There was the problem of the dog, however. If the animal was vicious, the situation could be serious. Ben reached back and loosened the knife in its sheath. He limped across the broad expanse of prairie and whistled at the dog as he came into the farmyard. Luckily, the hound was friendly and his tail whipped back and forth in joyous greeting. Ben petted him and allowed himself to be sniffed, then turned toward the house.
The door was open and a man stood in it. He stepped out on the rickety porch and waved. “Howdy.”
“Howdy,” Ben said.
The man indicated the dog with a nod of his head. “Looks like Ol’ Bob has taken a liking to you.”
“Yeah,” Ben said petting the animal again. He walked up to the house and affected a weary smile. “I got caught in the storm yesterday.”
The man’s face expressed concern. “You sure did, friend. And it appeared that Mother Nature treated you pretty rough. Come on in here.”
“I’m a mess. Your floor will—”
“Don’t you worry none about that,” the farmer said. He held the door open and ushered Ben inside. “I’m Jim Baldwin.”
“John Smith,” Ben said extending his hand.
“Sit down,” Baldwin said offering a chair at the table. “I’ll get my missus in here.” He went to the door leading into the rest of the house. “Lucille! Lucille! We got comp’ny.”
There was a scurry of quick footsteps and not one, but two, women came in. “Who in the world?” They stopped at the sight of the visitor. “Heavens! You must have got caught in that awful storm!”
“Yes’m,” Ben said raising politely. “I’m afraid I lost my horse, saddle, gear. Ever’thing I owned on this green earth.”
The two women were typical of the type who lived in the open country. Strong, ruddy, with plain faces and wearing their hair drawn back into severe buns, they looked robust and healthy in their plain calico dresses.
“This is my wife, Lucille, and her sister Arlena,” Baldwin said.
“I’m John Smith.”
Lucille Baldwin hurried to the stove and used a rag to hold onto the coffeepot sitting there. “The first thing you need, Mr. Smith, is a cup of hot coffee.”
“I thank you,” Ben said. The thought of the stimulant was most welcome.
“We’re having a late supper tonight,” Mrs. Baldwin said in an apologetic tone. “I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
“I don’t want to be no trouble, ma’am,” Ben said. “I’ll be moving on after the cup o’ java.”
“You stay and eat with us,” Baldwin said, also getting served a cup of the boiling brew. “We got plenty and you’re welcome.” He pointed toward Ben’s feet. “Besides, you ain’t even got boots, Mr. Smith.”
Ben knew he really needed the nourishment. One good solid meal like he could get on a family farm would last the skinny outlaw up to three days.
Mrs. Baldwin was as practical as her husband. “Just how much farther do you think you can travel? You ain’t got a thing a body needs to get through this wilderness hale and hearty.”
The sister-in-law Arlena, who had been quiet, sat down at the table. “We hope you’ll stay to supper, Mr. Smith.”
“I’m obliged,” Ben said in acceptance.
The women busied themselves in preparing the meal. Within a short time the kitchen was filled with the smells of hot grease, frying pork, and boiling beans. Baldwin sat down at the table and the two men sipped more coffee.
“Which way are you headed?” the farmer asked. “South,” Ben said. “I hear there’s some new towns opening up down there.”
“Sure are,” Baldwin remarked. “You got some place in particular to go, or maybe you’re just headed in a general direction.”
“No place in particular,” Ben said. He needed to find out what animals were available, but he didn’t want to arouse any suspicion.
“If it’s a job you want, well, I got an opening for a hired hand,” Baldwin said.
Ben wasn’t too surprised at the news. He didn’t know too many men who would want to work on a ranch that was so out of the way—except for an outlaw on the run. “I might be inter’sted in working for you, sir.”
“All I can offer is found—no cash money.”
Ben shrugged. “Mr. Baldwin, I ain’t got nothing. Look at me. No boots, no horse, no gear—nothing.”
“If you’re worried about having to buy something, don’t,” Baldwin said. “I got a pair of boots—you might have to wrap your feet in rags to make ’em fit, but they’ll do.”
Mrs. Baldwin turned from the stove. “There was a young feller ’bout your size that used to work for us. He left some stuff when he took off.”
