Chapter 12 #2
Morgan knew it might take a whole lot of tracking. Boone did too. But the sun was setting, and if he didn’t go after Delaney, he probably couldn’t stop Boone from going. He looked at Roz, who was already on horseback. It appeared that the petite woman had set herself up as his bodyguard.
“All right then.” Morgan looked at Jesse, afraid the youngster would ask to come along to hunt for an escaped killer.
Jesse arched a brow and shook his head as if he’d put up with his ma’s nonsense all his life. He tossed another stick on the fire.
Morgan shared a long look with Boone, then when he was sure the wounded man was paying attention, he slid his eyes toward Sly.
The outlaw was a dangerous man. Even tied up and unconscious, Boone understood he needed to be on guard.
The kid, well, he seemed to have inherited his mother’s pluck, so he might be a handful for a wounded man.
Morgan had been studying tracks since they got back with Sly. He hadn’t gone into the woods to look further, yet he knew right where to start.
There’d been no effort to cover any tracks. While the going was rough, passing through woods thick with underbrush, it was fairly simple to choose which way to go.
As they rode along, Morgan, knowing speed wasn’t going to be a factor in this hunt, said, “What happened to your husband, Roz? You said he’s been dead for most of the boy’s life.”
“Pa died right after Jesse was born,” she said, “so I was thankful to have him. I found out soon after I’d married Herman that he was a no-account.
But Pa pushed me into marrying the man when he showed up at our ranch and settled in to stay.
Now I suspect Pa was feeling poorly and was worried about me being alone out there.
He saw a chance to round me up a husband and did so.
I didn’t care overly. Herman seemed tough enough and reminded me of Pa with his mountain-loving ways.
I soon realized he was different from Pa in some real important ways.
Pa figured it out too when Herman took off on a long hunt about the time I started getting round with a child.
Herman didn’t come back for six months. And he died before Jesse was two years old.
The boy doesn’t have a memory of his pa, and I’ve certainly got no stories to tell about him. ”
Morgan nodded along as she spoke. He felt terrible that Herman hadn’t done right by Roz.
“Oh, he was a charmer, good-looking—that much I can say. And I was lonely. Didn’t take long after we were married to find out Herman liked his liquor.
He rode off hunting it often enough. Fancied himself a mountain man, and I suppose he trapped furs.
But if he did trap, he traded the furs for cash money without bringing any of it home to his wife and son.
When I married him, he was the only man who’d come by for years, not including your pa and a few old-timers who stopped by on occasion. ”
“Sounds like Herman left not long after you got married. So it was just you, your pa, and Jesse?” Morgan shook his head.
“That’s right,” said Roz. “Then a few months later, Pa took sick and died. Jesse and I lived in the cabin alone most of his first winter. Eventually, Herman wandered by and stayed for a stretch. It didn’t suit him that Pa had died, though.
It took me a while to figure out that was because Pa saw to hunting food. ”
“Don’t you have a herd of cattle? Why the need to hunt?”
“Pa always preferred wild game. Said he wanted to get the herd to growing so we’d have a steady income in his old age. He was ‘building for the future,’ he liked to say.”
“If your pa looked to the herd for money, he must’ve had plans to drive the cattle to town. What trail was he planning to use? Not this sidewinder of a trail. Maybe a mountain-bred longhorn could tackle it, but it’d be hard to convince ’em it was a good idea.”
Roz turned to look at him. “You know, you’re right. We’ve got a few more hair-raising stretches to go, too. But the few times we rode to town, we went the way I’m going now. I’ve no idea if there’s another trail to town. If there is, I’ve not seen it.”
“What did Herman do next? You with a baby and with your pa gone, surely he figured it best that he stay for a while.”
“Nope. With winter coming on and the pelts getting thick on the beaver, Herman took off again. He came riding in the next summer, but by then he was dying. He’d injured his foot somehow, and it was turning black.
Red streaks most of the way to his hip.” Her face twisted at the memory.
“It was an awful sight. It needed to be amputated, but he wouldn’t allow it.
His condition grew worse and fast, until one day he lost consciousness.
And there was no reason to torture him further by removing the foot when it was hopeless.
