On the Mountain

by Peggy Ann Craig

  “We either do it my way—or we do it my way. There ain’t no other choices. Boss wants ya cleaned up and fed and it ain’t no way ya goin’ to the table looking like ya just had a rumble in da pig pen.”

  They were in the smallest of the three buildings she discovered was the bunkhouse for the ranch hands. The room was large but crowded with beds and tables. Thankfully, it was empty of humans except for Joe and herself. The rest of the hands were out in the corral with the cattle.

  Behind the big cowboy was an oversized barrel where he ducked a bucket to retrieve water for her to use. “So hand over the blanket.”

  She drew it closer, her eyes growing in fear. For some reason the men had mistaken her for a boy, and she knew instinctively she could not reveal her true identity. It wasn’t entirely for the fact she hadn’t seen one single female in sight, but rather she knew her life depended on keeping this secret. She tightened the blanket.

  The man sighed heavily in frustration, and the woman had an instant to react in horror before he lifted the bucket of water and dumped it over her head. She gasped in shock, spurting water and mud from her mouth as she felt the cascade of dirt and grime sliding down her face. Then another bucket of water followed and then another until the blanket she so desperately clung to was heavy and soaking wet. She released a violent shiver.

  At last he put the bucket down and tossed her a clean pile of clothing. “Hell, kid, I ain’t never seen a boy more pansy-like. I thought all you inbred mountain people ran around in the buff, humpin’ your own kind like animals.”

  The woman was glad he took that moment to make his exit because she felt bile building up inside and would have gladly spat in the vulgar man’s face or release her own spasm of lewd remarks. But for the fact, for some reason, she no longer had the ability to speak.

  Chapter 3

  Wade was already beginning to feel refreshed. The cold shower turned out to be exactly what he needed. Unrolling the cuffs of his shirt, he buttoned them shut around his wrist and headed for the great room where a blast of warm air greeted him from the now roaring fire in the hearth. He thought he heard voices from the front foyer, but Prescott came into the room alone. Wade looked behind him.

  “Was that Kathleen I heard you speaking to?”

  “Afraid not,” Prescott said. “Actually it was a messenger from town. Kathleen won’t be able to make it for another fortnight.”

  A flash of anger shot through Wade. “Why not?”

  “It seems her youngest has come down with influenza.”

  Feeling slightly guilty, he turned away. “I hope not serious.”

  “The message doesn’t say, but I’m sure Kathleen would have indicated.”

  “I’m sure.” Wade agreed then glanced back at the burning fire feeling disappointed. “I suppose we might as well join the ranch hands for dinner then.”

  Prescott nodded, then said, “What was this I heard about Joe catching a boy eating one of our chickens?”

  Wade groaned internally and wished his brother hadn’t reminded him. “The chicken was essentially devoured by the time we found him asleep in the stables.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Don’t know,” Wade said. “He’s a mute.”

  “Dreadful.” Prescott snatched his wool coat off the hook near the front entrance. “What are you planning on doing with him?”

  “I’m not planning on doing anything with him.”

  “Well you just can’t abandon him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because he’s a kid and all alone.”

  Wade snatched up his own coat. “There is always the option of going back to where he came from.”

  “How do you know there is somewhere for him to go back?”

  That made him start. It wasn’t anything he had considered. The boy had more than likely wandered down the mountain and gotten lost. He was sure a parent or concerned family member would be in search of him soon. If not, it was not too far out of their way to lead him back home.

  Wade had seen the village in the mountain where those people had called home only the one time, and if he recalled correctly, it was near one of the many lakes which emptied into the Centralia River. The boy more than likely followed the river down the mountain until it reached Wade’s property where it ran along the rear of the homestead. It wouldn’t be too difficult to follow it back up.

  He recalled the boy’s appearance and didn’t doubt he had fallen into some trouble along the way. The mountain could, after all, be quite treacherous even for Wade and his experienced wranglers. But a good night’s rest and a full stomach were probably all the boy needed before he attempted the return trek up the mountainside.

