by Duane Boehm
“Farting Jack, it’s Gideon. Can you hear me?” Gideon shouted as he rode towards the tepee.
The flap of the tepee flew back, and Farting Jack stepped out decked in a new deer hide wardrobe. His steel–gray hair and beard looked to have grown another six inches since Gideon last laid eyes upon him and he remained as skinny as ever.
“Gideon Johann, you old dog. Good to see you again. You just can’t stay away from me,” Jack said.
“I guess not. You’re looking good in your new deer hides. I didn’t think that I’d still find you here,” Gideon said.
“I tanned me some hides this summer. I never planned to stay, but never came up with a reason to leave and I keep my belly full. I was just getting ready to fry some fish. Stay to eat?” Jack said.
“I surely would. I skipped breakfast. I’ve eaten about a lifetime of hardtack and it’s getting tough to take,” Gideon said.
“Well, climb down and catch me up on the news,” Jack said as he threw some wood onto his fire.
“I’m chasing a cowboy that killed a man over a poker game and seriously injured a bystander. Have you seen anybody?” Gideon said as he squatted by the fire.
“Saw one around suppertime yesterday. You’re a far piece behind him if he’s your man,” Jack said as he dropped the fish into his skillet.
“That I am. I would imagine that’s him. He’s got to slow his pace or he’s going to wear down his horse. He’ll stop eventually,” Gideon said.
“They always do. We always got our man back in the day, didn’t we?” Jack said.
“That we did. Why don’t you ride with me? You can keep me company. It would do you good,” Gideon said as he inhaled the smell of cooking fish.
“I just might. I’m set for the winter and got nothing that needs doing,” Jack said before turning the fish over in the pan.
With the fish fried, they began eating their meal. Gideon did most of the talking while they ate, telling Jack about Abby, Joann, and Chance. Jack, preoccupied with the fish, grunted occasionally as Gideon unveiled his life in Last Stand.
Gideon took his last bite and said, “So, are you going with me or not?”
“I believe I will. I think I can handle your chattiness. You’ve talked more today than I remember in all our times together. That dark cloud that hung over you is all sunshine these days,” Jack said.
“I suppose so. It’s amazing what a good woman and friends can do for you,” Gideon said.
Jack retreated to the tepee, gathering his gear, before fetching his horse. As he mounted the animal, he let out an eruption of nauseous gas. Gideon’s horse pinned his ears back and backed away from the other horse.
“Buck still remembers you,” Gideon said with a laugh.
“Whoa, that was a good one,” Farting Jack said before they rode away.
Chapter 12
Awakening from his first good sleep since the shooting, Doc climbed out of his bed and went immediately to check on his patient. The doctor remained concerned that John Hamilton continued to run a low–grade fever since the shooting even though the wound appeared to be healing well. His patient had barely spoken and was sometimes incoherent when he did. Doc found John propped up in bed using the headboard as a backrest and smiling as the doctor entered the room. His son still looked pale and his eyes remained dark and sunken, betraying that he still remained ill, but he looked his best since the shooting.
“You must be feeling better,” Doc said.
“I do. I doubt I’ll be dancing today, but I think I could sing a tune,” John said.
“That’s good to hear. You’ve been seriously wounded. You’ll need time to heal,” the doctor said.
“I guess I’ll have quite the story to tell when I go back east. I’ll have to lie and say that Jesse James shot me – make the story considerably more interesting,” John said.
“Yes, that would sound substantially better than a drunk cowboy missing another man standing five feet away and hitting you,” Doc said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I suppose you have a lot of questions for me?” John asked.
“I do, but I can wait until you’re ready. After all these years, a few more days won’t make much difference,” Doc said.
“I think I could eat a horse. If you could get us some food, I think I feel up to talking,” John said.
“I’ll do it,” Doc said.
The doctor threw some kindling into his stove and got the coffee cooking before changing into his normal attire. He walked to the hotel in a lively step and ordered two plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits with gravy. Returning to his office just as the coffee finished brewing, he poured two cups and sat down with his son to eat.
“Our first meal together. It only took forty–five years and a few odd months,” John said.
“So it would seem,” Doc said and sipped his coffee.
John took a bite of eggs, closing his eyes and concentrating on the taste. “Oh, my God, this tastes good. I’m about starved.”
“You should be. I wasn’t able to get much down you. An appetite is a good sign,” Doc said as he marveled at his son’s attack on the plate of food.
“Mother never married and I’ve lived my whole life in my grandparent’s house. They both died several years ago before I married Kate. We lived with Mother. She died in January,” John said.
Doc leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin. A pained expression came over his face and he briefly got lost in a memory. “I’m sorry for your loss and to hear that. She was a fine woman.”
“No one would ever tell me anything about you. You were a taboo subject and my imagination ran wild. I had you being everything from a rapist to the president of the United States,” John said and sighed. “Mother knew that she was dying and told me about you on her deathbed.”
“Not that it matters now, but I didn’t want things to turn out the way that they did. As I’m sure that you know, your grandfather was quite the domineering man and he wanted no part of me marrying your mother,” Doc said between bites of bacon.
