by Steven Bird
“How have you managed to hold out all by yourself?” Jessie asked.
“Yesterday was my first encounter with them on my own turf,” Isaac explained. “As you’ve probably noticed, there isn’t much of a road to speak of leading to the cabin. My daddy built this cabin back when I was a young man. He hauled the materials up here on sleds and wagons pulled by horses. Once he was finished, he let the trails he had worn down grow over with weeds and saplings. There are now mature trees standing where his wagon wheels once rolled.
“My daddy was a private sort of man,” Isaac said with a chuckle. “He also made his own spirits on the side. He didn’t want a road the revenuer could use to simply drive up to his front door. He always traveled by horseback and varied his routes well enough and utilized all the natural game trails to keep from beating down an obvious path to his door.
“I’ve since kept up that tradition, avoiding contact with the McCullough and Watkins heathens. Seeing as how this was just a getaway for my wife and me, it was easy enough to do. We had a house close to town for most of our lives. We didn’t move up here until it was clear it was no longer safe.”
Taking a deep breath, Isaac looked toward the window and said, “I suppose that’s all over now, though. They’ve either followed my tracks here or stumbled across me out of dumb-ass luck. Either way, it was a good run.”
Turning to Jessie and looking him squarely in the eye, he said, “Now, you need to get yourself out of here before they come back. I’ll die happy if I take a few of them with me, but there’s no reason for you to share my fate. You need to get on with the business of finding your sister.”
Unsure of what to say, Jessie said, “I’m in no hurry. I can stay and give you a hand around here. I need to work to earn my keep. You put yourself out for me, and I need to repay that.”
“You did that yesterday,” Isaac rebutted. “I’d be rottin’ on the floor of the barn right now while that entire family pillaged my home, if not for you. Your debt is paid in full.”
After a brief pause, Isaac added, “Now, help me up. I’ve got something for you.”
Taking Isaac by the hand, Jessie helped him to his feet. Wobbling slightly, Isaac muttered, “Damn, that bastard hit me hard.”
“You’ve probably got a concussion,” Jessie replied. “You need to take it easy.”
Dismissing his advice, Isaac said, “Come on. This way,” and he led Jessie through the cabin and out the front door. Approaching a shed about fifty feet from the barn, Isaac worked the combination on a heavy-duty padlock, flipped the hasp to the side, and gestured for Jessie to follow him inside.
Looking up at the ceiling, Jessie could see how Isaac had used old windows as skylights to illuminate the room without the need for a lamp.
“I wanted as much natural light as I could get,” Isaac said, noticing how Jessie was checking out his handiwork. He removed an old wool blanket from his workbench to expose an ammunition reloading press. “I didn’t want to use the open flame of a lamp near gunpowder. Those windows up there do the job just fine. The only drawback is I have to limit my reloading to sunny days to see well enough.”
“Here,” he said, pulling a drawer open and removing something wrapped in a red cloth.
Placing it in Jessie’s hand, Isaac said, “I’ve been into gunsmithing most of my life. I always seemed to be stuck in the mid-to-late 1800s in that regard. Plastic pistols and tactical rifles never interested me much.”
Jessie opened the cloth to reveal his Colt Single Action Army revolver, which had been reworked beautifully. He slid the pistol out of its old, leather holster, which Isaac had cleaned up and oiled with neatsfoot oil, and began to look it over in awe.
Seeing that Jessie was getting choked up, Isaac explained, “I could have just given you the pistol this barrel, ejector rod, base pin, and a few other parts came out of, but I knew this old thing held an emotional significance for you, and I respect that. I swapped everything over and gave her a good going over. I had to do a little work with the timing as well. You and your old man have sure put some miles on her over the years. She locks up a little tighter now.
I’ve not tried her out yet, but she should be as good as new, other than those old beat up grips. I wanted to leave those alone. Each of those scratches and dings may have meant something to you, for all I knew.”
