The Stranger from Medina (West Texas Sunrise Book #3): A Novel

by Paul Bagdon

  “I guess I don’t trust caterpillars much,” Lee said with a smile. “But the frost last night was a heavy one.” “Wass a keeling frost. No more garden.”

  “What a summer, though.” Lee pointed at three massive, rounded tarps staked in the pasture next to the barn. “Three cuttings of hay, Carlos—and each of them good, rich cuttings.”

  He motioned toward the stored hay. “I don’ like to keep it under the tarps much, but the barn weel no hold another bale. You know, the rain, she come thees summer like the farmers, they talk to God an’ he send it when they want it.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly why we had the rain we did.” She looked over at the mounds. “We’ll use the outside hay first. Make sure you tell the men to check for rot and powder when they feed it to the horses.”

  “Sí. I already done that.” He patted Slick on the rump. “Like touchin’ a rock,” he observed. “Look in hees eyes, Lee—thees boy wants to play today. Say, you hear that the boy with the ceegarette—Henry—that he ees meesing?”

  “Henry? No. What do you mean ‘missing’?”

  “No one seen heem for two, three days. Bessie tol’ me yesterday when I take the wagon to have the wheel feex. I theenk he jus’ move on, ees all. Boys like heem, they drift, go here, go there. I talk to heem a month ago an’ offer heem feefty cents to help me load the sacks of grain at the mill. He tell me it no ees worth hees time. A boy like that, Lee, I dunno. Don’ seem to be much good.”

  Lee placed her saddle blanket on Slick. He reached around, grabbed it between his teeth, and shook it like a child playing with a flag.

  “He gonna give you a ride today,” Carlos observed.

  Lee smiled, tugged the saddle blanket free from Slick’s mouth, and replaced it on his back. A sharp “Hey you!” stopped him from snatching it again.

  “I don’t know Henry,” Lee said, hefting her saddle from the hitching rail and positioning it on Slick. “I’ve seen him just about every time I’ve been in town, but I haven’t spoken a word with him since I gave him the ride and he got smart with me. Rev told me he’s working with the boy, talking with him about the Lord. He said if we knew of Henry’s early life, we’d understand him better.”

  “Laziness ees no hard to understand. He do nothin’ in town but hang around, no?”

  “Rev said he works cleaning up Howard’s smithy shop and barn for some food and a place to sleep. Howard gave the boy that old mare of his—the gray that foundered a couple years back. If Henry wasn’t doing good work, Howard wouldn’t have done that.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Cleanin’ stalls a couple hours a day ees no real work.”

  Lee laughed. “Give the kid a chance. He could turn out OK.”

  “Don’ matter now,” Carlos said. “He’s meesing. We won’ see heem no more.”

  Slick snorted as Lee swung onto his back. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. She scratched behind Slick’s ear. “I’m going to take a look at the fences in the west pasture and see if I can burn some of the friskiness out of this fellow.”

  Lee held Slick to a lope, taking in the taste of the pristine, chilled air. When she gave her mount his head, the initial burst of speed thrilled her, just as it always did. The wind whipped tears from her eyes almost immediately. She felt as if she were one with her horse, that she was Slick, breathing with his massive lungs, reaching out with his tightly muscled forelegs.

  When she reined in Slick, her heart was aflame with love. Thank you, she prayed. I don’t have the words, Lord, to thank you or praise you enough for the gifts you’ve given to me.

  Henry was always around—and then he wasn’t.

  “He ain’t never missed a day of work before,” Howard the blacksmith told Ben. “I tol’ him he could have that ol’ swaybacked gray mare of mine, an’ the horse is missin’ too. Thing is, with the renegades an’ outlaws round like what done for poor Rev Tucker months back, I’m a little worried ’bout Henry.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Ben promised.

  Two days later Ben had covered countless miles of prairie looking for Henry or tracks or any sign at all of the young man. He had come up empty.

  It was Rev Warner who, from behind his pulpit after the Sunday worship service, put the idea of a search party into the minds of his congregation. “My friends,” he said, “a lamb from amongst us is missing. I understand that few of us really know Henry, but we all know that he’s a child of God. Just as we’d come together with help for any of our friends here in the church, so should we come together in a search for the missing boy.”