“Yes, he was, and Mother told me that he forbid you from seeing her or me. I’m sure he thought that Mother would marry some Boston Brahmin in due time. It did not turn out that way,” John said.
“You seem to have turned out just fine,” Doc remarked.
“I suppose so, but there were times that a father would have been nice. Did you ever try to see me in later years?” John said.
“I have a whole stack of letters that were returned unopened. I almost went back when you would have been about eighteen, but Last Stand had an influenza outbreak and by the time it had past, I lost my will to go,” Doc said.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you who I was right from the beginning, but I wanted to get a sense of you before you knew I was your son. Besides, I was scared to death to tell you,” John said.
“Not an everyday conversation for sure,” Doc said.
“Mother insisted that I come to meet you. I’m not sure why it took her dying to decide I should know about my father and that we should meet. I guess maybe she wanted to provide me with a parent after she was gone. The really sad part was that she wanted me to tell you that pushing you away was the mistake of her life and she wished that she could live it all over again,” John said.
Doc set his fork down and pressed his fist against his lips as he inhaled a big breath of air. His appetite had vanished and he felt queasy. “That’s the thing about life, isn’t it? We seldom get to rectify our mistakes until it becomes too late.”
“Are you sorry that I came?” John asked.
“Good gracious, no. Now is better than never. Tell me about you and your family,” Doc said.
“I’ve taken over the family banking business. Granddad groomed me for that my entire life. By the time that I was sixteen, I knew more about banking that most men do coming out of college. Kate is my wife. She was not happy with this trip, but she understood. Wait until she finds out that I got shot. She’s a wonderfu
l person. I have three children – Henry is sixteen, Rose is thirteen, and Tad is three. I can tell you more later. My belly is full and all I want to do is sleep,” John said.
“You get some rest. It sounds as if you have a wonderful family,” Doc said before walking out of his office. A sense of gratitude overwhelmed him for having just experienced his first conversation with his son, but for some reason, he felt more alone than he had in years. As he walked towards the alley behind the Last Chance, he quickly realized that the source of his melancholy was the knowledge of what might have been with John’s mother and that now never could be.
Doc entered the Last Chance through the back door and found Mary standing over a wash pan on the table. She made retching sounds and looked pale.
“Mary, are you sick?” the doctor asked.
“You could say that,” Mary managed to say between heaves.
“Oh, my goodness, you’re with child. Why didn’t you tell me?” Doc said.
Waving the doctor off with her hand, she said nothing until the last wave of the nausea had past. “I wasn’t ready to tell you.”
“I’m surprised that big mouth Irishman didn’t tell me. I bet he’s excited,” Doc said.
“He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him yet either,” Mary said as she sat down in a chair. The dry heaves seemed to have robbed her of all her energy.
“Mary, he needs to know. You’re going to have to lead that horse to water and pour the water down his throat. He’s too scared of the answer to ask you to marry him,” Doc said.
“How do you think I feel? I wonder if he really plans to stay with me and that maybe a baby will send him on his way,” Mary said.
“I don’t think that for a minute. I think you will make him a very happy man. And besides, you can’t keep it a secret forever so you might as well tell him and get it over with. Quit making yourself miserable. You’re the toughest woman I’ve ever known. Don’t go getting soft on me now,” he said, sitting down beside her and putting his hand on her arm.
A small laugh escaped her and she wiped the moisture from her eyes. “I probably should have become an old maid, providing an old whore can be such a thing. How’s John?”
“He’s much improved. We ate breakfast together and talked. I’ll tell you about it later. Why don’t you march yourself down to the jail and get this burden off your chest. I’ll walk you down there,” Doc said.
“You think I should?” she asked.
“I do. Let’s go,” he said and helped her to her feet before she had too much time to think.
Doc walked Mary to the jail door, encouraging her all the way.
“Go in there and tell him,” Doc said before crossing the street to his office.
She hesitated at the door before charging in and finding Finnie sitting at Gideon’s desk with his feet on its top, wanted posters in his lap, and puffing on a cigar that had the room filled with smoke.
“I guess when the cat’s away, his mouse will play,” Mary said.
Putting his feet on the floor, Finnie asked, “Mary, what brings you over?”
Sitting down across from him, Mary waved the smoke away from her face. “We need to talk.”
“Okay, what’s on your mind?” Finnie asked as he set the posters down and scooted his chair closer to the desk.
Mary took a big breath of the reeking air and exhaled slowly. “Finnie, we’re going to have a baby.”
“We are?” he said. His face betrayed neither excitement nor disappointment, but only astonishment and he took a puff on the cigar.
“That’s all that you have to say?” Mary asked.
“I’m just surprised. How did that happen?” he asked in his stupor.
“How do you think it happened? With the life that I’ve lived, I assure you that I’m not the biblical Mary,” she said.
Finnie managed a small chuckle. “I know that. A baby is something that you’ve never talked about and I figured that you couldn’t have children. I never brought it up for fear of upsetting you.”
“Well, I didn’t think that I could, but I guess we know differently now. Are you sorry that I’m with child?” Mary said.
“No. No, not at all. It’s just that this is the most surprising thing that you could’ve ever told me. I guess we should get married,” Finnie said.
