “I’m kind of enjoying being kidnapped. Guess I’ll stay a while longer.”

  Maury was surprised. She glanced across the room at Violet, who was watching Kingman closely. The two women were puzzled.

  “I don’t understand you, Ted.”

  “I don’t understand myself, Miss Maury,” he said. Kingman got up painfully, walked to the door and looked out. He saw his father, big, bulky, overbearing as usual, shouting threats at Pete. “I wish he didn’t shout at everybody,” he said. “He always shouted at my mother. I hated that!”

  Maury was startled at this unexpected revelation. “Does he shout at you, too?”

  “He’s shouted at me since I was two years old. Nothing I do ever pleases him.”

  There was a bitterness that marred the face of young Ted Kingman. He walked back to the chair, sat down, put his hands on the table and stared at them. The two women looked at him, then exchanged glances. “Well,” Maury said, “he’s shouting enough now.”

  But Kingman’s shouting did no good. He cursed and threatened and raved, but Pete just stood there, saying finally, “Go get your sheriff—bring your warrant. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  The deputy said, “I guess we might as well go, Mr. Kingman. Nothing to be done here. We better go get that warrant.” He looked at Pete. “Better be sure nothing happens to Mr. Kingman’s son, Stuart, that would put you in a bad fix.”

  Pete did not answer, but when the two men walked away, he turned and strolled back into the house. Looking over to Ted Kingman, he said, “Well, I expected you to cross over and go with your old man.”

  Ted Kingman settled back in his chair. “I like the cooking here,” he said. “I intend to be kidnapped a little while longer.”