Wings of the Hawk

by Charles G. West

  “I can do that for you—set you up with a line of credit or give you cash money, whatever you want. Now, I might not give you as much as you’d get from the bank’s assayer. But I’ll be as honest as I can. I know what an ounce of gold is worth today, and I believe my scales are fairly accurate.” He knew what the boy’s situation was, suddenly on his own and probably with no idea what his gold was worth. Trotter thought it would be best for Jim to bring his dust to him before some dishonest scoundrel found out about it and cheated the boy.

  When Jim left Trotter’s, he enjoyed a great sense of relief. His mind filled with thoughts of his father and brother, he walked down the lonely road to Milltown, determined to cook himself a supper of the salt pork he had just purchased and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow he could think about making plans.

  He saw the smoke long before he reached the curve in the road a quarter of a mile above the house. A thick black column rose straight up over the treetops and hung like an omen of doom in the still evening air. Jim’s heart began to pound, and he immediately broke into a run, anxious to make the turn in the road where he would be able to see his house.

  At the bend, his worst fears were confirmed. The spectacle that greeted his eyes caused his mind to reel for a moment in disbelief. The house he was born in—his father’s house—was engulfed in a blazing ball of fire. He ran as fast as he could, straining for breath by the time he reached the front path. The heat from the inferno forced him to back away to the road again. There was no thought of putting out the fire, or of saving anything inside. All was lost.

  As he stood there, helplessly watching his boyhood memories melt away in the intense heat of the flames, several people came running from Milltown, drawn by the smoke. There was nothing anyone could do but stand by and watch. A few people offered their condolences to the young boy, who stood with his shoulders drooping, his eyes locked on the flames.

  It didn’t take long. In less than two hours the fire had consumed everything save some smoldering, smoking lumps of timber, bits of metal and glass, and the blackened stone fireplace. A few of the spectators hung around after most of the crowd had gone, sifting through the ashes with their boots, looking for anything of value. There was nothing to be salvaged, though. When the last of them had finally given up and returned to their homes, the boy was still seated on the ledge of the well, staring at the ashes.

  * * *

  At approximately the same time Jim discovered his father’s house in flames, his mother stood at the front door of the huge white house overlooking the freight yard. She watched Hamilton Blunt as he rode into the yard, dismounting and handing the reins to the stableboy. He wore a stern expression on his face, but immediately switched to a broad smile when he looked up and saw her.

  “My, but aren’t you a mighty pretty sight tonight,” he said, taking her hands in his and gently kissing her forehead.

  Julia blushed. She was still unaccustomed to Hamilton’s verbal bouquets, especially at her age. Her life before John’s death had been hard, and she and John had never had room for frills. There was love, certainly. She never questioned it. But there had not been tenderness for many years. It was not that John would not have given it, it was just not in his nature to do so.

  In truth, Julia was not quite sure what to do with herself since moving into Hamilton’s house. She had supposed that she would take over the housekeeping and cooking, but Hamilton informed her that he intended to keep the woman who had cooked for him ever since his wife died. As for the housekeeping, the woman’s daughter came in twice a week to clean and do the wash. At first the thought of such luxury threatened to overwhelm Julia, but it was an easy matter to become accustomed to it. When she had asked Hamilton what he expected her to do all day, he had replied that she had only to make herself beautiful for him. She felt like a girl of sixteen again.

  He put his arm around her, and they walked into the front hallway. She stood back and watched him while he took off his hat and hung it on a knob by the door. He is a handsome devil, in a rakish sort of way, she thought. Almost as if reading her thoughts, he parted his lips in a wide smile and ran his fingers through his thick, silver-flecked hair to shake out the indentation his hatband had left. She had never seen a man as impressive as this man who wanted her for his wife. She had to shake herself mentally to recall her wandering thoughts and ask the question that had burdened her mind.