  The preacher scanned the eyes of the congregation. “The prairie is as vast as it is unforgiving. If the horse Henry was riding tripped and fell, the boy could be alive and in pain, waiting for help, perhaps unable to move because of a broken bone or serious wound. Winter is stalking us, my friends. The nights are cold, and the sun during the day has lost its strength.”

  He raised his voice. “Shall we let that poor, homeless waif await death on the prairie as his strength ebbs and his teeth chatter together throughout each lonely, painful, and desolate night and each endless day?”

  There were hushed murmurs from the congregation. Rev Warner stepped away from the pulpit and paced back and forth, clutching his Bible in his right hand, gesturing with his left. “I say to you that we as Christians must seek out and find the child and not only bring him back to Burnt Rock, but bring him to the Lord as well! What I propose is this: Let us put aside our daily duties tomorrow and spend the rest of today equipping ourselves for searching for poor Henry beginning tomorrow at first light—and to continue searching for him until we’ve found him. We can ride in pairs and keep our partners safe while we scour the prairie for signs of the boy. Each pair should have at least one weapon—a handgun or a rifle—and ride in a designated direction. I’ll arrange for a wagon carrying water and hay to set out today, and that wagon can be our meeting point at the close of each day. Surely with all of us seeking the boy, we’ll find him before it’s too late.”

  Carlos, sitting next to Ben in the second pew with Lee, Missy, and Maria, leaned closer to the marshall. “That ees loco, Ben—putting a bunch of storekeepers who don’ know a good track if they see one out on the prairie. An’ with guns they don’ know how to use. Loco.”

  “Yeah. It is crazy,” Ben whispered back. He stood, his hands resting on the back of the pew in front of him. “Rev?” he called out.

  The preacher stopped midsentence and focused on Ben. “Ahh—Marshall Flood,” he said. “I’d counted on you for ideas on how best to organize and direct the search. Please, tell us your thoughts.”

  Ben cleared his throat as the heads of those in the church turned toward him as if awaiting a royal proclamation. His palms felt damp. He wiped them on his denim pants. “It isn’t a good plan at all, Reverend,” he said. “In fact, it’s crazy.”

  Some of the women gasped, and the mouths of many dropped open in surprise. “Please, hear me out,” he continued. “I’m as worried about the boy as anyone else is. I’ve spent lots of time looking for him and looking for signs that could lead me to him. But . . .”

  “But what, Marshall?” Rev Warner demanded. “Should we do nothing and let the child die of hunger or exposure?”

  Ben felt his face flush. “No. We shouldn’t. But we need to face some facts before the town goes out to do something it doesn’t know how to do. First, Henry’s not a child, as you call him. He drifted here. It’s possible he drifted on. We lost Rev Tucker to outlaws—night riders. Do we want to lose more of our people the same way?”

  The preacher flinched as if he’d been slapped hard across the face. He lowered his eyes to the floor in front of him and stood motionless.

  Sam Turner stood and turned to Ben. “Perhaps you’re a bit too quick in your assessment, Marshall. Rev Warner has a point—the more who look for the boy, the better the odds of finding him.”

  “Ain’t like you to spout off like that, Ben,” Missy chided. “’Specially to a man of God goi
n’ about God’s good works!”

  Ben’s face tightened. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I meant no disrespect to Rev Warner. But it ain’t—isn’t—safe out there for people who’re used to life in town. Look—suppose I deputize Carlos an we pick a few men an’ do the search? I’m talkin’ about men who can read signs, who can ride fifteen hours a day, who can handle any trouble that comes their way.”

  The preacher looked up and met Ben’s eyes just as Lee spoke from where she sat next to Missy. “You might not be giving fair value to the skills of the folks in Burnt Rock, Ben. All of us on the frontier have to be smart and tough to survive, whether we work in stores or as ranch hands.” Her voice was defensive—and that hurt Ben more than her words did.

