Well Traveled

by Margaret Mills

  “Jed, get down,” he snapped.

  “I am fine,” Jed said serenely. “I will ride this horse back to the farm.”

  “Unless you want to carry this damned saddle over your shoulder, get down and let me put it on the horse!”

  Jed frowned, but he slid off the bay’s bare back and set a blanket carefully, then he took the saddle from Gideon and settled it with just as much care. Gideon stood back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Jed efficiently finished the job, picked up the lead line he’d used to collect the cattle they hoped belonged to Moira Hennessey, and swung right back up.

  “You mind telling me where you want me to stow that body?” he asked dryly, looking up at Jed.

  Jed glanced down at the ringleader’s corpse and shrugged. “I don’t care where you put it,” Jed said and reined out, wrapping the lead for the cows around the saddle’s pommel. “Sheriff,” he called quietly. “I will start ahead. The cows will be slower than the mules and horses.”

  Bishop waved a hand, still intent on collecting the last of the dead men’s possessions, and somehow Gideon found himself stuck with a bunch of strangers, a pair of plow mules, and a corpse, while Jed disappeared into the trees. Bishop came to stand beside him for a moment, following his gaze in the direction Jed had gone. “He’s a bit of an odd one, ain’t he,” he observed mildly.

  Gideon resisted a smile or a frown—he felt the urge to do both right now. “That, he is,” he agreed, heartily enough that Bishop gave him an odd look before he turned and walked away. Gideon watched him go. Bishop didn’t even know the half of it.

  It didn’t take long to finish what they’d started, not with a dozen men combing the camp for any valuables missed or strewn around during the supposed fight. Men’s voices echoed quietly through the clearing, anxious deference to the dead most like, but they found another couple of handguns and two boxes of shotgun shells, and it seemed like half the posse needed to check the pack job Gideon had done before they could clear out of this place. The staples had all been tied onto the dead men’s horses, and somebody fashioned lead lines out of what rope remained, so that two of them led three and four packed horses respectively as they cleared the camp.

  The ride out started quiet enough, but the farther away they got from the remains of the camp, the noisier and happier the men got. “Can’t believe we lucked out like that,” one fella, Bob, said, riding alongside Gideon with three horses trailing him.

  “Yeah,” Gideon agreed, or tried to. “Seems like they got dealt just what they deserved.”

  Bob kneed his horse closer to Gideon, speaking the quiet confidences most men were happy to share with strangers they knew they’d never see again. “I ain’t seen my wife in four days now,” he whispered. “We’ve been going off every Friday, scouring the countryside around here. I worried every time I left her it’d be the last time I did.”

  “I c’n understand that,” Gideon said, letting him talk. Bob worked at the old lumber mill when he wasn’t deputized for law enforcement duties. Business, Gideon learned, had slowed a lot now that the gold had been cleaned out of this region. But mostly, Bob talked about his wife, about how fine she was and about how glad he was these men were dead, so he wouldn’t have to leave her again.

  The subject nearest his heart pushed him to the subject of wives and women in general. “Mrs. Hennessey’s lucky,” Bob said at one point.

  “You clearly ain’t seen her since them men ran through, then,” Gideon replied, harder than he’d meant to.

  Bob’s shoulders hunched in a little, but he pressed on, “If it’d been my wife, I wouldn’t have wanted her to die and let them bastards win. Or leave our kids orphans.”

  Gideon sighed and ground his teeth together. These were all decent people, and he didn’t know why he kept forgetting that. “Put like that,” Gideon allowed, “I reckon you’ve got a point.”

  Bishop and the rest of his people relaxed more the further they got from the dead. The threat was gone without confrontation, and no blood of their own had been shed. Gideon tried to catch their spirit, and in a way, he did. He appreciated the turn of mood, as long as they didn’t visit it on Mrs. Hennessey who was still mourning her husband and coping with what had been done to her. Still, by the time they’d caught up with Jed, Gideon found himself answering questions and telling stories, but every so often he’d turn to look at Jed, riding quietly at the back of the group, and he’d worry.

