Both men looked at me, nodding without saying anything.
“He’s also a collodiotypist,” I added. “He does a kind of photography that uses paper coated in iron salts to make a picture. Marshal Farmer thought that maybe the counterfeiters wanted to use this method to help them print their fake money.” This was not exactly the truth in that it was my thought, not Marshal Farmer’s, but it sounded more powerful if it was presented as his idea.
Both of them still just stood there contemplating me, without making any comment or asking any questions. I knew what they were thinking.
“My father is not Mac Boat,” I assured them.
5
SHERIFF CHALFONT PATTED my shoulder.
“No one is saying he is, Silas,” he said.
Deputy Beautyman spat.
“He is thinking it, I can tell,” I mumbled accusingly, looking at the deputy.
“What I am thinking is none of your danged business!” he retorted testily, and I went back to detesting him again. The man definitely stirred my emotions, I can say that for sure.
“Look, the real question,” said Sheriff Chalfont in his calm way, “is what do we do now? Do we go back to Rosasharon and raise a posse? Or should we try and get the jump on the men in the cave? Jack, what do you think?”
Deputy Beautyman scratched the side of his face and frowned.
“We can’t get the jump on them if they know we’re coming,” he answered hastily, “and they’ll know we’re coming if they got ahold of the marshal. The fact that the marshal’s horse isn’t here with these others doesn’t mean a string bean. If the horse was lame, they would’ve shot it and dumped it into the creek. Could’ve done the same to the marshal, too, for all we know.”
“If that’s the case,” answered the sheriff, “then we won’t find anyone in the cave anyway. Ollerenshaw will have packed up and left, figuring the law’s already on its way.”
Deputy Beautyman agreed and spat.
“But if they didn’t find Farmer, it’s a whole different story,” the sheriff continued. “Seven against two, and we have the element of surprise on them.”
“That’s assuming the kid is right about that number,” said the deputy.
“I’m right about the number,” I piped up.
“Why do I still get the feeling you’re trying to bamboozle us?” the deputy snarled at me.
“I don’t know!” I blustered, stopping myself from glancing at Mittenwool, who was literally standing next to him.
“If you’re walking us into some kind of ambush…,” the deputy threatened, poking my shoulder.
“Why would he be walking us into an ambush?” the sheriff countered.
“I don’t know! But I do know when someone’s trying to hide something from me. And I’m telling you—”
“Come on, Jack,” scolded the sheriff. “We have a decision to make. Do we raise a posse, or go after Ollerenshaw ourselves? What’s your preference?”
“My preference,” the deputy answered, his eyes flaring wildly, “is to be back in town right now eating a big fat roast chicken and guzzling down a pint of ale! That is my preference, Desi! But if you ask me what I think we should do, I’ll tell you this much: if I climb back up that blasted cliff, I’m not coming back down again. Not if I had three hundred Spartans behind me. I’ll take the long way down, wherever that is.”
“That would be the way we came,” said Mittenwool.
“It would take a whole day to ride down the mountain!” I cried.
“Why does this pesky gadfly keep dinging in my ear?” the deputy muttered to the sheriff.
“What did I ever do to you?” I yelled.
“Enough, enough,” Sheriff Chalfont said quickly, wiping the air with his hands as if to separate us. “So, Jack, confirm: your preference is to go after Ollerenshaw now. Is that right?”
“Yes!” replied the deputy, nodding with great exaggeration.
“Mine is, too!” I said eagerly.
Sheriff Chalfont looked at me. I realized then that I shouldn’t have uttered a word. I should have tried to disappear, hoping they would forget my presence, because I knew what was coming.
“Whoa, Silas,” the sheriff said gently. “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but we’re not taking you with us, make no bones about it.” He continued to talk over me as I began my protestations. “You’re going up that path to stay with the horses until we return. And if we don’t come back, you’re getting on that speedy little pony of yours and riding to Rosasharon for help.”