Speechless, Jessie looked at Isaac in disbelief. Shaking his hand, Jessie nodded and mustered up the words, “Thank you, sir. This means the world to me. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Isaac replied. “I’d have just kept it, if you turned out to be a scoundrel like the McCullough and Watkins bunch. I could have used it for parts. I didn’t have anything to lose.”
Jessie rocked the hammer back into the half-cock position with his thumb and spun the cylinder with the palm of his left hand, marveling at how good his old pistol felt. “This old thing hasn’t felt this good for as long as I’ve had it. Even after having it rechambered from .38 WCF to .357 MAG when she got a brand-new barrel and cylinder, it didn’t run this smooth.”
Looking Isaac in the eye, he added, “You must be one hell of a gunsmith.”
With a nod and a smile, Isaac modestly said, “I do okay with the old stuff, but I probably couldn’t take a Glock apart to clean it.”
As Jessie unbuckled his belt and slid the holster into place, Isaac asked, “So, how’s that hole they poked in your side healing up?”
“It hurt like hell when I had to deal with those two McCullough boys. Swinging that heavy, old ax really worked my core muscles good. I wasn’t quite ready for that. But I’m getting by.”
“You used an ax!?” Isaac exclaimed, as a wide smile grew on his face. “Hell, son, you’ve got some fire in that belly.”
“It’s all I had available at the time,” Jessie replied. “That fire in my belly replaced the fire that once burned brightly in my heart. Some things just have to be done, and done before more innocent people get hurt. It’s not at all about being a badass or anything.”
“I understand completely,” Isaac said, placing his hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “A lot of things have changed, and people necessarily change with them.”
Walking over to the corner of the room, Isaac picked up a long, slender object wrapped in cloth. Turning to Jessie, he unwrapped the cloth to reveal a samurai sword with an elaborately adorned sharkskin-wrapped grip. Placing it gently in Jessie’s hands, Isaac pointed at the faint line that swirled through the metal running through the center of the entire length of the blade. “Are you familiar with clay forging?” Isaac asked.
“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know the details of the process.”
Pointing at the blade with his finger, Isaac explained, “This line is caused by the process of clay tempering. You see, when the blade is forged, the metal is soft. This is, of course, required so the swordsmith can shape the blade into its desired form. Tempering the blade hardens it, much like this world has hardened the soul of many a man. Achieving balance, however, is important to the soul, same as it is to the sword.”
Taking the sword from Jessie, Isaac swung the blade through the air, and explained, “A blade that is too hard will break, but a blade that is too soft will bend. To achieve balance, the swordsmith applies clay to the freshly formed blade. He applies a thin layer of clay over the edge and a thicker layer of clay over the spine. This allows the blade to cool at different rates when tempering, giving it the hardness it needs to hold its edge, with the softness and flexibility it needs to survive a very hard hit.
“As with this blade, if a person is hardened too quickly, they tend to break. Yet if they remain soft, they bend far too easily. Both the soft man and the hard man will eventually succumb to the challenges they face. But if the right amount of clay was placed into your heart before you were tossed into the fires, you’ll find that you emerged with both the hardness you need to do what must be done, and the softness you need to retain your humanity.
After an awkward pause, Isaac asked, “So, what are your plans? You’re obviously free to go. I can give you a horse to help you on your way. It’s the least I can do.”
Feeling reluctant to accept Isaac’s offer, Jessie asked, “Didn’t you say they would be back? Looking for the two men from the barn, that is?”
“I imagine they will. It’s always been an inevitability I knew would come. Like you said before, you can’t hide from the world forever. It will eventually find you. I’m ready for that. I always have been.”
Nodding, Jessie thought of his homestead high in the Rocky Mountains and the gruesome atrocities that had befallen his family. “Yes, it always manages to catch up with you,” he said softly.
Chapter Six
Later that evening, Isaac and Jessie sat on the front porch of the cabin. Isaac packed his old hand-carved pipe with tobacco and watched while Jessie seemed to be lost in his thoughts.