Mary straightened herself up in the chair and her face grew stern. “You guess? I don’t want to wed a man that guesses we should get married. I want somebody that knows that he wants to marry me. Finnegan Ford, you couldn’t say the right things these days if your life depended on it. At least when you were a drunk you had an excuse for some of your behavior. Well, I’m raising this child for better or worse no matter how you feel about our baby or me. I think you need to sleep over here,” she said before standing and walking out the door, slamming it so hard that Finnie feared it would come off the hinges.
He stared at the door long after she had gone and wondered how their exchange had gone so wrong. He knew he could have chosen his words better, but it seemed to him that Mary had been a mite bit touchy about the whole thing. Taking a big puff on the cigar, he sunk into the chair feeling defeated even though the thought of a child elated him.
Chapter 13
The pursuit of Willard Ramsey proved to be more of a daunting task than Gideon expected. From the looks of the tracks that Ramsey’s horse left, he and Farting Jack were not gaining ground on the criminal. They pushed their horses as hard as they dared in the sparse land, but Ramsey appeared headed back to El Paso as quickly as possible.
Spending time again with Farting Jack provided company on the tedious all day rides. Gideon told Jack about all the changes in his life and the old trapper entertained with his tales of long ago escapades of trapping beaver and trading with the Indians. Some of the stories Jack told, Gideon had heard at least a dozen times, but laughed at them nonetheless. Jack knew how to spin a yarn.
They were sitting around the campfire and Gideon asked, “Jack, do you ever have any regrets for the life that you’ve lived?”
Jack blew a plume from his pipe, looking into the cloud of smoke as if searching for an answer, and then raised his hip and farted. “Not a one. Do you realize the adventures I’ve lived? I’ve experienced things that are never going to be again. I’ve known Indians that were my friends, had ones that tried to kill me, and I’ve killed my share in battle. I suppose that all of them were honorable people in their own way. I’ve seen buffalo herds that went on for miles. You could feel the ground shake as they passed. I’ve never seen a more majestic beast. By the time that your son reaches your age, there won’t be any Indians or buffalo left. They’ll just be memories. Life is still hard out here, but it’s nothing like it used to be and I was a part of all of it. I never got along much with women anyways and I never had the patience for kids, so I have no regrets there. A whore served me just fine when I had the need. I’ve spent a lot of time alone, but that’s the way I liked it. No, I can’t say that I have any regrets. It’s been a good life,” he said before taking a draw on his pipe.
“It certainly has. I’m sure glad that we crossed paths,” Gideon said.
“What about you? You got any regrets?” Jack asked.
“I’ll always regret killing that little boy and all the years I wasted running from myself. You don’t ever quit regretting things like that even if the shooting was an accident. You can never fix it and it eats away at you. Coming back to Last Stand taught me how to get past it, but I’ll never be over it. When I get to feeling low, I start thinking about the life that little boy never got to have,” Gideon said.
“All wars are good for is getting the wrong people killed. They should’ve never allowed slavery in the first place. What kind of man thinks that he can own another? Killing that boy lays at the feet of a lot more people than just you who pulled the trigger. You’re a good man, Gideon. One of the few that didn’t try my patience – at least most of the time,” Jack said and belly laughed.
“I thin
k I’m going to turn in. I’m afraid we’re going have to chase that son of a bitch all the way to El Paso,” Gideon said as he stretched out.
“Well, by God, we can do it. Good night,” Jack said before lying down.
They arose early the next morning and hit the trail, arriving in Santa Fe at a little after one o’clock in the afternoon. Gideon had been to the town before, but this was Jack’s first visit. As they rode through the central plaza, the old trapper spun in all directions as he took in the sights of the adobe structures and the Palace of the Governors. They came to the sheriff’s office and Gideon walked inside the building. The jail was empty and he waited until the sheriff arrived a few minutes later.
“Sheriff, I’m Gideon Johann. I’m the sheriff of Last Stand, Colorado,” Gideon said.
“You’re a far piece from home. I don’t suppose this is a social visit,” the sheriff said as he extended his hand.
Gideon shook it. “We tracked a man named Willard Ramsey here. He killed one man and seriously wounded another in a poker game. I wanted to see if you had come across him and also let you know that we were in town before we begin looking for him.”
The sheriff sat down at his desk. “If you had got here about an hour ago, I could have made things a lot easier for you. He got in a fight yesterday and I locked him up overnight. I ran him out of town about an hour ago. I’m sorry. I wish I had known.”
“Damn, just my luck. Well, we’re a lot closer than we were. With a little luck, I’ll have him before nightfall,” Gideon said.
“I wish you luck. He seems to be a mean one. I had to lay him upside the head with my revolver. You be careful,” the sheriff said.
“Thank you, Sheriff. I intend to be,” Gideon said before leaving.
Heading south of Santa Fe, the land turned even more barren with very little vegetation. The terrain was hilly and cut by steep–sided gulches and arroyos that they had to wind around as they trailed Ramsey. The land looked so bleak that Gideon felt lonesome just looking at it. Water would be scarce, and searching it out a necessity if the trip continued for days.
