The Rough Rider

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Only to mice and small game.”

  “I’ve never seen a bird that big!” exclaimed Jeb.

  “Last time I was here,” Aaron remarked, “I saw quite a few bald eagles. Now those fellows are something to see! You haven’t lived until you see one of them swoop down out of the sky and catch up a fish with their talons.” He caught the look of amazement on the boy’s face and asked quietly, “You’ve never been in the woods, Jeb?”

  “No, not ever.”

  “Well, you’ll see some fine things. I always enjoy the woods.”

  They moved around the small pond, finally coming back to the path. As they stood for one last look, Gail said, “It’s so quiet, Aaron! It’s so quiet it . . . it hurts my ears!” Even as she spoke, a large fish broke the surface of the water with a tremendous splash, almost at their feet. Both Gail and Jeb started, but Aaron laughed.

  “That was a bass. A big one.”

  “Can we catch him, Mr. Winslow?”

  “Not now. We’ll try and get him early in the morning. And you can call me Aaron. Mister sounds kind of formal out here in the woods.”

  They turned back on the path through the woods and returned to the cabin. Gail bustled around with the blankets for a time making a bed of sorts. Aaron heated up the coffee, speaking idly with Jeb—who was bursting with a thousand questions about fishing and hunting. Finally Gail came and sat down with them. She held a black book in her hand and gave Aaron a shy look. “Will it be all right if I read some of the Bible out loud before I go to bed?”

  “I ain’t sleepy!” Jeb protested, but when Gail had read two chapters from Psalms, she saw that his head was drooping. Closing the Bible, she said firmly, “All right, into bed with you.”

  “Aw, sis—!”

  “No arguments.”

  Jeb protested, but after a stern look from Gail, he slipped into the blankets. “Can we go fishing in the morning, Aaron?”

  “If you can get up at dawn,” said Aaron as he sipped his coffee.

  “I’ll get up! If I don’t, just jerk me out of this bunk!”

  Gail made one more surveillance of the stock of groceries they’d brought along, then turned to say, “I’m tired. Good-night, Aaron.”

  “Good-night.”

  For a long time after Gail moved behind the canvas, Aaron sat at the table thinking. One of the psalms Gail had read was the twenty-second psalm—his mother’s favorite. As he sat leaning on the table, an old memory stirred, a fragment of his childhood. His mother had read the psalm to him and Lewis, and he’d seen tears in her eyes. “Why are you crying, Ma?” he’d asked her. In the quietness of the cabin, he seemed to hear her reply: “Because this is about the time my Savior died for my sins,” she’d whispered.

  “A long time ago . . .” Aaron whispered. He sat there quietly, thinking of that time, wondering where a man’s youth went—where was the young boy that had been? Finally he rose, took off his boots, then fell into the cot and dropped instantly into a deep sleep.

  ****

  “Aw, Aaron, you promised we’d go fishing!” Jeb rubbed his eyes and rose up to give the man a reproachful look. His hair was wild, and he shoved his fingers through it as he came out of the bunk.

  “Thought we’d go hunting instead,” Aaron said. He’d slept until dawn, but when he awoke and saw the boy still deep in sleep, he decided that the fishing could wait. He was sitting at the table regarding the boy, and said, “Come on now, let’s eat and get out of here.”

  An hour later the two were walking through the woods. Aaron carried the single-shot rifle he’d managed to buy at the last stop. He’d given Jeb the shells to stick in his pockets, and now as they moved along, he asked, “Ever shoot a shotgun, Jeb?”

  “Never shot no kind of gun at all.”

  “Well, maybe you’d better have a little practice.” Aaron handed the boy the gun, saying, “Whatever else you do, don’t shoot me—or yourself.” He looked around and saw a pine tree fifty feet away with a bald spot about the size of a dinner plate. “See how many shot you can put into that bald spot.”

  Jeb lifted the rifle, took careful aim, and nervously pulled the trigger. The sharp explosion split the still air, and when he lowered the gun, Jeb yelled, “I hit it, I think!”

  “Let’s go see,” Aaron said, grinning at the boy’s excitement.

  The two of them made their way to the tree, and sure enough, three of the pellets had made definite holes in the wood. “Good shot,” Aaron remarked. “If that was a bear, you’d have slowed him down a mite.”