“I’ll get Hank’s tack cleaned up and ready to go in the morning,” Isaac said as he lit his pipe.
“Hank?” Jessie queried.
“He’s the line-back dun quarter horse in the barn with Mack. He’s a bit ornery, but he’s a good horse. I’ve always joked that he was Loki incarnate. He’s one of those rascals that’ll figure out how to open gates, untie ropes, and remove halters from all his horse buddies. He’s only seven years old too, so he’s got a lot of miles left in him.”
“Sir, I can’t accept that. That’s too much.”
“I didn’t ask you if you wanted him. He’s yours. I’m not much for arguing, so don’t even try,” Isaac insisted in a surly voice while giving Jessie a stern look.
Nodding, Jessie concurred, “No, sir, I can see you aren’t much for arguing. I’ll honor your gift, if you do one thing for me in return. I mean, I owe you as well. I’d be dead if not for you.”
Pausing a minute as he leaned back in his chair, Isaac inquired, “And just what would that be?”
Looking Isaac squarely in the eye, Jessie suggested, “Let me help you deal with this problem before I go.”
“This ain’t your fight,” Isaac protested. “I can’t in good conscience allow you to risk your neck to deal with somethin’ you ain’t got nothin’ to do with.”
Standing up, Jessie insisted, “The way I see it, I owe those bastards, same as you. Based on what you’ve said, they were the same group who ambushed me and killed my horse, Eli. That puts a dog of mine squarely in the fight, and I won’t just walk away from that.”
Taking a puff from his pipe, Isaac leaned back in his chair and conceded, “I reckon you’re right about that. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“First, we gather some intel,” Jessie explained. “We can’t just sit up here and wait. Being that there are only two of us, we have to be smart about it. Based on what we find, we can choose to take the fight to them, or beef up our defenses here.”
Taking a long draw from his pipe, Isaac exhaled and asked, “How do you propose we gather intel?”
Taking a seat, Jessie asked, “How many people are left in the area? People not in cahoots with them, that is?”
“There are a few here and there. Some who aren’t in cahoots, as you put it, do have regular contact. There are several farmers who keep them in beef and produce, in order to stay out of their crosshairs. Protection money, I guess you could say.”
“Can any of them be trusted?” Jessie asked.
“They were good folks before all this came to be, but they just didn’t have the clay to do what it took, I suppose. There is one old-timer and his family I’ve known most of my life. We can trust him, and I’d imagine he’s got his finger on the pulse of their general whereabouts and movements.”
“That sounds like a good place to start,” Jessie remarked as he propped his feet on the porch railing.
“We might as well get on with it, then,” Isaac confirmed. “We’ll saddle up at first light.”
~~~~
With a yawn, Jessie stretched as he awoke in the bed where Isaac had once kept him semi-captive. Wincing in pain from his still-healing wound, Jessie threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood to smell the heavenly aroma of a fresh pot of coffee.
Walking to the kitchen, he looked at Isaac and declared, “Man, I could get used to this. I’ve slept more on the cold, hard ground than anywhere else over the past few months. I’d occasionally find an abandoned home or building just to get out of the rain. But if it was dry, I always felt safer being outdoors where my escape routes weren’t so limited.”
“I’ve been lucky, I guess,” replied Isaac, as he handed Jessie a freshly poured cup of coffee. “Our lives here really weren’t disrupted that much. I mean, compared to most, that is. We faced the tragedy of the loss of modern medicine, but we still had our home. That meant a lot to my wife in her final days. I couldn’t imagine being refugees at that time in our lives, not even having a roof to put over her head or a pillow to comfort her.”
Taking a sip of coffee, Jessie paused before asking, “So, how far of a ride is it—to the farm you mentioned, that is?”
“If we were in a hurry, we could be there in a half hour on horseback. Taking our time and being cautious, three times that. The terrain varies quite a bit between here and there. There are several spots we’ll need to observe and wait for a while before moving further along. There’s no reason to get our butts in a bind due to laziness and impatience.”