“No,” I said, “everyone keeps leaving me. Please…”
“I know you’ve had a tough time of it, Silas, but—”
Whatever else he uttered was lost on me, because Mittenwool was suddenly right next to me. “Someone’s coming.”
“Shh!” I commanded.
“Now hold on!” the sheriff replied sternly, thinking I was shushing him.
“Someone’s coming!” I whispered, putting my fingers to my lips.
“What are you—” barked Deputy Beautyman, but Sheriff Chalfont pushed him to be quiet, and for a few seconds we were all frozen, listening.
All that could be heard was the sound of the Falls, which was now like a noise inside our minds, and the nickering of the horses, and the slapping water of the cataracts left and right of us. Deputy Beautyman, who was looking at me like he was ready to throttle me, was about to break the silence when a different sound reached us. The sound of splashing, a little heavier than the slap-slap-slap of the cataracts. Then the sound of men’s voices.
The three of us crouched low to the ground and hugged the shadowed wall. We watched as Seb and Eben Morton waded waist-deep through the creek on the right of us. They held their rifles over their heads, as well as sacks containing what I presumed were their clothes, since they were shirtless in the water. They had obviously not seen us, nor had any inkling of the danger that awaited them on this side of the creek.
That could only mean one thing, of course. Marshal Farmer, bless his soul, had not been caught.
EIGHT
People only see what they are prepared to see.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson Journal entry, 1863
1
IT IS A MISCONCEPTION AMONG people who believe in these things that ghosts are somehow all-seeing, or all-knowing. They are not. They are bound by the same laws of the universe as the living. They’ll know what’s happening in the house they occupy, for instance, but won’t know what’s happening in a house down the street. Not if they’re not there. Maybe they can see a little more clearly and hear a little better than we can, but it’s not because the world is different for them than it is for us. It’s only because their perception is slightly different. Just like one person might see a color and perceive it to be blue, while another person can look at that same color and perceive it as green. Sure, you could argue that blue is blue and green is green, but have you not seen the way colors bleed in and out of each other, and change with the light, and reflect the things around them? Look at how a sunset bleeds into the sky. Or how a river is full of a multitude of colors. Anyway, ghosts go places and come places, but they are not everyplace at once. They are not gods. They are not angels. They are just people who have died.
I say this because, although Mittenwool knew that the Morton brothers were crossing the creek before I did, he did not know anything more about them than that. He didn’t know why they were coming, or if they knew we were here. As he crouched next to me in the shadows, I could tell he was as nervous for me as I was for myself. His heart was pounding.
“You stay down, Silas,” he whispered to me, as if the others could possibly hear him. “Stop playing the hero.”
“…not my fault there’s no food,” one of the Morton brothers was saying as they approached. “It’s the Plugs t
hat eat so much, not me. They should be the ones out hunting, not us. I’m sick and tired of apples.”
I could not tell their two moon-round faces apart, so in my head the one who’d just spoken was Seb. The other one, who was slightly taller and broader than his brother, was Eben.
They had almost finished crossing the creek and were now in knee-deep water, trudging through the current in their drawers.
“I personally don’t mind getting out of that cave,” Eben replied. He was in front. “Just so much of that stench a man can take.”
I immediately thought of the smell of sulfur, and how Pa’s collodion chemicals stank like rotten eggs.
“All I’m saying is, I don’t see why it’s only us doing the dirty work,” Seb griped.
“Who else is going to do it? It’s not like we’re smart enough to do the other stuff,” replied Eben. “So quit your whining. I’m sick of it.”
“I’m just cold, that’s all,” his brother whined.
“I’m just cold, that’s all. You’re sounding like Rufe now.”
They had cleared the water and thrown their dry clothes and rifles on the ground to wring out their wet drawers. It was precisely then that Sheriff Chalfont and Deputy Beautyman charged out of the bushes and tackled them with a fierceness I had not foreseen. It happened so quickly, and with such precision, there was barely a scuffle. The sheriff had his man facedown in the mud, rifle pointed at his cheek. The deputy’s man was pinned faceup, rifle pointed between his eyes.