  Jeb shot a startled glance at Aaron. “Are there bears around here?”

  “Maybe,” Aaron grinned. “Lots of rabbits and squirrels, for sure. We’d better start with a cottontail. Load up, and we’ll see.”

  With Aaron’s instruction, Jeb broke the shotgun down, withdrew the spent shell, and inserted a fresh one. “Do we save the old one, Aaron?” he inquired.

  “Nope. Now, you go in front. There’s a small field up ahead, an open spot. It was full of rabbits when I was here before. Just remember, don’t shoot at the rabbit—shoot at where he’s going to be.”

  Jeb’s thin face was tense with thought. He nodded and turned to walk down the path. Aaron followed close behind. He saw two rabbits that Jeb missed, but said nothing. Then when they reached the field, he said “Heads up, Jeb—!”

  Jeb had seen the rabbit dart out from behind a bush and quickly lifted the gun. He tried to follow the twisting dashes of the frantic rabbit, but when he fired he saw the dirt fly two feet behind the young cottontail.

  “Good shot!” Aaron said. “Load up.”

  “But—I missed him!” said Jeb as he watched the frightened rabbit scamper away.

  “You won’t miss the next one,” Aaron promised. “Now you see what I mean about shooting where the rabbit will be? Your shot was good—you just didn’t lead him enough.”

  Jeb’s lips tightened with determination, and he moved ahead, his back straight and his eyes searching the ground. Five minutes later, a rabbit leaped up almost under his feet. Jeb raised the gun, but this time he let the rabbit turn, then aiming ahead of the bobbing jack, pulled the trigger. The jolt of the shotgun kicked his shoulder back, but he saw the rabbit knocked down.

  “I got ’im, Aaron!”

  “Sure did! Give me the gun, and you go get him.”

  Aaron watched as the boy literally flew across the open ground, stooped and lifted the limp body with a shrill cry. When he got back, Aaron admired the kill. “Nice big, plump jack,” he nodded. “Make a good stew—or maybe we’ll roast him over an open fire.”

  “Gosh, Aaron—!” Jeb’s eyes were wide as saucers, and he was so excited that he could hardly speak. He stroked the soft fur of the rabbit, and then looked up to say, “I ain’t never had such a good time!”

  Aaron felt a wave of pity for the boy. I killed hundred of rabbits when I was his age—and never was grateful for the chance. Aloud he said, “It’s a thing every boy ought to do, Jeb. I’m glad we’re here.”

  The words caused Jeb to look up, and there was adulation in his blue eyes. For the moment the fear of the future was gone, and Aaron knew suddenly that when he was an old man, he’d be able to call back the memory of this fair-haired boy with awe and pleasure in his eyes holding his first kill. . .

  ****

  Gail awakened from a sound sleep with a start. “Jeb—?” she called, then when no answer came, she rose and pulled her dress on. Stepping from behind the canvas covering, she saw that Jeb and Aaron were gone. I must have slept like a log, she thought, then was glad that the two had gone together.

  She got busy stirring the fire and made a good breakfast. When it was ready, she took it outside to sit on the steps and eat. The sun was bright, shining through the canopy of the tall trees, but she had no idea of the time. She ate slowly, enjoying the food. She went back for another cup of coffee, bringing her Bible outside, then spent the next half hour reading.

  Finally, she went inside and began m
aking biscuits. She mixed up her dough, then using a cup, pressed out the fat circles. Greasing a pan and placing the dough inside, she put them in the oven. For some time she cleaned the cabin, but then after checking the biscuits she decided to go for a walk. When she reached the pond, she saw a small bird with a huge head fly by and wondered what it was.

  “Aaron will know,” she said aloud. She watched the pond, noting the silvery minnows schooling at her feet in the shallows, then saw a fish rise and thrash the surface. After a few minutes, she walked back to the cabin, checked the biscuits, and sat down to read some more.

  When the biscuits were finally done, she put them on top of the stove and let the fire die down. Ten minutes later, she heard her name being called, and ran to the door. Jeb came running up, crying, “I shot three rabbits, Gail—look!”

  Gail looked up at Aaron, who was smiling, then admired the limp bodies as Jeb laid them out. “Aaron says they’re good to eat—and he’s going to let me clean them, Gail. Can we have them for dinner?”