  “I didn’t mean to belittle anyone,” he protested. “My point is—”

  “Please allow me to make my point, Marshall,” the preacher interrupted. “You’ve had your say. Here’s mine: The law I follow is that of God, not that of man. God tells us through Scripture that it’s our duty as his children to help others who need our aid and assistance. That’s what I’m going to do, and that’s what those who follow me are going to do.” He turned away from the congregation to walk slowly to his place at the pulpit. “Please pray with me for success in our search,” he said.

  Ben remained standing for a moment. Then he sat and brought his hands together in his lap. The moment the prayer was completed, he and Carlos left the church.

  “It ees no right, Ben,” Carlos muttered as they walked to the rail where their horses were tied. “These people, they don’ know what’s out there. Ees better the boy should stay los’ than we lose some more people.”

  “I’m not even sure that Henry is lost, Carlos. The whole thing doesn’t feel right. The kid came here from wherever—he never told anyone—an’ he hung around here all this time, an’ now he’s gone. I think he either just decided to up and leave Burnt Rock, or . . .”

  “Or what, Ben?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” He shook his head, trying to dismiss a bad thought. “All these folks out there ridin’ around in circles, ready to put a bullet in any stranger they see, thinkin’ he’s a renegade—it’s nothin’ but trouble. Once they’re out of sight of the town, those people won’t know where they are. Sure as the sun in the morning, someone’s gonna get lost or hurt—or worse.”

  Carlos untied his reins. “You wanna get some things together now an’ ride out, or wait till morning?”

  “Well, I spent a couple of days out there and didn’t find a thing. If the boy is gone, he’s gone—and if he’s dead, he’s dead. I can’t spend any more time worrying about him, with half my town playing Texas Ranger. Let’s wait until tomorrow, give Rev Warner and his people some lead time, and then ride herd on ’em, keep ’em from gettin’ lost an’ from shootin’ each other. I’d bet a dollar against an onion that they’ll all have had enough of the prairie in a day or so.”

  “Can you no order them not to do thees?”

  “Not legally. There’s nothin’ against the law about gathering a search party.” Ben shook his head sadly. “Even if there was, I got a feeling they wouldn’t listen to me. Look, your oath as deputy is still good from the last time, far as I know. I’ll give you the badge tomorrow.”

  “Ees good. I’ll ride back to the Busted Thumb and put one of my men in charge and look things over. I have a mare who ees about ready to foal, but she’s a good ol’ gal an’ she’s had three young ones already without no problem. I’ll ride back early tomorrow, no?”

  “Thanks, Carlos. I ’preciate the help.”

  Carlos didn’t mount up. “One thing. Did you scout the foothills when you were looking for Henry? If you din’t

  find heem on the prairie, ees ’bout the only place he could be, no?”

  “I looked for tracks, but I didn’t ride on in. You’re right, though. Maybe I should head there while you ride herd on the searchers.”

  Carlos nodded. Still, he didn’t step into a stirrup. “Ben, uhh . . . the preacher and Lee—”

  Whatever Carlos was about to say was cut off by Lee’s voice from the front of the church. “Ben, hold on. I want to talk with you,” she said, holding up her hand. Carlos swung into his saddle, waved, and jigged his horse into a slow lope as Lee hustled across the yard to where Ben stood next to Snorty.

  Ben could tell from the sharpness of her eyes that she was angry. And the tone of her voice only reinforced that fact.

  “Just what did you hope to gain by taunting Rev Warner like you did in there?” she demanded.

  “Taunting? Listen here—the whole idea is stupid. Those people—”

  “I don’t believe that trying to find a lost child is at all stupid. Do you?”

  “Yeah, I do, Lee. You might just as well send a bunch of chickens out looking for a fox. Someone’s gonna get hurt, you mark my words. An’ that’ll happen because a preacher who’s spent his whole life in cities decided he’s Moses leading God’s people.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Think about it, Lee. Olaf Schermerrer out there with a pistol or a rifle? He can’t see beyond his elbow, an’ you want him to search for somebody? Dwight Parnell hasn’t spent five minutes on a horse’s back in the last ten years! Basil Tempa? He hasn’t been outta his store since he built the place. C’mon, this whole deal doesn’t make any sense.”

  “We have a good plan. We’ll stay as close together as we can. We even decided on some signals to call for help.”