“Say a word and I blow your head off,” Deputy Beautyman warned him.
“Silas,” Sheriff Chalfont called out, “get some rope. I saw some by the saddles.”
I did as he asked, and in no time the two brothers were tied fast, the ropes wound all the way around their mouths.
“Were these the men who took your pa?” Sheriff Chalfont asked me.
“Yes, sir. Two of them,” I reported. “Their names are Seb and Eben Morton. I don’t know which one is which.” I could tell from their reactions, the way their eyes took me in, that they remembered me well.
Sheriff Chalfont nudged the one I’d named Eben in my head with the tip of his rifle. “You answer my questions truthfully,” he said, “and I’ll tell the judge to go easy on you boys. He might even let you go free. Otherwise, you’re looking at quite a lot of time in the penitentiary. Just know this: if either one of you yells out, or does anything to annoy me, I’ll let my partner here kill your brother. He is very good at killing. We served together in Mexico, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Deputy Beautyman raised his eyebrows and nodded, almost comically. I could tell he and the sheriff had a long history together, the way they seemed to know each other’s minds. I also wondered if what the sheriff said was true about his deputy. I somehow believed it.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take the rope off your mouth,” Sheriff Chalfont continued, speaking to Eben, “and you’re going to answer my questions. If you do anything I don’t like, your brother’s a dead man. You understand?”
Both brothers blinked yes in exactly the same way, and Sheriff Chalfont lowered the rope from Eben’s mouth. Eben coughed and spat.
“Is it just the two of you out here?” Sheriff Chalfont asked him.
“Yes, sir,” answered Eben, his eyes dull and wide and scared.
“Is Roscoe Ollerenshaw in the cave?” asked the sheriff.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who is with him?”
“We don’t know all their names. But there’s Rufe Jones. There’s a little fella from up north. Don’t know his name, but his fingers are completely blue. And then there are two of Mr. Ollerenshaw’s men. His personal bodyguards. Don’t know their names, either, but Rufe says they’re Plug Uglies from Baltimore, so we call them the Plugs behind their backs. Plug One and Plug Two.”
“What about my pa?” I said. “Is he there?”
“Of course he’s there. Wasn’t counting him.”
“And what are they doing there?” asked Sheriff Chalfont.
“They’re printing money. That’s not really a crime, is it?”
“Why did they take this boy’s father?” asked Deputy Beautyman.
“He’s Mac Boat,” answered Eben.
“He is not!” I yelled, lunging at him.
Deputy Beautyman caught me by my collar and lifted me up, one-handed, like I was a puppy being picked up by the scruff of his neck.
“I’m just telling you what they told me!” Eben replied defensively. “They said he was a chemist or something like that, and Mr. Ollerenshaw needed his help figuring out this newfangled method for printing money because the little blue-fingered man, who was supposed to know how to do it, made a mess of things. Honestly, I don’t understand half of what they say.”
“Is the boy’s father cooperating?” asked Deputy Beautyman.
“Yes, sir,” Eben answered. “Mr. Ollerenshaw told him he’d let him go if he figured out how to print the banknotes. Which he did! Those banknotes look perfect now. You’d never know they weren’t real.”
“So they’re going to let him go!” I cried, still collared by the deputy.
Eben blinked a few times. “Well, that’s not what I heard, exactly.”
Deputy Beautyman released my collar now. I stumbled on the ground. He steadied me.
“What did you hear, exactly?” asked the sheriff.
Eben breathed in sharply. He avoided my gaze. “Just that, well, Mr. Ollerenshaw wanted him for something else, too—though we didn’t know about that at first! Apparently, there’s this trunk full of gold buried somewhere, and Mr. Ollerenshaw thinks Mac Boat—or whoever he is—knows where it is. That’s why we were supposed to bring the kid back with us, you see. Because Mr. Ollerenshaw was going to use the boy to get the father to tell him where the gold was hidden.”
