The Blacksmith

by Bryan A. Salisbury

  “Kind of steep, isn’t it? I only need it for a couple hours,” Blake said back.

  “You will have use of the tools and materials in there and mind you I have complete inventory of all that is in there so don’t get light fingers,” Weatherby said, using a very businesslike tone. “And, the fee is what it is to try to recoup back taxes.”

  Blake was amused by the fact Weatherby knew what was in there. He doubted if he knew the difference between a fullering hammer and chainlink tongs. Well, no matter, he needed the forge and he had the money. “Fine,” Blake said and gave him five dollars. Weatherby slid out the drawer in front of his enormous belly, got the keys and handed them to Blake.

  “Have you ever run a forge?” he asked as Blake got up.

  “Born and raised in one,” Blake replied smiling.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to open for business? The town is desperate for a good blacksmith,” he asked.

  “Nope,” Blake said and left the bank.

  Chapter 5

  The condition of the blacksmith shop was deplorable. Tools and scrap metal were thrown haphazardly inside the door. If anyone else had rented it, they didn’t take much care in putting things back. The lock was on the side door where Blake entered and a big sliding door was barred from the inside. Blake made his way over to the big door. After lifting the bar off, he slid the big door open. The wheels squeaked and groaned from lack of use. Light filled the large building and showed years of neglect. Two pigeons made a hasty retreat out of a bucket-sized hole in the roof. The roof itself was sagging in the middle where one of the support beams had broken. Dust and grime covered the anvils, benches and just about everything in the forge that wasn’t covered by pigeon crap.

  Blake knew that a forge was not a clean place to work, coal dust and smoke can collect everywhere and the slag from working metal was always covering the floor. Blake’s father had always insisted that at the end of every day all the tools be returned to their proper place and the benches and floors were swept. If his forge was not kept orderly there would be hell to pay … a lesson Blake was taught more than once.

  There was a big shop anvil placed on a wooden block in the middle of the building. A smaller one was near the door. The smaller anvil was mounted on a stump that could be taken outside to shoe horses or do light jobs. A small forge with a crank style blower was sitting next it. Blake gave the crank a spin. Dust and coal ash flew up from the tuyere. A least that works, Blake thought, because without good airflow a forge is useless.

  Blake took off his hat and vest and hung them on a hook near the door. He found a leather apron hanging close by and put that on. Rolling up his sleeves, he looked around for the tools he needed, most of which he found on the floor. One set of tongs was rusted and would not open. “I can fix that,” Blake said to himself. He picked up the smaller anvil and set it outside and then carried the small forge out and placed it near the anvil. Picking some of the clinker out of the forge, he made a small well above the grate for the air exhaust. Then he placed some paper and kindling wood in the center. Reaching in his shirt pocket he took out a Lucifer, struck it and lit the paper. As the fire grew, he began moving the drier pieces of coal onto the fire while gently turning the blower. Soon the fire began to build and smoke quite a bit. But that was normal until the fire gets hot enough to eat the smoke. Blake recognized that smell, it was a smell from his childhood, from the ship he sailed on, the rear lines of battles from the War Between the States and the many places he used his skills in between.

  Blake’s father had been right, he said, “A skill like this will always provide for you. Smithing is always in demand.” Blake had turned away from blacksmithing, not because he didn’t like the work, he just wanted to see what the world had to offer. As fate would have it, he always seemed to end up back in a forge. It was home to him, familiar and comforting.

  Once the fire seemed to be going strong he added green coal to the outside. The fire was burning bright and strong now and about ready to start heating metal. He placed the tongs that were frozen shut in the fire. They turned a dull cherry red and Blake pulled them out and started working the jaws open and closed. Every time he moved them it got easier until they moved freely. “That’ll work,” he said.