  The sun hung low in the western sky by the time they neared the house, and Bishop dropped back to ride beside Gideon, slowing them both until they’d put plenty of space between them and the others. “Earl told me the details that you gave him,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the hindquarters of a horse ahead of them. “About all that happened at the Hennesseys’ place.”

  Gideon nodded, catching a glimpse of the man’s hard face before he turned his own eyes forward. “Me and Jed came on the farm not long after the raiders had left. I don’t reckon Mrs. Hennessey is going to feel safe there alone for a while, but we can’t stay on much longer—I’ve got to get on to San Francisco, catch up with my family.”

  Bishop nodded, and his saddle creaked as he shifted. “We take care of our own, Mister Makepeace. Today was my regular day to ride out to that side of the county, so if you hadn’t come along, I’d have found Moira and her young’uns and what happened.” He sounded defensive, so Gideon turned his head and met his eyes squarely.

  “That’s good to know, Sheriff,” he said, meaning it. “Just a coincidence that we stumbled along when we did. Glad we could be of some help, though. They’re good people, sure as hell didn’t deserve any of this.”

  “No,” he agreed. “Earl’s wife, Rose, is coming out. They’re good friends. At a time like this, I reckon another woman’s the best help.”

  Gideon nodded, but his mind got caught up in something Jed had said that morning, about his mother and the women of the reservation. He glanced over his shoulder to find Jed turned toward one of the cows he was leading, talking low to the animal in that gentle and kind way he used with Star. Gideon tried, but he couldn’t pull the image to mind of the anger on Jed’s face that first night here, of the man who could do what Jed had done in that camp.

  Most of the posse split away before they reached the Hennessey farm, heading off to Sutter Creek or wherever each man called home. Bishop and Rock—Earl, as he told Gideon to call him—took over the leads of the dead men’s horses while Jed took the mules and kept the cows. As they neared the homestead, George and the kids ran out into the yard to meet them. Bishop and Rock stopped well away from the fences, and both of them dismounted to tie off the horses on leads. George followed Jed to settle the cows and mules, but Gideon walked on up to the house with Bishop, curious he supposed. He wasn’t proud of it.

  Bishop did most of the talking, stepping up onto the porch and standing close to the widow, even though he didn’t touch her until she reached out a hand to him. When she did, he grabbed it and squeezed it tight, but eased his body back a half a step. If he had to bet, Mrs. Hennessey wouldn’t want for protection or affection when she was ready for it. Bishop wasn’t pushy, but it was clear he was worried about her and that he cared. And when Sarah fell on her butt and started crying, it was Bishop who swooped in to pick her up, tickling her until she squealed with laughter. Mrs. Hennessey smiled faintly, and Gideon nodded to himself. They’d be all right.

  “I’ve got supper on—more than plenty for just you gentlemen,” Mrs. Hennessey said. “I thought—well,” she said, waving her hand, “I thought there’d be more people coming back than just you and Earl, Dale.”

  “Well, Moira, this took a lot less time than we expected. We’ve buried every body except one. I’d appreciate you taking a look at him, confirming that we found the right men?”

  Her body stiffened, but she nodded and reached for his hand again. He tucked it into the crook of his elbow and together with Deputy Rock and Gideon, escorted her back to the edge of the yar
d and the pack horses. She stopped a good ten feet away and waited while Rock walked over and lifted the oilskin away from the corpse’s face. Mrs. Hennessey didn’t gasp. She just pressed her lips closer together and nodded. “That was him, that was the leader,” she said, and if her voice was shrill, Gideon sure couldn’t blame her.

  “The Indian, Jedediah, thought so. He’s the one suggested we bring him back here, so you could see for yourself that he wouldn’t be able to bother you or anyone, ever again.”

  She blinked uncertainly around at all three of them. “Where did you find them, Dale? What…?”

  “Come on, if you’ve got a big supper on, you need to see to it. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know before George gets back from milking. Fair enough?”

  “Yes… yes.” Her eyes welled briefly, and she reached her free hand to swipe away the tears. “Thank you, Dale, for finding these men and for killing them!”

