Lonnie Gentry

by Peter Brandvold

  Night sank slowly into the valley, and soon there was only a little faint, emerald light in the sky beyond the pine tops. Coyotes called distantly, and the creek chuckled over its stony bed. The fish fried slowly in the lard with wild mushrooms he’d sliced, and two corn cakes he’d whipped together from his possibles, and the fire gave off a pleasant warmth as the air grew sharp with a mountain chill.

  An almost intoxicating tranquility had descended with the darkness and the stars kindling in the sky straight above.

  Lonnie and Casey sat on opposite sides of the fire, which they kept small in case Dupree was closer than Lonnie figured he was to this valley. Lonnie’s mind grew slow and peaceful as he ate the tender, flakey fish and mushrooms and nicely browned cake, and washed the food down with frequent sips of the hot, black coffee.

  “You catch right good fish, Mister Lonnie Gentry,” Casey said as she gathered up their tin plates, wooden handled forks, and coffee cups, and carried them over to the creek for cleaning.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Casey.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said back over her shoulder.

  While she was gone, Lonnie gathered more fallen branches from the trees along the creek. He didn’t want to make the fire too large, so that Dupree or anyone else skulking around the valley at night might see it. If he were alone, he’d probably let it die out altogether. But Casey probably wasn’t as accustomed to sleeping out in the high-and-rocky as he was, and the mountains got cold this high. There might even be a little frost on the ground come morning.

  For her, he’d try to keep the fire small. He should probably try to stay awake and keep watch for Dupree, but he was dead-dog tired. It was a weariness he could feel making his deepest bones and muscles ache. He’d probably never make it through the night without nodding off. If he did, he’d probably fall off his horse tomorrow along the trail somewhere, and break his neck.

  When he returned to the fire with a second armload of wood, Casey was already curled up in Lonnie’s bedroll, which he’d insisted she use. He’d even arranged pine boughs for her, to soften the cold, hard ground. His coat was good enough for Lonnie. She lay on her side, knees drawn up halfway to her belly. She’d left her boots on, and they poked out from beneath the blankets. Her blonde hair spilled prettily across her saddle. Already she appeared cold, for she’d drawn one of the two blankets halfway over her face that the fire’s orange flames caressed lovingly.

  Seeing her so peaceful made Lonnie even more tired. He quietly set a couple of small branches on the fire, then walked off to tend to nature. He came back, spread out some pine boughs for a makeshift mattress, in front of his saddle, on the side of the fire opposite Casey, and slacked down onto one of the fragrant branches. He scrunched himself deep inside his heavy wool mackinaw, whose collar he pulled up around his cheeks.

  Lonnie lay staring up through the treetops at the stars for a time. Dupree was a constant worry nibbling at the edges of his mind. He was glad he wasn’t alone. He’d spent many nights alone out on the Circle G range over the past couple of years, when his mother had deemed him old enough to do so. Some late afternoons he was too far away to bother riding all the way back to the cabin at night when he’d only have to saddle up and ride out as far again in the morning. Sometimes he’d sleep out alone in a canyon or at the old line shack.

  The first couple of times he’d been a little frightened, lying awake and making mountains out of the molehills of every night sound he heard. The slightest rustle of some burrowing creature would become a stalking, red-eyed wolf in his mind. But he’d quickly gotten accustomed to sleeping out in the mountains alone, and had even come to enjoy it.

  He didn’t think he’d enjoy it tonight, however. Or maybe that’s because three killers were stalking him, and maybe because he was enjoying Casey’s company so much.

  Thinking back, he realized she hadn’t called him “kid” for several hours. Heck, a few minutes ago she’d even called him “Mister.”

  Lonnie smiled at the twinkling sky. He glanced across the fire at Casey. He could hear her breathing softly beneath her blankets. Lonnie’s eyelids grew heavy. Weariness was like a fast-working drug. For a short time, he was vaguely aware of his own soft snores before sleep pulled him deep down into its gauzy depths, turning the world dark and empty, soothing in its silence.

  He had no idea how much time had passed before that silence was shattered by Casey’s ear-rattling scream.