“I completely agree,” Jessie replied.
After a hearty breakfast of beef jerky and a helping of eggs, fresh from Isaac’s coop, the two men prepared themselves for the day ahead. Jessie holstered his old Colt Single Action Army and topped off his cartridge belt while Isaac put on an old set of sturdy farmer’s overalls, with his Smith & Wesson Scofield slung securely in a shoulder holster under his tan Carhart jacket.
“I believe they’d call that the perfect gray-man camouflage for this area,” Jessie said with a smile.
“Beg your pardon?” Isaac queried.
“Gray-man. It’s a term used to describe someone who dresses to blend in and not be noticed.”
“Once upon a time, I imagine,” Isaac answered. “But these days, just being out and about at all will get you noticed. No, I’m just being grumpy ol’ Isaac, nothing more. Besides, these things are comfortable,” he noted, tugging on the suspenders of his overalls.
Picking up a scoped Marlin 336 lever-action rifle chambered in .30-30 from the table, Isaac handed it to Jessie and said, “She’s zeroed at a hundred. You shouldn’t have a problem. I know any man who carries a Colt like that can handle a lever gun.”
“It’ll do nicely,” Jessie replied.
Picking up another long gun concealed in a long, leather scabbard, Isaac pulled the rifle out to reveal a model 1874 Shiloh Sharps with a Montana Vintage Arms Vernier tang-mounted rear sight and a tunnel front sight.
“Wow,” Jessie said, admiring the beautiful walnut stock and deep, color case hardened receiver.
“Yeah, she’s a beaut, and she’s a shooter, too. I can knock the tits off a fly at three hundred yards if the sun’s just right.”
“You ought to be able to really drill one at one hundred yards, then,” Jessie guessed, as he stepped up for another look.
With a chuckle, Isaac said, “Hmmm, I dunno. I’ve never shot anything that close with it. It seems kind of silly to let a threat get within range of you. No, if we get in a pinch, I’ll deal with things a long way out, and you can deal with anything that slips inside three hundred yards.”
Seeing Jessie’s grin, Isaac said, “I know those bastards have modern weapons, but this old-school stuff is rock-solid reliable. And when one of the massive five-hundred-and-forty-grain Postell bullets slams into someone, even if I have to arc it in artillery-style to hit them, they’re comin’ off their horse, ATV, or whatever the hell they’re on. It’s just basic physics.”
Isaac handed one of the heavily loaded .45-70 cartridges to Jessie, placing it in his hands.
Feeling the weight, Jessie said, “Yeah, that’s a bit more than the factory-loaded stuff.”
“A factory lever-gun couldn’t handle this,” Isaac stated, taking the cartridge back and placing it in his bandoleer. “The old buffalo guns like the Sharps, the Browning High-Wall, and the Remington Rolling Block are totally different animals than their lever gun counterparts. The best part is, I can mold these big lead bullets from melted wheel weights if it comes down to it. The slower velocities of these rounds don’t require jacketed bullets or the like to prevent lead fouling like the faster modern cartridges do. Also, being originally designed for black powder, I can easily make my own propellant to fill these big ol’ cases. Primers are the only thing I can’t conjure up myself, but I’m working on a way around that.”
Replying with a nod of approval, Jessie said, “Being handy has a whole new meaning these days.”
“That it does,” Isaac confirmed with a nod. “Now, let’s get going.”
On their way out to the barn, Isaac said, “I’ll be on Mack, you can ride Hank. Hank is a bit of a firecracker, so don’t relax too much with him. Just when you think he’s the perfect horse, he makes you earn your spurs all over again. My wife used to say he was animated. I just think he’s ornery. Maybe a little too smart for his own good, too. His mind wanders, and then he’s got to get into something like a kid with A.D.D. I’m too old to be gettin’ myself tossed to the ground or I’d ride him. You’ll heal quicker than me.”