  Blake had made hundreds of horseshoes in his life, for all sizes and shapes of horses. He had found the appropriate bar stock for Bull’s shoes and placed a long length in the fire. Placing a hot cutter in the hardy hole of the anvil he placed the bright orange heated metal and cut pieces into the appropriate lengths. That was when he noticed he was drawing a crowd. In every small town or big city, the ringing of an anvil can be heard. Blacksmiths did not just shoe horses; they manufactured everything from forks and knives to parts for farm equipment. Blake had made hinges, chains, latches for doors, he had fixed wagons and plows and made just about every tool there was. MacIntyre had been lacking that sound for a long time. When people heard the ring of the anvil it was like a church bell to them. They wondered if a blacksmith had decided to reopen the shop and if they could have their things repaired or made.

  “Are you the new smith?” a rather large woman asked excitedly. “I need some pot hooks repaired.”

  “I’ve got some busted shovel heads that could use some fixin,’” piped up a short man with a derby hat.

  Another man called out, “We ain’t had a horse shod for two months. When can you get to ‘em?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, people,” Blake said holding up his hand, “I’ll just have the shop for the day. My horse needed shoeing and then I’m going to move on.”

  The mood in the crowd deflated like a balloon. “Damn,” the man in the bowler said. “Say, would you be willin’ to shoe just a couple of them? I’ll pay for it.”

  A few people stood there with expectant eyes and Blake hated to let them down. He said, “Sorry, if I do it for you, I would have to help everybody.”

  “Dammit to hell, we sure could have used you,” he turned and walked away kicking at a clod of dirt.

  “Ain’t your responsibility,” Joe Bergman said. He had been standing behind Blake since the crowd showed up.

  Blake turned a little startled. “Didn’t see you there, Joe.”

  Then he said, “I grew up a blacksmith, and I know there is a powerful need for one in a town like this.”

  “You’re right about that. I’m sure one will come along. You want me bring out your horse?”

  “I’d be obliged.”

  Joe turned and called into the livery, “Avery, fetch Mr. Thorton’s horse out here, will ya?”

  Blake could hear grumbling inside, “Too lazy to get his own damn fool horse, I’m guessin’.”

  Blake smiled and asked, “How’s he working out?”

  “Just like the man who jumped off a ten story building in Chicago,” Joe laughed. “Every time he passed a window he said, ‘so far, so good.’”

  Blake and Joe had a good laugh over that. “Well, I appreciate you taking him on,” Blake said.

  “He works alright, and his grousin’ reminds me of my granpappy. Makes me laugh, it does,” Joe said shaking his head. Then he returned to the livery.

  Blake finished putting the shoes on Bull. Scratching him behind the ears he asked, “That better, old son? They treating you all right?” Bull shook his head up and down and nibbled in Blake’s hand. “I swear you understand me sometimes.” Blake had been thinking that with all this spare time left he could make another knife to replace the one he gave Caleb. He tied Bull up to the hitch rail and went into the forge to see if he could find some tool steel to make another knife. When he returned with a suitable piece he noticed a can of peaches sitting on the anvil. “Now where did they come from?” he muttered to himself, picking up the can. “Strange,” he said. “Do you know who left these?” he asked Bull. Bull looked at him and blew. “You know, I’m getting tired of you not answering me,” Blake chuckled. “Well I do love peaches.” Setting the can on the anvi
l he opened it with his knife. Popping half a peach into his mouth, he savored the sweetness. He was sitting on the anvil when Hap came around the corner. He had a white apron on, looking very much like a store clerk. He approached Blake with a strange look on his face.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Thorton, you seen a young scalawag runnin’ thro’ here?”

  “No I haven’t. What’s the problem?”

  “First day on the job, an’ I gets stole from. Mr. Dooley tol’ me not to fret, but figgered I could catch him. Chased him awhile but I went and lost him comin’ this way.”

  “What did he steal?” Blake asked.

  “Can of them peaches,” Hap said pointing at Blake’s can.

  With that, a tremendous racket came from the livery. “What the hell! Come back here!” Avery was yelling at someone and, by the sounds of it, tipping over everything in the livery. Caleb came running out of the barn as fast as his legs would carry, with Avery close behind.

  “That’s him!” Hap shouted and jumped in front of the boy. Caleb tried to jump to his right but Avery tackled him around the legs. All three went down in a heap. Blake got off the anvil and started to untangle the bodies.