  CHAPTER 37

  Lonnie sat bolt upright, heart thudding, as the girl’s scream echoed around the dark encampment.

  Only vaguely did he become aware that he had not built up the fire as he’d intended but had let it go out completely. His mind was slow to catch up to the scream, as well, and he realized, as the wail died, that Casey had screamed, “Daddy!”

  Now, silence.

  Lonnie stared across the fire, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness relieved by starlight and a small snippet of moon angling up over the valley. Then he heard Casey sobbing. Getting oriented—at first, he’d thought he was at the line shack—he reached over to where he’d leaned his rifle against a tree, and fumbled around until he’d gotten a cartridge seated in the chamber.

  He looked around, expecting to see three shadows jouncing, trying to drag Casey out of her bedroll. He could hear little above the girl’s scream still echoing around inside his head and the ratcheting thunder of his own hammering heart.

  Distantly, he could hear her sobbing, and he quietly called her name.

  There was no reply.

  He jumped to his feet and tramped around the fire in his stocking feet, shivering fearfully and looking around in the shadows flanking her. She was sitting up, her face a pale oval framed by the messy spill of her honey-blonde hair.

  “Casey, what is it?”

  “Lonnie!”

  He dropped to a knee, still looking around behind her. One of the horses whickered nervously, but he was sure the mount had only been frightened by Casey’s scream. “Yeah, I’m here. What is it? Why’d you scream? Nightmare?”

  Casey sobbed quietly. “Yeah.” Her shoulders jerked as she crossed her arms on her chest and lowered her chin.

  Her reply tempered the boy’s own anxiety. His heart slowed, and his palms stopped sweating. He held the rifle’s hammer back with his thumb, pulled the trigger, releasing the action, and eased the hammer down to the firing pin. Still holding the rifle in one hand, he placed his other hand on one of Casey’s, and squeezed.

  “About your pa?”

  Keeping her head down, Casey nodded. She gave another sob and lifted one hand to wipe away a tear rolling down her cheek.

  Her breath was ragged. “I dreamt he was calling me. I was inside our house and he was outside and calling and asking me to let him in, and I was running around the house. The house was dark and I was trying to find the door, but nothing in the house seemed to be where it should be, and it was like there was no door.

  “Pa kept me calling me, asking me to let him in, and I was trying to yell back at him that I was trying to let him in, but I couldn’t get the words out. It was like there was a rag in my mouth. It was so frustrating! I couldn’t call to him, and I was afraid that if he didn’t know I was there, looking for the door, he’d go away and I’d never see him again!”

  “It’s all right, Casey.”

  She lowered her head again and said in a voice pinched with emotion: “That’s when I woke up and heard myself screaming. Then I realized it was only a dream, and that Pa was gone. I’d never really heard him calling, and I’d never hear him calling me again.”

  Her head bobbed and her shoulders shook as she bawled for a short time.

  “I’m never gonna see him again. He’s gone forever, and I will live my whole life without ever seeing him again, and I want to so much that sometimes, aside from Dupree and the money, it’s all I can think about!”

  “Yeah, I know how that is.”

  She looked at him, frowning, her eyes wet with te
ars. “You do?”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Your pa.”

  When Lonnie said nothing, Casey said, “It’s an awful ache, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it hurts like hell. At least, I got my ma. You got somebody else who’ll take care of you, Casey?”

  Casey raised her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. She sniffed, ran the back of her hand across her cheek again. “Pa said that if anything happened to him that I should find my aunt in Denver. Pa’s sister. He said he thought she’d take me in, though I don’t think he’d heard from her in a long time. Other than that—no, I don’t have anyone.”

  Imagining how alone the girl must feel, Lonnie felt a frightening hollowness inside him. He imagined what life would have been like without his ma and the ranch—a place to call home— and he had to suppress a shudder. He also had to force himself to not consider the possibility that he might be in the same boat that Casey was in.

  “When we get this money to Camp Collins,” Lonnie said, “you can come back to the ranch with me. We got an extra room. You can be part of our family—Ma’s and mine.”

