Samuel
SAMUEL
A bang woke me with a sudden jerk, and I watched as dust floated from the rafters overhead. The musty debris tickled my nose, forcing me to wrinkle it before I sneezed. The dry spot in my throat had grown since whenever I’d dozed off, but I knew there was no point in asking for water. It wouldn’t come until the mean bastard on the other side of the wall behind me felt like it.
Which wasn't all that often because I could feel the familiar sensation of my head trying to float off my neck. It made me almost mourn the sweat leaving my body as I sat on the hard-packed dirt, staring at the small window with bars and wondering how long I’d been asleep. There wasn't a lot of sunlight coming into the building, so I couldn't track the time very well. If I had to guess, it was only a few hours, but that was based on the ache in my back from sitting hunched against the wall. It was dull and growing, but considering it hadn't been what woke me up, I hadn't been there long.
My eyes drifted to my two companions in the cell, both as charming as they were ugly. They had taken the planks of wood that were supposed to be beds. I couldn't imagine they were any more comfortable, but at least they were off the floor. I wasn't worried about the dirt. I was filthy by the time I was dragged in here anyway. I just didn't relish laying on the cool dirt where the bugs crawled.
One of them was still snoring away, doing an unconscious but incredible impression of a wounded bull. The other was facing me, one eye staring me down. To say that none of us were friends was putting it mildly. Yet despite our...vigorous scuffle on the first day, they had kept to themselves. Mostly because I’d managed to break one's nose, which hadn't done his looks any favors, and the other had been knocked even more stupid when he was thrown into the wall.
So, maybe they hated me, maybe they were afraid of me. Honestly, whatever kept them from giving me more trouble worked for me. Still, either of those motivations could make me a prime target for an attack from them, so it was best to sleep lightly, given that Broken Nose had been staring at me while I slept.
"Evenin'," I said to him, knowing it was downright stupid to prod a man I'd already hurt, but my mother had always been fond of telling me that my mouth liked to get ahead of my brain.
I wasn't surprised when his eyes narrowed, and his lip curled before he closed his eyes again. So either he wasn't worried about what I might do to him, or he was just pretending to be asleep. It was pretty obvious that Knocked Stupid wasn't all that worried about either of us from the sounds of his snoring. What a merry trio we were.
Minutes passed before a large clang echoed through the stale air, and I smirked when Broken Nose visibly flinched. Apparently, he wasn't as casual about sleeping around me as he had made out. It wasn't like I hadn't jerked a little, but neither of them saw that, so I was still ahead. Knocked Stupid hadn't even twitched in his sleep, and now I wondered if it was from the knock on the head the other day or if he didn’t care. I kind of hoped it wasn't the first. I'd seen what could happen to people after a bad bump, even a few days later. The guy was a bastard, but I didn't want to be responsible for him dying...not that I’d shed tears if someone else did it.
"Up!" came the bark of command from the familiar voice of the bailiff, deputy, or warden of the jail, whatever title he wanted to have for the day. Another voice rumbled quietly, and while I couldn't understand the words, I recognized the sheriff's voice. He was a decent sort. At least he hadn't beaten the crap out of me when he'd arrested me, which in these parts was practically a recommendation for sainthood. The holder of the keys in the jail was a different sort of nasty beast.
"You know," I said loudly as I pushed to my feet, using the bars of the cell because my stiff knees were no help. "I always wondered what separates a man from a beast. I guess it just requires bars."
"Shut it," the bailiff snarled as he and the sheriff appeared. There were two people behind him that I could see in the gloom of the jail, but it seemed like they were paying attention pretty intently. "Don't need to hear your smart mouth."
"Consider it a bonus," I said with a sigh, stretching my arms toward the ceiling with a groan. "You leave me in here for days with the absolute best sort of company and expect I won't want to talk?"
One of the men in the back murmured something, but the sheriff spoke up. “All three of you, let's get you up and into the sun."
Broken Nose scowled, and his uglier-than-before nose, thick brows that seemed to threaten to overtake his entire face, fat, broken lips, and the pockmarks in his skin did precisely nothing to improve his appearance. Then again, I probably didn't look much better after the past couple of weeks. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair was the color of dirt rather than the 'gold' my mother had always called it. Really, it was just yellow.