  “Hamilton, I wonder if . . . I mean, do you think you could talk to Jim? I think he’s just upset and confused. He’s so young, and an awful lot has happened so quickly. I think, if he just had an opportunity to get to know what a wonderful person you are. . .” Her voice trailed off, her eyes pleading.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” he said, trying to match the concern in her eyes with that of his own. “I have already tried to talk to Jim once, when he left here. I swear, I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy, Julia. I told him that all we wanted to do was to help him get over his grief—told him he always had a home here with us if he wanted it. He told me he would never live with me—got downright nasty about it—threatened to kill me and called me . . . well, I don’t think it proper to repeat such language to a lady. I told him I didn’t appreciate some of the remarks he made about you, his own mother, for goodness’ sakes. He acted like he might become violent, so I had no choice but to leave him be. I’m sorry, darling. I tried, but I’m afraid there’s no hope.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Tired and discouraged, Jim lay down near the smoldering ruins. The ground was warm and hard, baked by the fire. Ignoring the rumblings in his empty belly, he gave in to his weariness and slid into the comforting arms of sleep.

  He awoke the next morning, surprised to find that the sun was smiling down on a perfect day, oblivious to the tragic blow his life had once again suffered. He sat up, stiff from his night on the hard ground, and looked at the still-smoking remains. He had never felt more alone in his young life. Almost giving in to his despair, he nevertheless reached down deep inside his soul and summoned the strength to overcome this new tragedy. Hamilton Blunt had been right about one thing, he decided. It was time for Jim to become a man. So resolved, he scolded himself for acting like a child and got up on his feet. “It’s gonna take a heap more than this to run me out,” he announced, already entertaining suspicions that the fire was no accident.

  As he started poking around in the charred ruins of the house, the thought suddenly struck him—the gold! In the chaos of the night before, he had completely forgotten the bag buried under the porch. His eyes immediately focused on the stone pilasters, standing now like scorched stumps among the charred timbers. Which one was it? It was not as easy to tell now that the porch and house were no longer standing. He determined it to be the third one in from the front and started to toss charred debris out of his way. Before clearing the timbers from around the pilaster, he stopped and studied the short stone column. The ground around it had not been disturbed, and he was sure that the pouch of valuable dust was safe and untouched by the flames. Knowing it was risky to carry that much gold dust around with him, he decided it best to leave it buried, since the heat of the fire had baked the ground hard, leaving no evidence of the hole he had dug. He couldn’t think of a safer place to keep it until he needed it.

  That decided, he thought to tend to his empty stomach next. He still had a little money in his pocket, and a line of credit at Trotter’s, so he set out for the store once again. As he hopped across the ditch by the road, he caught sight of something that caused him to pause. It was a hoofprint, and a recent one, too. As far as Jim remembered, none of the spectators there the night before were on horseback. Wary now, he searched the ground around the house, and found many more hoofprints. Suspicions that he’d had earlier seemed to be confirmed. His house had definitely been visited by several riders the day before. There was little doubt that he had been burned out deliberately.

  His initial feeling was one of anger. It was obvious to him that Hamilton Blunt was s
et on destroying his life. Well, he’s got another think coming, he thought, determined to fight back—although at the moment he had not the slightest idea what he could do about it. Hamilton Blunt was a powerful man, too powerful to be challenged by a fourteen year-old boy. “He still ain’t gonna get away with it,” Jim muttered and set out for Trotter’s again.

  He had not quite reached Travis Bowen’s house when a rider loped into view. When he was close enough to make out the man’s features, Jim recognized Tyler Blunt, the youngest of the Blunt brothers. Jim knew him by sight only, but his father had told him that Tyler was a young rakehell, good only for heavy drinking and barroom fights. Jim moved to the side of the road to give the horse room to pass. But Tyler steered his large gray directly toward the boy, reining up in front of him.

  “Well, now, lookee here,” Tyler greeted the boy sarcastically. “If it ain’t the Tracey young’un. Hey, boy, I heard you had a little fire down your way last night—thought I’d come take a look at it myself.” He nudged his horse closer to Jim, forcing the boy to back up a step. “Don’t leave you with much cause to stay around here no more, does it?”

  Jim didn’t answer. He stepped around the gray’s head and continued walking. There was a sharp ache in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger, and the blood in his veins felt like ice water. Without having any proof of it, he knew for certain that this sneering son of a bitch was directly involved in burning down his house. There was no doubt that Hamilton Blunt had sent Tyler to make sure Jim was getting out of the county.