  That seemed to warm Casey somewhat. She gave him a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Lonnie. You’re a good friend. I gotta keep my job in town, though—if I still have it when I get back, I mean. I have to work, so I can keep the house. If I lose the house … well, then I reckon I might have to consider takin’ you up on your offer.”

  “You’ll work it out so’s you can keep your house. You’re tough for a girl. Tough as most boys I’ve known.”

  “Thank you, Lonnie.”

  Suddenly, Lonnie’s ears burned with shame. “Oh,” he said, stammering. “I … I didn’t mean no insult by that, Casey. I didn’t mean you were like a boy. Just tough like one.” His tongue felt as though it had doubled in size, and he was having trouble forming words with it. “But you’re a girl. Anybody’d see that. I mean, not that I was lookin’ or thinkin’ about it or nothin’, but—”

  “Lonnie?”

  He looked at her.

  “Do me a favor? Fetch your bed and drag it over here by mine?”

  Lonnie’s heart hammered. Now his hands and feet also seemed to have doubled in size. “Miss Casey,” Lonnie said, whispering so no one else could hear though he was relatively certain no one else was near. At least, he hoped they weren’t. “Are you askin’ me to … ?” The possibility seemed both wonderful and horrible.

  Casey laughed. “Don’t get your drawers in a twist, cowboy. I just wanna lay close to you tonight, that’s all. Go on—fetch your stuff.” She laughed. “Fetch, boy!”

  Lonnie scrambled back around the fire. When he’d dragged his gear, including his rifle, over to Casey’s side of the fire and had arranged his saddle beside hers, he lay down on the spruce branches, resting his head against the wool underside of the saddle. He lay for a time, aware of Casey lying curled beside him. He stared up at the stars splattered like baking powder across the firmament.

  Finally, she scuttled up close to him, wrapped an arm around his belly, and lay her head on his chest. Lonnie stopped breathing. He wasn’t sure what to do with his arms.

  “Is this all right?” Casey asked softly. “I mean—it don’t make you too uncomfortable, does it? I know how boys are.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Lonnie lied.

  “You can put your arms around me,” she said. “I’d like you to.”

  Awkwardly, Lonnie wrapped his arms around the girl’s slender waist and shoulders. She lay warm against him. He could feel her heart beating softly against his chest.

  She lifted her head, looked at him, frowning. “You aren’t getting any devilish ideas, are you?”

  “No!” he said, defensively.

  “All right, then.” Casey lay her head back down on his chest. “Good night, Lonnie. Thank you for taking the money to the marshal.”

  “Good night, Casey. It’s no problem.”

  She chuckled at that, and then Lonnie did, too.

  The longer he lay there, with his arms wrapped around this girl he loved, his nerves stopped sputtering, his heart stopped throbbing in his ears, and all seemed—at least, for now—right with this crazy world.

  CHAPTER 38

  Gradually, the sporadic chittering of a squirrel reached down into Lonnie’s unconsciousness and pulled him up into the land of waking.

  Before he’d even opened his eyes, he became aware that he was shivering. When he did open his eyes he saw that misty blue light had filled the valley, and fog hung over the creek like smoke. There was a thin, white patina of frost on his coat. He looked at the fire ring, humped with cold, gray ashes.

  He’d been so tired that he hadn’t awakened during the night to keep the fire built up, as he’d intended.

  Casey was curled up tight against his back. Lonnie could feel the warmth of her face and lips pressed against his spine. She was the only warmth he could feel, but her frail body was shivering. She felt good and it was nice, being this close to her, despite the cold, and he hated to awaken her, but that’s what happened when he tried to slip out from beneath her arm draped over his hip.

  She groaned and removed her arm and pulled her blankets up over her head, curling into a tight ball on her side, shivering.

  “I’ll have the fire built up in a minute,” Lonnie said, rising, shivering inside his coat.