  “Signals?” Ben tried to keep his voice level, but even in his own ears, it sounded angry.

  “Yes, signals. Gunshots. If anybody is in trouble, all he has to do is fire twice and the rest of us will ride toward the sound and take care of whatever the problem is.”

  Ben shook his head. “It won’t work. There are so many hollows an’ echos out there that the shots will sound like they came from a dozen different directions.”

  “Well, Duncan said that—”

  “Oh, it’s ‘Duncan’ now?”

  “We’re friends, Ben. Why do you have to be like this?” Lee’s voice was level, but a blush crept into her cheeks.

  “I suppose you’re going to be part of this search party,” Ben said, trying to ignore the blush.

  “Yes. I ride better than any man in town, and my Slick is the best horse.”

  Ben had to chew on the inside of his cheek to keep from responding to that.

  “And I can handle a pistol and a rifle. Plus, I know the area as well as you do. I need to be part of the search.”

  “You’re . . . never mind. Forget it.” He mounted Snorty and rode away.

  Lee stared at the marshall’s back as he rode off toward town. All around her, enthusiastic churchgoers climbed into their wagons and mounted their horses, eager to gather supplies together for the morning. There was a strangely festive air about the group, as if they were setting forth on a picnic.

  Lee shivered slightly as the breeze from the prairie touched her. Her eyes flicked to the sky and then were held there by the slowly twisting shapes of the high clouds to the north. She shivered again. The sky looked cold.

  The preacher’s voice pushed into her thoughts. He stood just outside the church, Bible still in hand, calling to her, a concerned look on his face. Even from a distance, Lee could see the warmth in the man’s eyes.

  “Lee, is something wrong?” His voice was quiet, but she heard his words clearly.

  She looked around herself, disoriented for a moment. All the people who’d been scurrying about a few moments ago were gone. She and Rev Warner were alone in the churchyard.

  “Is there something I can do to help?” the preacher asked, now standing in front of her. He put his hand on her shoulder so gently that an image of a summer butterfly landing there flickered briefly in her mind. She looked into his eyes and suddenly felt dizzy, as if she might fall.

  “Lee?”

  She looked down and took a deep breath. Even then, the masculin
e scents of crisp, clean clothes, shaving talc, and well-polished leather held her almost paralyzed. She forced herself to take the couple of steps that brought her to the hitching rail. Leaning against it, she could feel her knees trembling under her layers of petticoats.

  “I’m all right,” she said and then forced a smile that she was sure looked more like a grimace. Slick was tied to the hitching rail at the rear of the church, where she’d put him after arriving early to have coffee with Rev Warner before the service. She didn’t want to walk over there just now—she wasn’t sure her legs would carry her.

  “It’s silly. I just got a bit dizzy. I’m fine now.”

  “Trouble with Marshall Flood?” the preacher asked. “About finding poor Henry? Ben’s face was red when he left you.”

  “Not really. It’s just that everything’s so . . . muddled, I guess. Ben says it’s insane for a bunch of city folks to be out there with guns, and that we’ll never find the boy anyway. You heard him in church—how he reacted to your idea.”

  “I’m not quite sure if Ben was reacting to my idea or to me as a person,” Duncan said. “I’m not sure of that at all.”

  Lee sidestepped his comment. “He mentioned some of the men who wouldn’t be much use in a search party, and he was right. He’s afraid we’ll end up shooting at one another.”

  Duncan was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his words shocked her. “Do you doubt God? Do you doubt his power?” His voice was level and subdued, but somehow it struck Lee like a riding quirt.

  “No! Of course not! Why would you ask that?”

  “Do you find it difficult to believe that God speaks to certain of his servants, giving them instructions in things that pertain to their own good and the good of others?”

  “No, I don’t . . . I mean, I know God speaks to us and that—”

  “Well, that’s what has happened here, Lee. God spoke to me last night and put this plan to find the child in my mind. I won’t—regardless of what Ben Flood or you or anyone else says or believes—go against the word of God. And perhaps it would be good for you and for your relationship with the Lord if you’d spend less time with a man whose life is so inextricably wound through with violence.”