  When they entered the bunk house, it was already abuzz with male voices full of hunger. The aroma of fresh cooking filtered the small quarters. Kim Wong had been the cook on the ranch ever since Wade’s father was the owner. He had emigrated from China as a young man and came to the colony looking for work. In all that time he hadn’t bothered to learn a word of English and wasn’t the best cook around, but he got along with the men and suited their needs just fine.

  Kathleen’s visit would have guaranteed Wade a real treat for a meal. A summer in Paris during her school years had brought her directly under the tutoring of an influential and well-respected European chef. Thrusting his disappointed thought aside, he conceded he would just have to wait the fortnight. He reminded himself Kathleen’s immediate family came first.

  Tonight’s meal was the usual beef stew. A large black wood stove sat in the middle of the room and on top sat a very large and rusty crock pot. Prescott helped himself to a bowl first, then found a seat with the younger ranch hands. Wade eyed the thick and mushy stew and realized he didn’t care what he ate. He was hungry enough to eat a raw cowhide. Which reminded him.

  Turning, he glanced around the room and saw Joe sitting at one of the tables devouring his meal with zest. “Where’s the boy?”

  The lead hand filled his mouth with food before gesturing to the back bunks with his fork. The only lit candles were those in the eating area of the room. The beds were cast in darkness and at first Wade did not spot him sitting as far from the men as possible in the very last bunk. Then he saw the silhouette of a figure cuddled up in a fetal position.

  “Come here, boy,” he called. The figure did not move. “Come and get something to eat. After all, that was the bargain.”

  When still no movement occurred in the corner, Wade thought to ask, “Assuming you got yourself cleaned up.”

  Joe snorted but drove his fork into his stew.

  Wade frowned. “Come here, boy.”

  At last the figure moved and Wade’s first impression was the boy was much smaller than he thought. However, conceded his only other glimpse of the boy had him covered in a huge padded blanket.

  He seemed to take his time coming out of the shadows. Wade grew impatient and nearly barked at the kid. “Hell, boy if you don’t move any faster, the paste on Kim’s stew is going to grow so thick you’re going to need a chisel to eat it.”

  The Chinese man feigned insult, proving he may not speak the language, but he very much understood it. The rest of the ranch hands jeered at the comment. Wade ignored them all.

  His focus was entirely on the boy who had come out of the shadows. It was obvious he hadn’t taken a bath, but he looked a darn sight cleaner than when Wade first saw him. His thick matted hair looked as if someone took a blade to it and chopped it off sporadically and without care. It stuck out in ridiculous angles which he figured the remaining traces of mud had something to do with. The clothing Joe had given him looked huge and baggy and obviously disguised a very small frame beneath. Wade guessed the boy to weigh no more than ninety pounds.

  It was the boy’s face, however, that caught the most of Wade’s attention. It still had traces of dirt smudges across cheekbones far too defined for a teenage boy. His brown eyes were large and looked slightly sunken and heedless of the dark smudges
, his pale skin was very obvious. The boy’s angular face was more than likely the result of malnutrition, Wade thought with a jolt of compassion.

  “Come on, boy. Get something to eat.”

  He looked with unease about the room as he had caught most of the wrangler’s attention. Prescott got to his feet, plastered a bright smile on his face and approached the boy. With his hand outstretched, he said, “Welcome to the Circle H. Prescott Haddock is the name. Have you got one yourself?”

  The boy looked unsure at first but cautiously took Prescott’s offered hand, but chose to ignore his question.

  Peeved, Joe slapped his fork on the table. “Mr. Haddock asked you a question, boy.”

  He visibly cringed at Joe’s harsh tone, before glancing back at Prescott’s friendlier grin and nodded his head.

  “Can’t you speak?”