Baldwin smiled. “He snuck off with some meat from the smokehouse, so I didn’t feel so bad about keeping some of his clothes.”
“You don’t seem too upset he stole from you,” Ben said. “Old outfits ain’t worth the cost of meat.”
“Don’t bother me none,” Baldwin said. “If he needed it, he’s welcome to it.”
Ben was thoughtful for several long minutes. There was no doubt that the Baldwin farm would be perfect for lying low a few days. Not only could he steal a mount, but he’d have some new clothes as well. And Baldwin probably had a rifle and pistols that would come in handy. He hated like hell to think of taking things from these people who were being so good to him, but to not do so would be tantamount to suicide since a hangman’s rope was now waiting for him in both Texas and Oklahoma Territory.
“Sure. I’ll take the job,” Ben finally said. “Hallelujah! Thank you, Lord!” Baldwin said.
Mrs. Baldwin and her sister raised their hands above their head. “Thank you, Jesus, thank you!”
Ben was puzzled by the reaction.
“We’ve been praying for weeks to get the help we need,” Baldwin explained. “We knew the Lord would come through for us, but we didn’t know when or how.”
“That’s why the storm came last night,” Arlena said. “To guide you to our doorstep in this wilderness. Praise the Lord!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ben said, wondering what they’d think if they knew he was a fugitive from the law.
A half hour later the meal was on the table. A platter heaped with pork chops, bowls of pinto beans, and slabs of cold corn bread made up the menu. Before they ate, all bowed their heads and Jim Baldwin offered up a prayer of gratitude.
“We thank you for this bounty, Lord, and ask your blessing on them that eats it. We also thank you kindly for leading our friend John Smith here to help us with the harvest. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” the ladies said.
Ben ate well. He was offered—and took—thirds of the generous portions spooned out to him. By the end of the meal he was gut-full and stuffed to the limits of his capacity. He could almost feel the extra strength he’d consumed.
Once again there was hot coffee, this time as the ladies cleaned up after the meal. At that particular moment Ben would have liked a few hard sips of liquor, but it had become obvious that Baldwin was more inclined to religion than to drinking. Ben also figured there would be no relaxing game of cards in the evening either.
“Would you care to join us later for our study?” Baldwin asked.
“What kind of study?” Ben asked, puzzled.
“Bible study,” Baldwin asked. “We read a few chapters and verses each night, then discuss what they mean to us.” He pointed to a shelf where a large Bible sat. “I have some tracts that give us the program to follow. I’m not a real educated man myself.”
“I don’t read,” Ben said.
“You’d be welcome to listen, Mr. Smith,” Arlena said from the kitchen counter where she was washing plates. “I’m not a real good reader myself.”
“Obliged,” Ben said, stifling a disgruntled sigh.
Mrs. Baldwin rescued him. “I’m afraid we’re being selfish,” she said. “Mr. Smith must be plumb tuckered from his ordeal, and here we are talking about keeping him up when the Good Lord a
bove knows he needs rest.”
Baldwin clenched his fists in a gesture of self-reproach. “Lord forgive us! You was brung to us, and we’re mistreating you something terrible, John.”
Ben started to look around to see who “John” was, but luckily remembered that was the name he was using. “Y’all been right nice now,” he protested. “I’m fed and feel wonderful. That’s a fact.”
“There’s a nice room out to the barn,” Baldwin said. “Them clothes is out there too. I’ll bring them boots and a lantern, and you can settle in.”
“Are we starting work tomorrow?” Ben asked without enthusiasm.
“Harvest time,” Baldwin said as a way of explanation.
The farmer disappeared into the next room and came back with a pair of worn boots. Ben could see right away that they were too big, but Mrs. Baldwin produced some rags from her sewing bag. Ben wrapped them carefully around his feet and tried them on. It was far from a perfect fit, and he would never be able to run or walk far in them, but they would do fine as a temporary fix until something better came along.
“Let’s get on out to the barn,” Baldwin said. “You can settle in and get a good night’s sleep.”