  Tyler pulled his horse around and circled back in front of Jim again. “Hey, boy, I ain’t through talking to you. Don’t you go walking away from me, or you’ll feel the business end of this whip.” Jim stopped, only because the big gray was again pressing against him, forcing him back. “Where do you think you’re going, anyway?” Tyler taunted.

  “I reckon where I’m goin’ is my own business, and none of yours,” Jim said, meeting the bully’s gaze straight on. “Now, get that damn horse off of me.”

  “Listen here, you little turd, you better be on your way outta this part of the country. If I see you around here after today, you just might have a little accident yourself. You understand me?” He pulled on the big gray’s reins, forcing the horse to sidestep, pushing Jim toward the ditch.

  Jim felt the tremendous weight of the horse bearing down on him, the powerful muscles of its neck and withers forcing him over. He drew his knife and gave the animal a quick jab behind his front leg. The gray screamed and sprang backward, went stiff-legged for a couple of bounds, then bucked his hind legs up in the air. The sudden explosion of movement caught Tyler by surprise, causing him to lose the stirrup on one foot and grab the saddle horn to keep from being thrown.

  “Damn you!” Tyler roared when he once again had the horse under control. He pulled the pistol from his belt and was starting to aim it at Jim when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Jim, is that you?” Nettie Bowen called out from her front doorstep.

  Teeth clenched, his face twisted with rage, Tyler hesitated. He looked at the woman and then back at Jim. “You’re lucky this time, boy. But your luck has run out. If I see you around here again, I’ll nail your hide to the barn.” He put the pistol away, wheeled his horse around and kicked the animal into a gallop, scowling at Nettie Bowen as he passed.

  Jim stood there for a few moments, watching until Tyler had disappeared around a bend in the road. He had no doubt that Tyler would have shot him if Nettie Bowen had not been there to witness it. Now that the incident was past, he was aware of his trembling hands, shaking from both fear and anger.

  “Come here, Jim,” Nettie called. She waited on the step until he walked up to her door. “I saw what happened. What on earth was he doing? It looked like he was trying to run over you or something.”

  “He’s wantin’ to run me out of the county, I reckon,” Jim answered.

  “For goodness’ sakes, what did you ever do to him?” When Jim just shrugged his shoulders, not really wanting to discuss it, she didn’t press the issue. “You stay away from him. That Tyler Blunt always was a troublemaker. I don’t know why Hamilton puts up with him.” She paused and gave Jim a stern look. “Have you had any breakfast? I’ll bet you haven’t.”

  * * *

  Hamilton Blunt looked up from his desk when he heard his brother open the door. “Well, did you take care of that piece of business?”

  Tyler shrugged, still hot about the incident on the Milltown road. “Yeah, I took care of it. I told you that this morning. There ain’t nothin’ left over there but a hole in the ground, and I just put the word to the little bastard a while ago.”

  “He’s still around this morning?” Hamilton was disappointed to hear that. He had been sure the boy would be scared enough to run. “He doesn’t seem to get the message any too well, does he?”

  Tyler grinned. “He’s damn sure got the message now. I woulda got rid of the little snot for good if ol’ lady Bowen hadn’t stuck her nose into it.”

  “If he goes, let him be. I just want him out of here.” Hamilton was ruthless in getting what he wanted, but unlike his brother, he was willing to let the boy live if he didn’t ever have to see him again. He wasn’t about to have any whelp of John Tracey’s around to remind him of his wife’s former husband.

  “You don’t have to worry about that little rat anymore. I aim to see that he’s out of the way,” Tyler said. “I’ll ride out that way tonight to make sure he’s gone.”

  Jim stayed away from the ruins of his house for the remainder of the day. He thought it best to wait for darkness before going back to dig up his gold. He spent a good deal of the afternoon in heavy thought, rethinking his plans to make a home there on the Milltown road. The more he thought about it, the less certain he was that his mother would choose to leave Hamilton Blunt’s house. Yet he was reluctant to believe she had chosen to forget his father and her two sons for a life as the mistress of the huge white house overlooking the freight company. Maybe he should try to lease some acreage with his gold, try farming like his pa had dreamed of doing. Yet even as he thought it, he knew that farming was not the life for him—not since his heart had heard the call of the mountains.