  When he’d gotten the fire going, orange flames crackling and sputtering and offering meager warmth, the gray pine smoke peppering his nose, he added a couple of good-sized logs, then took some twine from his saddlebags and went off to see about acquiring the coming night’s supper. He didn’t want to fire his rifle and possibly alert Dupree to his and Casey’s whereabouts, so he’d either have to depend on angling for fish or using his slingshot or the snares he’d fashioned out of twine for bringing down small game, possibly even birds like doves or mountain grouse or wild turkeys.

  All of these tools Lonnie carried in his saddlebags or cavvy sack everywhere he rode, because he never knew when he’d get stuck out somewhere away from the cabin and need the food-acquiring implements.

  He’d seen some rabbits last night, when he and Casey had ridden up to the creek. Since rabbits usually liked to dine amongst rocks or shrubs that would shield them from the view of predators like coyotes, foxes, wolves, and hawks, Lonnie set his tree snare in the deep, green grass growing among the rocks lining the creek. He bent a springy cottonwood sapling over toward the ground, tied the long end of the snare to its crown, and pinned the snare and also the sapling to the ground with a sharp stick in which he’d cut a trigger notch, setting his trap.

  It usually required several hours to gather game like this, and he should have set the trap last night, but he hadn’t. So he had to hope that a rabbit, possibly even a fat squirrel, would wander into the snare between now and when he and Casey had swallowed down some breakfast and broken camp.

  If not, he’d have to use his slingshot somewhere along today’s trail. Lonnie had only the bare minimum of trail supplies in his gear, and he and Casey needed to eat steady meals to keep up their strength and stay alert. It took only one missed meal to cause fatigue and mental dullness, neither of which were fun when you had a full day ahead.

  As he finished setting the trap, Lonnie saw strands of smoke from his fire wafting around him. The smoke smelled of pine resin, boiling coffee, and the even-better aroma of frying side pork. Instantly, his mouth began watering.

  He walked back to the camp to see Casey up and fully dressed, wearing her coat and gloves against the morning chill. She was crouched over the small, black iron pan in which the side pork sizzled and popped. Lonnie’s coffeepot steamed and chugged on a rock around which orange flames danced.

  “Breakfast will be ready in a minute, Mister Gentry,” she said, adding a couple of baking powder biscuits to the pan. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  “I’m always hungry!”

  Lonnie went over and tended the horses, giving them each a handf
ul of grain and untying them from their picket line, so they could freely forage and drink from the creek. When he returned to the camp, Casey had set a couple of side pork sandwiches for him on a tin plate at the fire’s perimeter, where they’d stay warm. The girl sat on her saddle, eating a sandwich, which she was washing down with the hot, black coffee steaming in the tin cup at her feet.

  The sandwiches were delicious, as was Casey’s coffee.

  “Lonnie?” Casey said, picking apart her second sandwich with her hands, and frowning. “What’s wrong with the horses?”

  Lonnie followed Casey’s gaze toward where both mounts stood facing east and shaking their heads as though at pesky blackfies. A couple of times General Sherman craned his neck to look back at Lonnie, as though he were communicating his edginess.

  “I don’t know,” Lonnie said, setting down his empty plate and brushing crumbs from his jeans.

  He picked up his rifle and walked out to stand beside the two horses. Both mounts continued to stare off toward a low, pine-covered eastern ridge, the top of which was being painted gold by the rising sun. The horses had settled down somewhat, but they continued to stand stiffly, staring with their wide, brown eyes, working their nostrils as they sniffed the breeze.

  Lonnie patted the General’s neck, then walked a ways out from the camp, looking around cautiously and nervously squeezing the rifle in his hands. He was relieved to find nothing even remotely suspicious anywhere near the camp. It was as much of a relief as he would have liked, however. The horses could detect trouble a lot farther away than Lonnie could.

  He remembered the bugling cry and hoped again that it had been made by an elk …

  Then he imagined Dupree’s gang sneaking up on his and Casey’s camp, and he returned to the fire, immediately kicking dirt on it to douse the flames.

  “We best pull our picket pines,” Lonnie told Casey, unable to keep the uneasiness from his voice. “I don’t see nothin’ out there, and horses can get cross-grained for reasons of their own, but since they both have burrs under their saddles and they ain’t even saddled yet, let’s light a shuck!”