Ben followed his new employer out of the house. Arlena went out on the porch with them. “You’ll still take all your meals in the house,” she said.
“Thank you,” Ben said over his shoulder. The dog joined him and walked beside him toward the large outer building.
Baldwin slowed down and let Ben catch up with him. “Arlena is a widow,” he explained. “She lost her husband during the trip out here.”
“That’s too bad,” Ben said.
“Yeah, but it was the Lord’s will, so there’s nothing to be gained by railing about it,” Baldwin said, ushering him through the wide barn door.
The sleeping accommodations for hired hands was much more than Ben had expected. He had pictured a crude bunk in one corner of the barn, but there was a separate room. The bed was a secondhand store-bought one with sheets and blankets on the feather mattress. There was a table and chair and pegs on the wall where the former hired hand’s clothing still hung.
“Try the stuff on,” Baldwin invited him. “He was a young feller, maybe fifteen or sixteen, so his stuff might fit you.”
There were three pairs of britches and four shirts. All were patched, but evidently had recently been washed. Ben could picture Mrs. Baldwin and Arlena going to that much trouble in case the thief came back for his belongings. He would have gotten his duds returned along with a dose of forgiveness.
The garments were still a bit loose, but fit well. Any convict at Leavenworth would be glad to have them, Ben thought sardonically. “They’ll do fine.”
“Good,” Baldwin said. “There’s a wash basin on the stand there, and the well is in the yard. I’ll see you in the morning—bright and early.”
“Bright and early,” Ben said. “Good night.”
“Sleep well, friend Smith,” Baldwin said. “And may the Good Lord give you peaceful dreams.”
“Thanks,” Ben said. He didn’t bother to get under the covers. Instead he prepared the clothing he’d inherited into a handy bundle for a quick getaway, then settled down for the night on the bed after blowing out the lantern.
The night passed with its usual fitfulness for Ben Cullen. He awoke many times to listen for strange or unfriendly noises before dozing off again for a quick cat nap. He even got up a couple of times and walked around the barn. Ol’ Bob the dog happily accompanied him, licking at his hand to beg for some petting.
Dawn was only a pink hint on the horizon when Baldwin appeared at the door of the room. “John,” he called. “John Smith.” He knocked on the door.
Ben sat up. “C’mon in, Mr. Baldwin.”
Baldwin stepped inside. “I see you’re dressed already.”
“I guess I fell asleep with my clothes on,” Ben said, standing up. “We ready to start work?”
Baldwin laughed. “How about some breakfast first? We got fresh eggs and some of that cornbread left.”
“I’d be partial to some coffee,” Ben said going out the door with his employer.
“We got that too,” Baldwin promised.
Both women were in the kitchen. Arlena displayed a wide smile for Ben. “How do, Mr. Smith”
“Morning,” Ben said. “That coffee smells good.”
“I made it myself. “I don’t use the beans more’n twice,” Arlena said. “Some folks might consider that a waste and a sin, but I think good, strong coffee is mighty important. Let me get you a cup.”
“I’m obliged, ma’am,” Ben said, sitting down at the table.
The meal was as good as supper. And, like that repast, began with a prayer from Jim Baldwin. “Lord, we thank you for this bounty and ask you to bless them that eats it. We also ask your blessing on this day’s work. In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.”
“Amen,” the women said.
The eggs were plentiful and scrambled. The thick hunks of cornbread had been heated on top of the stove. Ben shoveled it in with a gusto that seemed to please both Mrs. Baldwin and Arlena. Even Baldwin was happy. “I like to see a man partake hungrily of what the Lord provides, John,” he said. “A strong appetite shows a clean heart and soul.”
Ben smiled to himself on hearing the last remark. But he went on eating until he’d cleaned up his plate for the third time.
Jim Baldwin stood up. “You know how to use a scythe, John?”
“Yes, sir. I sure do,” Ben answered.
Baldwin smiled. “I got one that ought to fit your hands, then.”
Ben also got to his feet. “Then, let’s go harvest some wheat.”
Mrs. Baldwin looked heavenward. “Praise the Lord! We’ve got the help we prayed for. There’s no doubt.”
“Not a bit,” Baldwin said.