  “Fried rabbit and fresh biscuits sound good to you two?” Gail asked. When they both nodded, she said, “Good. You clean these and I’ll build up the fire.”

  Aaron took Jeb to a stump and skinned and dressed one of the rabbits slowly, explaining every step. Then he grinned and said, “Now, you do the other two, then bring them inside when you’re finished.” He left the boy hacking away with more enthusiasm than skill. Stepping inside he found Gail waiting for him, her eyes filled with pleasure.

  “I’ve never seen him so excited,” she said. “Did he really shoot them?”

  “Sure did. He’s a good shot. I hope he doesn’t cut his finger off cleaning them, though.” He sniffed the air and said, “I smell fresh-baked bread. Let’s have some of those biscuits.”

  “You’ll spoil your appetite!”

  “I could eat a cow and not spoil my appetite.” He walked over to the stove, pulled the cloth from the golden biscuits, and plucked one out. Taking a bite, he closed his eyes and chewed slowly. “Well, you can cook. I guess I won’t have to hire somebody.”

  Gail laughed and shoved him away from the stove. “That’s all you get! Now, tell me about it. . . .”

  An hour later the three of them were sitting down to fried rabbit, gravy, and biscuits. Gail asked the blessing, and as soon as she said the amen, Jeb snatched up a piece of rabbit and bit into it. It was hot, and he sputtered, but finally nodded, “It’s good!”

  “Well, I’ve got a partner to shoot game, and a fine cook to get it ready,” Aaron grinned. “Guess I can retire and be waited on.”

  As soon as Gail cleaned the table off and washed up the dishes, she went to get her Bible. Aaron listened to her read as he cleaned the shotgun, and the words seemed to strike him with a cadence he’d never known. He’d heard the Scripture read all his life, but somehow in this rough cabin buried in the deep woods it meant more. He felt strange stirrings and wondered what they meant.

  ****

  The next three days were halcyon days for Jeb. He hunted and fished and ran through the woods, calling out to Aaron to name everything he was curious about. He wanted to learn the names of all the plants growing around, and the types of birds that flew overhead. He caught his first fish—only a one-pound bass—but insisted on cleaning and eating it himself. He learned the rudiments of woodcraft, a little about tracking, and each night fell into his bunk and slept like a little baby without a care.

  Only once did he mention to Aaron the shadow that lay over him. They were fishing for catfish late one night, and he’d broken the silence by saying, “Aaron—”

  “Yep?”

  “Let’s just stay here always.”

  Instantly, Aaron knew that the boy was thinking of the threat that awaited him back in New York. He said slowly, “I don’t think that would work, Jeb—though I’d kind of like it myself.”

  A long silence followed, and then Jeb whispered, “I can’t go back! Why can’t we just hide out here?”

  Carefully Aaron said, keeping his voice soft and even, “Well, I guess because God didn’t make us to hide. A man’s got something to do in this world—and a woman, too.”

  “Maybe God made us to live here.” A flicker of hope was in the youthful voice, and he added quickly, “You . . . you and Gail could get married.”

  “Why, I don’t think that’s the way it works, Jeb.”

  “Don’t you like her?”

  “I like her fine—but she has to like me.”

  “She does! More than she likes anybody!”

  Aaron felt he was getting out of his depth and said quickly, “She’s interested in Dr. Burns, Jeb.” When the boy didn’t answer, he added, “A person can’t pick a wife or husband for another.”

  All of a sudden, the cork in front of Jeb suddenly began skimming across the pond. Then his pole seemed to take a dive of its own as it bent low in a huge arc. A few minutes later, to Jeb’s surprise, he landed a two-pound fish. “That’s a blue channel cat,” Aaron nodded. “Best kind of catfish there is to eat.” He removed the fish from the hook, dropped it into a sack, then sat back on the bank.

  Jeb sat there in silence for a long time—and Aaron thought, I was doing so well with him, but now I’ve scared him off. But he said nothing, and finally Jeb turned to face him, saying, “I’m . . . I’m scared to go back. What I did was a bad thing—I’ll go to jail.”