  The boy looked uncomfortable and tried to pull his hand away from Prescott, his eyes nervously darted in Wade and Joe’s direction.

  “Can’t you talk?” Prescott asked again, noticing the boy’s wish to free his hand and allowed him to drop it.

  The boy took an unsteady step back and shook his head.

  “That’s terribly awful. How much sign language do you know?”

  A puzzled look crossed the kid’s face as did Wade’s. “What are you talking about?”

  Prescott turned and gave his brother a surprised look. “Haven’t you heard about it? Its society’s way with helping the handicapped population. They’ve even come up with a Braille system for the blind.”

  “Braille? What the hell is that?” Joe asked.

  “Some form of language using raised punctured dots on paper.”

  “What do they do with that?” Joe looked confused by the image forming in his head.

  “Read.”

  “How the devil is that goin’ help?” Joe drove a mouthful of food into his mouth and mumbled, “Hell, even I don’t know how to read.”

  Some of the younger wranglers snickered causing the big ranch hand to growl at them from under his breath.

  Prescott ignored Joe and the others to ask, “Do you know how to read, boy?”

  He shook his head.

  Prescott sighed, looking disappointed but gave the boy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Well, how about we give you a name.”

  At that, Wade spoke up. “You’re treating him like a lost puppy. The boy has a name, Prescott, and we’re not keeping him. He has a family and a community who will be missing him and want him returned.”

  The boy’s head spun in his direction and the terror that lit his eyes caught Wade off guard. Instinctively, he started retreating back into the shadows of the bunkhouse. Frowning heavily, Wade said, “Hold on there, boy.”

  But he turned and bolted for the back room. Joe scraped the legs of his chair loud against the wooden floor as he got to his feet with intentions of going after the boy. However, Wade put a hand on his arm to halt him. “I’ll take care of this.”

  He glanced down at his bowl of stew and knew it would be cold by now so thrust it onto the closest table, then went in pursuit of the boy. He found him in the same corner, huddled up in a fetal position once again. It was obvious something was wrong. Wade knew in a heartbeat whoever or whatever the boy had left behind, had been bad. Real bad.

  Kneeling down on his haunches, he brought his face as parallel as he could to the boy’s head. His face was buried in the folds of his arms. Looking at the top of his muddy head, Wade realized he had little experience with children. In fact, the only ones he ever came across being his niece and nephew, but those visits were usually kept to once a year.

  Not accustomed to offering compassion, he felt awkward as he attempted to comfort the kid by placing a hand over his folded arms. He was rewarded with a flinch as the boy shriveled away.

  “Look, kid. Why don’t you just come on over and get something to eat?”

  No response.

  “You’ll feel a lot stronger after you’ve had some supper.” Then on an afterthought, added with a smile, “Unless of course that chicken earlier filled you up.”

  He was surprised to receive a response that time. The boy lifted his chin and looked straight across at him. Even in the darkness Wade could read the fear deep in his eyes. He silently cursed whoever had put it there. No one that young should look as tortured as he did.

  “Don’t worry about it, kid. Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”

  To his utter shock the boy began to tremble. At first it started low and Wade hadn’t even noticed, but then the collar around his neck started to shake. An awkward tightening in Wade’s chest made him squirm.

  Then out of nowhere, he blurted, “Look, if you want, you’re welcome to stay here. I could always use an extra set of ranch hands.”

  Just like that, the shaking stopped and the boy looked up at him with such huge innocent eyes, reminding Wade of the yearlings on his ranch after being separated from their mothers. Tinged with apprehension, yet needy and full of such sadness.

  He reached down and lifted the boy’s small hands. They were rough and obviously not oblivious to hard work, yet the fingers were long and slender and he doubted their ability to actually help. “As long as you pull your share there will always be a bed and a meal here for you.”

  The boy didn’t respond, he simply stared at Wade. It made him curious as to what was going through that young head of his. For a fleeting moment he wished the boy the ability to speak.