“Thanks to Jesus!” Arlena said.
All the religious remarks made Ben feel a bit uneasy. He had never been treated as a deliverance from God before.
The farmer and the fugitive went out to the barn to get their tools for the day’s work. The walk to Baldwin’s small wheat field was not long, so within a quarter of an hour Ben was lost in the rhythm of swinging the scythe back and forth as he progressed up and down the field.
Even though Ben’s mind was lost in the monotonous regularity of the task, his eyes wandered to the distant horizons often. He felt positively naked without as much as a small-caliber derringer. The only thing he had was his faithful knife. The most he could hope to do would be to cut down one adversary before the others would blast him to mincemeat.
He and Baldwin stopped after several scything trips up and down the grain-filled meadow, going back and tying up the wheat into shocks to ready them to be picked up and tossed into the back of the wagon before being taken back to the barn. Their work was only interrupted when Arlena showed up with a fresh bucket of cold well water. The woman always had time to chat a bit with Ben before going back to the house.
After one such break in the toil, Baldwin grinned over at Ben. “I think Arlena has taken a shine to you.”
“Naw,” Ben said. “I don’t think so.”
“She’s a widder-woman, Ben,” Baldwin said. “And a young’un at that.” Then he added, “She don’t have no kids neither. They died in the same epidemic with her man Tom.”
“That’s too bad,” Ben said. “Did you and your missus lose your young ’uns that way?”
“The Lord has decided we’re not to have any children,” Baldwin said a bit sadly. “Me and Lucille accept it, though we’re disappointed.”
“Too bad,” Ben said.
He went back to his work, completely lost in it except for occasional worried glances out at the surrounding countryside. The labor was hard in the hot weather, and the reddening glow of sunset was a welcome sight to both men. They trudged slowly back to the house for a big supper that Lucille and Arlena had toiled over most of that day.
Baldwin was obviously pleased
with Ben. After the meal, he pushed his plate away and glanced over at his hired hand. “You done a day’s work and that’s a fact.”
“Glad to earn my keep,” Ben said. His arms were already aching from the heavy toil. He slurped down the last of his coffee. “If y’all don’t mind, I’d like to get a little fresh air. It’s kinda close in the house after being outside all day.”
“It sure is,” Baldwin agreed.
“Mind if I join you, Mr. Smith?” Arlena asked. “I could use a breath myself.”
Ben was a bit surprised at the boldness of the woman. “Don’t mind a bit,” he replied politely.
The two stood outside, looking off into the deep prairie darkness. Arlena stood close to him. “Jim is certainly pleased with your work, Mr. Smith. I can’t ever recall hear him saying such a thing to a hired man before.”
“I’m glad to help you folks out.”
“You was most certainly an answer to our prayers,” she said. “The Good Lord sent you to us, and that’s a fact.”
Ben smiled at the thought. “Well, I’m glad to be here one way or the other.”
“Are you really, Mr. Smith? This farm is so far from ever’thing.”
“It’s a right nice place,” he assured her.
“Did you like the peach pie?” Arlena asked.
“I truly did.”
She lowered her eyes modestly. “I made it.”
“You’re a good cook all right,” Ben allowed.
“I’ve been told that,” she said, “but I don’t know if it’s true or not.”
“Oh, it’s true, ma’am. Believe me,” Ben said sincerely.
“I do love to cook and that’s a fact.”
Ben nodded, his sharp eyes sweeping the open countryside for any signs of movement that didn’t belong there.
Chapter Eight
The sun streamed into the hired hand’s room in the barn. Ben stood at the washstand, shaving in the cracked mirror mounted on the wall. This was something else he had inherited from the former hand. The straight razor had hardly been used, attesting to the light beard of its former young owner.
Ben was refreshed and wide awake. In fact, he felt positively coltish and energetic. It seemed that for the past several years there had always been a haze of fatigue hanging over him that was only whisked away by occasional periods of sheer panic. But a combination of hard physical labor and the tranquil environment of the farm had caused the outlaw to accomplish something he hadn’t done of a long, long time.
Desperado Run (An Indian Territory Western Book 2) Page 8