  “All right, simmer down,” he said as he picked Caleb out of the pile. He tried to wiggle out of Blake’s hand but Blake had too good of a grip.

  “That’s the boy who done took the peaches!” Hap yelled pointing at Caleb.

  “Near scared ten years off my life. He was hiding behind some grain sacks. He seen me an’ lit out,” Avery added.

  Blake marched Caleb over to the anvil with the peach can on it. “Did you steal these peaches and leave them here for me?” Blake asked in a no nonsense voice. Caleb just looked at him for a second and then hung his head and shook it. “Why?” Blake asked.

  “F-f-f-for kn-kn-knife,” stammered Caleb.

  “Don’t matter,” Hap said. “You is comin’ with me to talk with my boss.”

  “Hold on,” Blake said. “How much are the peaches, Hap?”

  “Nickel a can, I think.”

  “Here’s two bits. Pay Josh for the can and keep the rest for catching him. You did a good job.”

  “But I was the one who catched him!” Avery blustered.

  Blake shook his head, “Yes, you did. Maybe Hap will buy you a beer later.”

  “Risked my life for a lousy beer. I’ll let him do the catchin’ next time,” grumbled Avery.

  “We is pards, I’ll buy you two,” Hap said.

  “Now you is talkin’,” said Avery vindicated.

  ******

  Hap and Avery went their separate ways and left Blake with his tight grip on Caleb. Blake sat him down on the water trough and stepped back. He had no idea what to do next. “You know what you did was wrong, don’t you?” Caleb shrugged his shoulders and stared at the ground. “When a man talks to you, look him in the eye,” Blake growled. Caleb raised his head slowly, trying not to let the tears show. Blake swallowed hard, he felt for the kid but he had to make him accountable. “When you steal and give it to someone else, it’s still wrong and you make that person a thief, too.”

  “S-s-sorry,” choked Caleb.

  “Do you have a Ma or Pa?”

  Caleb shook his head no.

  “A place to stay?”

  Caleb pointed out in back of the livery.

  “Well the fire is out now and I don’t feel much like starting it again. You stay right there till I get back,” Blake said. He took off the apron, put on his hat and vest and walked Bull back in the livery. He saw Avery and asked him to saddle Bull. He went back outside to get Caleb. “Show me where you live.” Caleb got up with his head low and led Blake to a row of shacks out behind the saloon. When he got to one that looked like no more than a chicken coop he stopped and pointed. Blake went in and couldn’t believe how run down it was. Just a threadbare blanket on the floor and some broken furniture. There was no glass in any of the windows and no stove for heat or cooking. The mangy dog Caleb rescued was lying in the corner chewing on an old cow femur. He looked up at Blake and cocked his head. “Jesus Christ,” Blake said, shaking his head. He needed time to think. He couldn’t leave the boy like this and the boy couldn’t make it on his own.

  Blake walked back outside and closed the door. He looked at Caleb and drew a deep breath. He started walking back to the forge. “C’mon,” he said to Caleb. The boy followed close behind keeping his head down. When they got back to the forge he instructed Caleb to sit by the door. “Make sure nobody steals anything. I’ll be back in a while,” Blake said. Bull was standing by the door of the forge saddled and ready to go. Blake threw his leg over him and trotted up the street and out of town.

  Blake put Bull into a slow canter for a couple miles, then down to a walk. After an hour or so Blake found himself on top of a grassy knoll overlooking the town. He stopped and let Bull blow and relax. He was weighing things out in his mind.

  First Caleb, he felt bad about the kid’s condition, but Caleb wasn’t his responsibility. Sure, Blake had helped Hap and Avery, but they were grown men and could make their way. He doubted Caleb could. He liked the town alright and thought maybe he could settle down for a while, but Tom MacIntyre was going to be a thorn in his side. Blake would like to get know Chrissy better, but you never know about women. At best it was hard to know what the hell went through a woman’s mind.