Eben glanced over at his brother, who nodded at him to keep talking.
“Mr. Ollerenshaw was fit to be tied when we showed up without the kid,” Eben continued. “And on top of that, we lost his horse on the way back. A little white-faced thing, got away from us in the Woods. I’ve never seen Mr. Ollerenshaw look so mad! Anyway, Rufe Jones offered to go back and get the boy, but Mr. Ollerenshaw sent the blue-fingered man instead. The boy was gone by the time he got there, of course. Though the dog was there still. Bit his leg up awful bad.”
“Argos,” I whispered.
“How do you know all this?” Sheriff Chalfont asked him.
“Because the blue-fingered man got back to the cave yesterday,” Eben replied, “leg covered in chiggers. Most disgusting thing we ever saw. Almost threw up, we did.”
“What did Ollerenshaw do when Blue Fingers showed up without the boy?” Sheriff Chalfont asked.
Eben raised one of his shoulders, like he was trying to scratch his ear. “Well, sir,” he drawled reluctantly, “he had the Plugs give Mac Boat a real working-over, that’s what he did.”
I felt my heart clench at those words. Breathless, they left me.
“He gave him until tomorrow morning to tell him where the gold is, or else,” added Eben.
“But my pa doesn’t know where the gold is!” I cried.
Eben looked at me, openmouthed, blinking that slow blink of his. “Well, Mr. Ollerenshaw thinks he does.”
I clasped my hands over my head, looking at the sheriff with desperation. “We have to go get my pa now!”
The sheriff would not allow for distractions. “What about the marshal?” he continued calmly. “Did you find an old man in the Woods?”
“An old man? No, sir!”
“Please, Sheriff, we have to go get my pa!” I pleaded.
But Eben had more to say.
“Look, Mr. Sheriff, sir,” he entreated, staring up at the sheriff with puppy dog eyes now. “You see how
much I’m cooperating, right? I’ve told you everything I know. Will you please let us go? Truth is, we didn’t even know Mr. Ollerenshaw before a couple of months ago. My brother and me, we were just heading to California to pan for gold. We were going to find ourselves a gold mine, strike it rich, and open up a candy shop somewhere. That was the plan. But we ran out of money by the time we got to Akron, and that’s when we met Rufe Jones. He told us we’d make a lot more working for him than we would mining for gold. So that’s what we did. It was such easy work, too! He’d give us money to spend, and our job was to spend it!”
“But it was counterfeit money you were spending,” replied Sheriff Chalfont. “You knew that, didn’t you? You were boodle carriers. What you were doing was illegal.”
“Well, we knew it was illegal, but we didn’t know it was a crime!” blubbered Eben, his cheeks shiny with tears. “We thought it was a nice idea, frankly, printing enough money so everyone could have some. Didn’t seem like it could hurt anybody.”
Deputy Beautyman snickered.
“But we see the error of our ways now!” Eben avowed quickly, his eyes darting back and forth between the two lawmen. “We are very, very repentant, sirs. And right now, really, all we were doing was hunting rabbits for those bad men. That’s all. We don’t want to be mixed up with any of this anymore. Please, let us go. We won’t tell Mr. Ollerenshaw you’re here. We’ll just get on our way to California.”
“You ever kill anyone?” asked the sheriff.
“No! We have never. I swear on the Almighty!”
I only now realized how young the brothers were. Not yet eighteen, from what I could tell, for all the tufts of hair growing on their chins. They were big, and had soft faces and delicate lips. They were not monsters, but fools.
Sheriff Chalfont scratched his forehead. “What do you think, Jack?”
The deputy pursed his lips, then spat a fresh wad of tobacco juice in front of Eben.
“Is there only one way in and out of the cave?” he asked him fiercely.
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