  “Well now, I didn’t exactly do that.” He turned her gently and led her back to the house with a quiet order for Gideon and Rock to bring up the other six horses. Gideon all but left his string of horses for Rock. This was a story he couldn’t afford to miss. Pretty much, Bishop told it exactly like Jed had, finishing with, “like they got drunk and did it to themselves.”

  “I—just like that?” she asked, like she couldn’t believe it. The way Bishop told it, it did sound too good to be true. Mrs. Hennessey’s voice hardened. “They couldn’t have got drunk five days ago and done away with themselves, before they ever caught sight of our home?”

  “I wish to God they had, you know that. But the rest of ’em are dead, too, and planted in a shallow grave miles from here. This one, we’ll dump in a ravine somewhere for the coyotes.”

  Her laugh was short and bitter. “Makes me feel bad for the coyotes.”

  Bishop’s answering chuckle sounded hollow. “Guess so.” He patted her hand then looked back over his shoulder, frowning when he saw Gideon so close. He threw a glare that drew Gideon up short, and Rock, who’d finally caught up to them, too.

  “We’ll, uh, get the staples unpacked,” Rock offered, “bring ’em around and set ’em on the back porch. That all right with you, Moira?”

  “Yes,” she said vaguely. “Thank you, Earl.”

  Gideon and Rock worked in silence, pulling only the dry goods and leaving the rest for Bishop to figure out. “Where’s George?” Rock asked him on their fourth trip around the house.

  “I reckon he’s milking the cows we brought back,” Gideon said. “That’s what he did when Jed brought the first two home.”

  “He’s a good boy,” Rock said approvingly, and Gideon nodded. “Let’s go help him. He won’t be able to carry all that by himself.”

  They walked together across to the barn, where Jed was emptying a metal pail into two big wooden buckets attached to each end of a yoke.

  “I got near nine gallons from ’em already, poor things,” George said, sitting on his stool beside the last cow with full udders.

  Jed returned the pail to him, and he bent back to his work. “It is good that we found them, before they dried up.” Jed said it with such conviction that Gideon wondered where Jed had learned anything about keeping dairy cows. For a second, he had a vision of Jed sitting on a stool, his hair tied back while he pulled a cow’s teat. It made him smile.

  “Yep,” George said, working away. Jed squeezed the boy’s shoulder and turned to face them. “I can take that up to the house,” he said, inclining his head to the buckets.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rock said. “I got it.” He bent carefully to the task and grunted as he hefted the yoke and steadied it on his shoulders. “The rest fit into this pail?”

  “I got it, Mister Rock,” George said from under the cow. “Thank you kindly.”

  Gideon wanted to linger, but he didn’t have a good excuse, and Jed was giving him a funny look anyway. “Go on, Gideon,” he ordered softly. “I will walk back with George and carry the pail.”

  Gideon nodded and squeezed Jed’s arm before he followed Rock back up the path. Rock had the milk set on the porch by the time Gideon joined him, and he rubbed at his shoulder. “That’s no job for a boy his age.”

  Gideon tested the waters a little. “You think it might be a job for Sheriff Bishop? Or his eldest?”

  Rock looked like he was trying not to smile. “He’s always been fond of this whole family, Gideon,” he whispered, casting a quick look at the closed kitchen door. “He’ll make sure she’s took care of. If not by him, then by someone she approves of.”

  Gideon nodded. “Good to hear. Come on, I smell more chicken, and that woman can cook like nobody’s business.”

  “That, she can,” Rock agreed with a chuckle. “Better’n my wife, anyway—though I’ll deny that if you ever repeat it,” he said, a mock warning that made Gideon smile. He was doing that more today, and it felt strange after all that he’d learned. Strange, but good.

  They tapped on the kitchen door before they entered and found Mrs. Hennessey in a rocking chair by the warm hearth, darning something, Gideon couldn’t tell what. Sheriff Bishop had Sarah parked against his hip while he stirred something in a big iron pot, and the scene was as domestic and comfortable as any Gideon could have hoped for, under the circumstances. Mrs. Hennessey asked a carefully vague question every minute or two, and Bishop answered promptly, without embellishment.