  “Jeb, sometimes a fellow does wrong. When that happens, most of us want to run away from what we’ve done. But there’s no end to the running. If you run from something small, you’ll run from something else.” He let his hand fall on the boy’s thin shoulder, realizing that somehow a love for this youth had found its place in his heart. “We have to face up to bad things, Jeb. All of us.”

  The two sat there for some time soaking up the silence. Finally Aaron stood, picked up the poles and their catch and said it was time to get back. As they walked up the path toward the cabin, Jeb hardly said a word. When they entered the cabin, Jeb went straight to bed. Gail caught Aaron’s eye, motioning toward the door. When they were outside, she asked, “Can we walk for a little?”

  “Sure.”

  They took the path back to the pond, and neither of them spoke until they reached the shore. Turning to him, Gail asked, “What’s wrong with Jeb? He’s not himself tonight.”

  Aaron stood silently, then said, “He’s worried about going back to New York.”

  “Did you bring it up?”

  “No, he did.”

  “He hasn’t said a word to me,” Gail said. “It’s as if he’s blocked all of that out of his mind.” She looked up into his face, searching his features, then asked, “What did you tell him?”

  “That all of us have to face up to hard things—mistakes we’ve made.” His voice dropped as he said this, and he gave her an odd look. “Gail, I felt like the world’s worst hypocrite telling him that.”

  “Why should you feel like a hypocrite? It’s true enough.”

  He seemed to find it difficult to answer. She could see by the bright moonlight that he was tense. He was a strong man, she knew, and she was curious about his words.

  Finally he said, “Because I’m telling Jeb to face up to his problems—his bad time—and I’ve not been able to do that myself.”

  “I think you could face anything, Aaron!”

  “Do you? Well, you’re mistaken.” He moved away from her and sat down on the same log that he and Jeb had sat on earlier while fishing. She came to sit beside him, saying nothing. Finally he turned to her and said unexpectedly, “A strange thing—the Bible.”

  “The Bible, Aaron?” she echoed, bewildered at his words. “What’s strange about it? You’ve been reading it all your life.”

  “No, I haven’t,” he shook his head sharply. “I’ve had it read to me—by preachers and my parents. And ever since I left home, I’ve been careful to stay away from churches and preachers.” He shook his head in wonder, and turning to face her, he said, “Somehow it gets to me
when you read the Scripture. You read the same things I’ve heard my parents read—but it’s different.”

  Gail was startled, and her voice was quiet as she asked, “Different in what way?”

  “I can’t really say,” Aaron muttered. He shook his head and tried to put into words what he was feeling about the Bible. “When you read, it’s like the words have some kind of echo inside me. I remember when my parents read them twenty years ago. And when I go to bed, they come to me.”

  Gail understood at once that God was speaking to Aaron. She said, “The Word of God is very powerful, Aaron.”

  He seemed to try her words, then turned and stared out over the still pond. For a long time the only sounds were the frogs croaking and the faint splash of some night-feeding fish. Finally he rose, and when she stood with him, he took her by the arms. “I’ve never been able to face up to Jubal’s death,” he said with an effort. “I’ve blamed myself all this time—and blamed God. And tonight when I was talking to Jeb, telling him he had to face up to things, a scripture you read once came to me. The one that says not to tell a man he’s got a speck of dust in his eye while you’ve got the whole plank in yours!”

  Gail reached up and touched his cheek. It was an involuntary gesture, one she might have used with Jeb. But as she touched him, he put his arms around her and pulled her close. She opened her eyes with shock and could not speak.

  “You’re so beautiful, Gail!” Aaron said softly. “I don’t know how to run my life—but I know you’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever seen. . .” He was aware of the fragrance of her hair and the touch of her hand on his cheek. He kissed her, savoring the softness of her lips. As he kissed her, he was aware that she was not pulling away. Her lips had their own pressure, and she put her hand on his neck, holding him firmly.

  As for Gail, a flood of emotions rushed through her. One part of her demanded that she break away—yet something stronger came to her, so that she clung to Aaron. She welcomed his strong embrace, finding in his arms an unexpected source of joy and protection. His hands pulled her closer, and she surrendered to him, thinking, Nothing I’ve ever experienced has been like this! She met him and held his kiss—and then finally broke away and looked up at him, her lips parted with surprise at the power he had to stir her.