  At dusk, he made his way down the Milltown road once again to recover the pouch buried beside the pilaster. By the time he reached his ravanged home, it was already getting dark, but the stone supports stood out in the dull light. He approached the third one from the front and started clearing away the tangle of charred timbers that lay beside it. The smell of smoke was still heavy in the air. When he had moved the debris, he dropped down on his knees and used his knife to break up the baked dirt. In only a few minutes’ time, he felt the top of the elk-hide pouch. His body suddenly tensed when he heard a sound behind him, and then a voice.

  “Just like I figured. The little rat came back to his nest.” There was no mistaking the sarcastic voice of Tyler Blunt. “Looks like you’re trying to dig another burrow, little rat. Make sure it’s big enough, ’cause it’s gonna be your grave.”

  Jim turned around to face him, still on his knees. Tyler was no more than ten feet from him, his pistol pointed at Jim’s head. There was no time to be scared. The boy glanced right and left, desperately searching for some means of escape. There was none. Tyler had the drop on him for certain. It was then that Tyler noticed the skin pouch in Jim’s hand.

  “What you got there, boy? Come on outta there and let’s see what you dug up. Don’t get up!” he warned. “Crawl outta there on your hands and knees.” Tyler backed up a couple of steps from the blackened ruins, keeping the pistol leveled at Jim’s head. While Jim did as he was told, Tyler kept up a steady stream of banter, obviously enjoying baiting the boy. “I warned you, didn’t I, boy? I told you to get your scrawny little ass out of this county. But here you are, back after I told you what would happen to you. Now you know what’s gonna happen? They’re gonna find you in the morning with a hole right between
your eyes. Now hand me that poke you’re holding.”

  He reached down and snatched the pouch from Jim’s hand, surprised by the weight of it. “Hot damn, what you got in here, boy? Gold? It’s got some weight to it. And you had it hid under the porch. If I’da known that, I’da burned this damn shack down sooner.” Though it was too dark for Jim to see it, there was a broad grin across Tyler’s face at the prospect of being paid for doing something he’d do every day of the week for free. He kept Jim on his hands and knees while he hefted the sack, speculating as to its weight. “How much is in here, boy? You might as well tell me. You ain’t gonna care in a few minutes anyway.” When Jim refused to answer, Tyler whacked him across the head with the pistol barrel. The blow snapped Jim’s head to the side, cutting open his cheek, but it was not hard enough to render him unconscious. Tyler wanted the boy completely aware of what was happening to him. It made the execution more enjoyable for the sadistic Blunt.

  The blow from Tyler’s pistol made Jim’s head ring, and he could feel the blood flowing down his cheek. The longer Tyler taunted him, the less scared and the more angry he got.

  “Why don’t you beg me to spare your worthless life?” Tyler teased. He was clearly disappointed in the boy’s calmness in the face of death.

  “Why don’t you kiss my ass?” Jim replied.

  That did it for Tyler. He grabbed a handful of Jim’s hair and pulled him up from his knees. He pressed the barrel of the pistol against Jim’s forehead and growled, “Good-bye, you little turd. Say hello to your brother for. . .” The pop of the pistol was followed immediately by a heavy grunt from Tyler as Jim suddenly knocked the pistol away from his forehead with one hand, while coming up under the larger man’s breastbone with his long skinning knife.

  Tyler staggered backward in shocked disbelief, staring wide-eyed with horror at the bone handle protruding from his midsection. He grabbed it to try to pull it out, but the movement of the blade caused him to scream in pain. Forgetting the boy, and everything else but the searing agony in his gut, he staggered a few steps forward before sinking to his knees, his eyes staring wildly. Hardly believing what had just happened, himself, Jim wasted no more time. He pulled a short piece of charred timber from the ruins, and with as much force as he could put behind it, he swung it at Tyler’s head repeatedly. Each blow made a hollow sound, like thumping a gourd, as the timber bounced off Tyler’s skull. Jim became frantic. It seemed the stabbed man would never go down. He was plainly unable to defend himself, yet somehow he remained on his knees, groaning, his head rolling back and forth. Jim clubbed him once more, and finally Tyler rolled over on the ground.