I reckon it was hopeless from the start. ”
Morgan lifted his eyes from the trail. The sunlight was fading, and if they didn’t find Owen soon, they’d be in trouble. “You had to dig holes for two men in a little over a year’s time?”
“I did. Digging Pa’s grave near to broke my heart.” Roz fell silent for a minute.
Morgan didn’t know if she’d go on, and he didn’t know what to say next.
“Digging Herman’s grave, well, he wasn’t much help when he was home and was gone most of the time.
A few dreams died when I realized he wasn’t going to stay.
I’d hoped he’d see our land as his now and decide to help out.
My heart wasn’t broken when I dug his. I was grateful, though, the ground wasn’t frozen, and it was hard digging with a toddler wanting to climb down into the hole. Beyond that, I wasn’t much affected.”
Her tone, her expression, told him she’d been badly affected, but he didn’t badger her to admit it.
“How about you, Morgan? You went to war. You were my only friend, and I thought we meant something to each other.”
It was Morgan’s turn to think a while before he spoke.
“I don’t know what gets into a boy, or even a man, but I was crazy to go to war.
It was worse after Gavin left. Then I got to where the fighting was .
. . and it was a living nightmare. I should’ve stayed home.
” He glanced over at her. “Should’ve stayed with you. ”
“A living nightmare? What do you mean?”
“Such a question, and not easily answered. I was a drummer.”
“A drummer. They have boys playing the drum in war?”
“Yep, and other boys played the fife. The men would march along, keeping in step thanks to us. It seemed odd, but they recruited boys as young as ten to play the fife and drum.”
“Makes war sound almost fun.”
“It wasn’t. I didn’t pick up a rifle until one day a soldier ahead of me was killed.
His gun landed at my feet. I picked it up because I was scared and the enemy was coming.
It was a Springfield repeating rifle, which you can shoot for a time without reloading.
When I added my skill to the battle, well, I won’t say I saved the Union single-handedly, but I helped hold the line—helped a lot.
My superiors found out my aim was solid, my hands were steady, and my thinking quick.
After that I was one of the rifle brigade.
I didn’t have to do it for long, though.
By that time, the war was mostly over, and we were cleaning things up.
The renegade Confederates were brutal and killed without remorse, even when they knew they’d lost the war.
Fighting in the war led me to the Marshals Service. ”
He’d been badly affected, too, and hoped she wouldn’t badger him about it. He’d been sixteen when he killed a man for the first time. He remembered that day like it was written in fire across his soul.
“Why didn’t you come back?”
Morgan pondered her question. He’d wanted to come back. He’d planned to. But Pa made it impossible. He should have come anyway, except he’d been hurt by Pa’s ugly letter and by the viciousness of war. Finally, he replied, “I don’t really know. I can’t say . . .”
They rode on in silence for a while, then, looking sideways at her, he asked, “You’re not letting me out of your sight, are you?”
She gave him a quirky smile that reminded him of her as a youngster. “See if I don’t, Morgan Sawyer. Just see if I don’t.”
“So you saw my pa for a while after I left?”
She nodded. “He left after he learned that Gavin died. Before that, he’d wander over to our place about once a month and stay to drink coffee and tell stories by the fire with Pa. Then one day he came and told us he’d received word that Gavin had died, and he was leaving the country.”
“Did he accuse me of killing Gavin?”
Roz was suddenly busy straightening her reins when they were as straight as could be already.
Morgan took that to mean his pa had accused him of exactly that.
He reached across to settle his hand on top of hers.
“I didn’t. I never fought near him. I got as close to home as Elk Point, where I found a letter waiting for me.
It was from Pa. I tore it open and found the letter he’d gotten from Gavin saying where he’d been fighting, and it was a long way from where I was.
And there was a second letter, real short and real mean, accusing me of killing my own brother. ”
The two of them continued to wind their way through the woods, following the trail in front of them. Morgan could see that Clive, Owen, and Delaney had ridden through at a gallop, and they were lucky to have survived it and not killed themselves or their horses.
“I’ll tell you true, Morg, when your pa came through saying he was heading west, he wasn’t in his right mind, not in my opinion.
He spoke against you, and I tried to stop him, tell him how sorry I was about Gavin.
That he still had a son who was alive, and he owed it to you to be here waiting when you came home.
He could grieve the dead without turning away from the living. ”