  Damn, this was hard to figure; he could ride on and drift or get involved up to his neck here. “What do you think, old son? We can just keep riding and forget this mess or go down and try and be a big hero,” Blake said in an agitated voice. Bull turned his head around to Blake and blinked at him. “Come on boy, I leave it up to you. That way I have someone to blame if it goes wrong, either way.” Bull reached back a little farther and bit Blake’s pant leg. “Oh, hell, let’s just get out of here,” Blake said and tried to turn Bull away from town. Bull would not budge. “You, horse, are a pain in my ass. I will blame you anyway, you know.” Bull shook his head and snorted.

  ******

  When Blake turned Bull toward town he went freely. He kept Bull at a walk. Sorting things out in his mind he thought that he could do the same thing for Caleb that he had done for Hap and Avery, but Caleb was different. He had that stutter which most people would not be tolerant of. Probably he would be branded the village idiot and never be given a fair chance. Maybe Blake could find somebody to take him but he would be little use until he got a skill.

  Then it hit Blake like a thunderbolt. Blacksmithing. The town needed one badly and they could forgive a stutterer if they wanted something made or repaired. But, it could take several years to become even a decent smith and Blake wondered if Caleb had the brains and if he would be dedicated to learning. “I guess there is one way to find out,” Blake said to himself.

  He had reached the town now and rode up the street slowly, really taking it in now. If he committed to this, he would be here for a couple years at least. “Well, old son, you want to call this home for spell?” Bull pricked up his ears and quickened his pace. “Alright, but if this goes south, I’ll blame you,” Blake laughed and turned the corner to the livery.

  Caleb was still sitting on the water trough when Blake rode by. Blake stopped and got off Bull and led him in the stable. He met Joe and told him of his plans. When Joe finished laughing and shaking his head he took Bull in and started taking his saddle off. “You think I’m crazy?” Blake asked.

  “Crazy? No,” Joe chuckled. “Your heart is in the right place, but your head is so far up your ass, it’s right next to it.” They both laughed at that.

  “You may be right,” Blake said still laughing and left the stable. He walked over to Caleb and said, “Here’s how I see it, boy. I paid for those peaches and now you owe me that money. You are going to work it off by working for me until I say we are square. Understand?” Caleb kept his head down and nodded. “Not good enough, look at me and say it, clear?”

  Caleb looked up through his stri
ngy hair and said, “Y-yes.”

  “Fine,” Blake stated. “Now give me a hand putting these tools back in the forge.” When that was done Blake barred and locked the door. He dropped the keys in his pocket and sat Caleb back on the trough.

  “The first thing is you stink and you need a bath. I won’t have someone who smells like you working for me. I’ll get you cleaned up and some proper clothes. Let’s go.” Caleb jumped up and followed Blake over to the mercantile. As they entered the store Terry came over to greet them. “Ma’am, this is the thief who stole the peaches this morning.”

  Terry looked at Caleb and her heart sank. “No harm done, Mr. Thorton, you p…” Blake gave her a quick look and shook his head slightly. “Oh, I see,” she said.

  “Apologize,” Blake told Caleb firmly.

  “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he said softly looking at her through teary eyes.

  “Accepted,” Terry replied, smiling sweetly.

  “Now,” Blake spoke up, “this young man is going to be working for me. He is going to need two complete sets of clothes, boots, hat and some work gloves. Would you be so kind as to have Hap bring them over to the barbershop?”

  “Certainly,” she said.

  “Also I would like to start an account, if I could. I will be staying in town for a while.”

  “Absolutely,” Terry said. Blake turned to leave, and she gently took his sleeve and turned to him, “You’re a good man, Mr. Thorton.”

  Blake gave her a little smile, “Thank you, ma’am.” He turned back to Caleb and pointed to the door. “Let’s go,” and he pushed Caleb out the door. When they entered the barbershop, Bill Brady was sitting in his chair reading the paper again. He looked up and shook his head. “What do you do? Look under every rock out there and drag whatever crawls out in here to get cleaned up?”

  “It would appear I have a knack for it,” Blake said. He flipped him a silver dollar.

  “Good, Lord,” he said ushering Caleb in the back, “I take it I am burning these clothes, too.”