  Something tugged at his hands. He looked down and realized the boy was trying to free himself from Wade’s hold. Confused, he instinctively let go, got to his feet and returned to the table to eat his cold stew.

  * * *

  Prescott looked up and beckoned for her to join him at his table. With caution she moved toward him. Pleased to see her head in his direction, Prescott took the liberty of getting up and filling a bowl of stew for her as she settled into a vacant chair. Thankfully, the wranglers at the table were more preoccupied with their dinner than they were with the new visitor.

  She looked around her surroundings and felt the same sense of fear she had felt from the moment she woke in a strange place, hungry, dirty and alone. Not only was she horrified to discover the loss of her voice, but also the memory of how she got there. The last thing she recalled was sitting up on the hillside amongst a field of bluebells on an unusually warm fall evening, watching as usual the leisurely descent of the setting sun.

  Yet, as she sat there trembling inside with fear, she glanced around at her unfamiliar surroundings and unfamiliar faces and somehow knew without a doubt her greatest fear did not arise from these nine rough and tough cowboys. It arose from the mere thought of going home. She just didn’t know why.

  “So, we can’t go on calling you boy,” Prescott said as he placed a bowl in front of her and sat down beside her. “How about I try guessing your name. If I get it right, you nod your head in confirmation?”

  She eyed the beaming man next to her, so different from the other man. She could tell they were brothers. The family resemblance was there. They shared the same piercing blue eyes. However, that was where it stopped. This man was clean cut and obviously a gentleman. He almost seemed out of place amongst the wranglers.

  His brother, on the other hand, fitted in perfectly. Though his clothes were clean and well-kept, he had long shaggy brown hair that looked as if it hadn’t been cut in months and an untrimmed beard that hid a well-worn face. So too from the touch of his hands as he held her own, she could feel their strength and roughness from years of hard work.

  As she studied the man next to her with his huge straight teeth sparkling at her, she noted where one brother glowed with joy from head to foot, the other was more solemn and subdue. As a matter-of-fact, when she thought she heard him crack a smile in reference to her eating a chicken raw, he caught her off guard. She hadn’t liked him from the moment he stuck a barrel in her face, but in that split second something stirred.

  “All right.”
Prescott didn’t bother to wait for her concurrence. “Is it Peter?”

  His friendly eyes turned and studied her closely, waiting for a reply.

  She frowned, knowing he would never guess her name correctly, so gave a nod.

  He looked taken aback. “Really? Your name is Peter?”

  She watched pride light up the man’s face, believing he had accurately guessed her name. Even if she couldn’t remember the last twenty-four hours, she did remember her name. And it was not Peter.

  Her memory had turned into one huge blur. Strange things were happening, not the least finding herself hiding out on an all-male ranch disguised as a teenage boy. But one thing was real and that was the fear and knowledge she must continue this charade. Her life depended on it.

  “I think the boy is pulling a fast one over you, Prescott.” The brother spoke from across the room, obviously having listened.

  The face of the man beside her fell, but just as swiftly returned to its usual jolly self. “No matter. We shall call you Peter.”

  She couldn’t help but feel like that puppy his brother spoke of earlier. In a sense, she felt as if she was being claimed and, surprisingly, felt safe in that feeling.

  “As I introduced myself earlier, you know who I am.” He gestured across the table. “This here is Neil, Frank, and Ed. They’re fairly new to the ranch as well and probably closer to you in age. I’m sure you’ll get along splendidly.”

  She looked at the men, but they continued eating as if they hadn’t even heard Prescott. “You met Joe, the big scary fellow. But don’t let him fool you. Under that tough exterior is a real softy.”

  A contrary bark came from the opposite table. Prescott threw the man a grin before continuing his introductions. “Over there is George, Rupert and Dale. They’ve been with the ranch longest. Some of them hired on when father still ran the Circle H. They’ve been wrangling much the same time or even longer than Wade.”