  “We collected everything of value that they had on them, Moira,” he said eventually. “Gideon here thought you ought to have it, if you wanted it.”

  She looked up at Gideon with a fierceness to her face that made him want to take a step back. He would have if he’d been standing, but he’d taken a seat with Earl near the fire, letting its heat bake away some of the tension of the day. “I thank you for the thought, Mister Makepeace,” she said, trying to be sincere but failing, “but I don’t want anything those men touched. I wouldn’t even take back our food if I didn’t have the children to think of.” Her hands clutched tight around her darning needles, and Gideon kept a watch on them, not wanting to find the point of one sticking into him.

  “Think of the kids now, Moira,” Bishop said. “You could sell that stuff off, have a nice dowry for Sarah here, or for anything else you need.”

  “You think of your kids, Dale,” she answered, dry, but her grip loosened, and her knuckles weren’t quite so white. “Don’t things like that usually get auctioned off to pay your salary?”

  The way he twitched made Gideon hide a grin. This was a man caught out, no doubt about it. “Think about it,” he said gruffly, and finally set both spoon and child down.

  A commotion outside heralded George’s noisy entry, and Jed followed right behind him. “The milk is covered,” he said. “George is very skilled.” He said the words soberly, but his eyes twinkled while George’s chest puffed up a little.

  “Pa said I work real hard,” he said, earnest, smiling for a second before the words caught up with him.

  Jed patted his head in passing as he headed toward his usual corner. He’d stand there and hold up the wall, or he’d slide down it, legs crossed in front of him, and just watch. “He was right,” Jed told the boy.

  Mrs. Hennessey put her sewing aside and set the table, shooing away every man who tried to help her except George. She still held herself carefully away from everyone, and all of the men gave her a wide, respectful berth. Chairs were rounded up and toddlers balanced on familiar knees, and soon enough Gideon got to taste what had kept his mouth watering for the last half an hour. He was glad those dead chickens hadn’t gone to waste, but he didn’t say anything now, leaving compliments to the men she knew and trusted. Beside him, Jed did the same, even though the Indian’s table manners were better than Bishop’s and Earl’s, both of whom forgot about the napkins they had tucked in their shirtfronts.

  As soon as the plates were cleared, Bishop gathered up Earl. “Take that horse with the body into town. Let the newspaper man take a picture, if he wants—it’ll b
e good news as far as it travels, that those bastards are done in. Leave the story to me, if you can bear to,” he added with a friendly grin.

  “Don’t you worry about that, Dale,” Rock said fervently. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Gideon was glad of that. “Sheriff,” he said, though, before Rock could leave. “We’ll be staying on another night, if you want to ride back with Earl.”

  “I’ll stay here, if it’s all right with Moira. Camp in the barn with you boys,” he said, most likely for Mrs. Hennessey’s sake. “Earl, you send Constance out with Rose in the morning, all right?” Constance was his eldest child, fifteen years old and a grown woman, to hear Bishop tell it. “If the boys can manage the house for a day on their own, I’d like Moira to have all the help she needs to set her house in order.”

  “Will do, Dale.” He’d pulled his hat back on while they talked, and now he touched the brim. “Moira. You take care now. I’ll see you in church on Sunday.”

  She nodded at him, giving another of her faint smiles, and the kids rushed to wave him off, with George leading the way. Jed set to helping with the cleaning, and Gideon would have as well if Bishop hadn’t caught his eye and tilted his head toward the back door.

  “Gideon,” he said, “you mind giving me a hand with those other horses?”

  Gideon shook his head, curious. “Glad to. We’ll need to find a way to hobble ’em, ’cause that corral sure ain’t gonna hold them all.”

  “I’d appreciate your help then, working something out.” He picked up his hat from the back of his chair. “Moira, Jed. Back soon,” he said.

  It was almost full dark by the time they left the house, but the fat crescent moon was up, and the lantern gave them enough light to work by, unloading valuables and stacking them inside the barn, then unsaddling and brushing down the horses. They were fine stock, and Gideon wondered if any of them had been rightfully owned by their riders.