My eyes, which normally drew attention with their bright gray color, probably looked more like faint pinpricks of light among the dark circles, along with the dirt. I guess my nose had once been pretty fair if you were into noses, but one too many scuffles over the years had broken it and left it crooked...twice. The last I’d seen, I had the face of someone forever stuck between a man and a boy, somehow soft and hard, but I’d bet the past year of hard living had thinned the child fat right out of my face, and now I probably looked gaunt.
As my mother would quote, if she weren't horrified at what had become of me, ‘Let he who is without sin?—'
"All three of us?" Broken Nose said after his ugly scowl. "There's more than that here."
"And that's all we're taking with us right now," the sheriff said, and despite being accused of being a talker, I could appreciate a straight shooter who didn't need to say much to get their point across.
"And so the Lord sayeth," I said with a snort. Authority was all well and good, but I'd had enough of it in my lifetime not to take it seriously all the time...or most of the time unless it was accompanied by a gun leveled at my face. That, at least, was pretty good at making me behave for a while.
To his credit, the sheriff eyed me but didn't feel the need to wave his self-appointed badge around to make me stop mouthing off as he motioned for the bailiff to unlock the cell door. I couldn't say if he knew it, but that kind of calm, steady attitude in the face of what would have been a challenge to his authority made him even more authoritative...and scary, for that matter. There were plenty of dense assholes out there who probably thought his lack of response was a sign of weakness, but I'd learned a long time ago that ego barked and power whispered.
Which was all I needed to realize to step out into the dim hallway, wondering what kind of person could make a building so goddamned dismal and dim in a place that was constantly sunny and bright. That had probably been the entire purpose of the place at the start, but damn, with how easy it could be to get locked up in these places, one had to wonder how evil someone like that had to be. At least it wasn't like the last jail I’d been in, which had been built at ground level rather than a few feet below so everyone inside would roast alive without actually dying...most of the time.
It took them a moment to wake up Knocked Stupid because he hadn't even bothered to stir to life during the whole conversation. Broken Nose looked as surly as ever as we marched out into the hallway. I couldn't blame him; he had a fighter's spirit, but he didn't seem to be all that stupid. You'd have to be practically brain-dead to try escaping from the law when you were stuffed into a narrow passageway with two people who were armed. Although I didn't know the strangers around these parts, it was always safe to assume that everyone was loaded with iron.
"Let's go," the sheriff rumbled once Knocked Stupid was awake and understood what was going on. "We don't have all day."
Which wasn't strictly true, as the three of us prisoners had all the time in the world. It wasn't as though we had anywhere to go, even if there was somewhere we’d rather be. It was funny, I'd broken out of jails before and in places with a lot more people than whatever town I’d been dragged to after my arrest. Yet this random, seemingly unimportant town managed to have a jail that was well-made, which was...interesting.
I was still wincing as I was led out into the baking heat, which told me it was the latter half of the afternoon because I wasn't sweating nearly as much as I could be. Dust billowed in the air, threatening to choke us, but thankfully, it wasn't that bad out today. The dozen buildings I could see had people standing near them as onlookers peered out to see what was going on.
It wasn't all that strange. People loved a public display, especially when it involved criminals. After all, criminals weren't people. So you could observe and enjoy what was done to them—stupid...bars.
"Well," I said with a grunt. “I guess here we are in all our beauty."
That drew every pair of eyes to me, and every single one looked unimpressed with my attempted wit—something I was used to. I could see the other two people I hadn’t recognized. Both were men, one older, closer to the sheriff in age. Apparently, he’d seen just as much if the lines on his forehead were a sign. Maybe in his younger days, he’d been handsome, but now, all I could see was a coldness that detracted from his features.
Finally, the fourth member of what felt like an evaluation team was probably my age but slightly taller, which was a feat in itself. He was also slightly narrower in the shoulders but thicker. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to call him handsome. Maybe it was his serious expression that felt like home or that he appeared slightly weathered from years of hard work in the sun.
I was a sucker for a hardworking man, but there were worse vices I could have.
The resemblance between the two was noticeable so I took them to be father and son. The younger seemed slightly less cold than his father, which made him less intimidating. I wasn’t going to assume he was harmless. It struck me that he was trying for the same coldness, but it just came across as surly.
"What did I tell ya about that mouth?" the bailiff snarled, stepping toward me.
"I've been told a lot of things about my mouth. The two I hear the most are that it's pretty or annoying," I said, eyeing him. "Kind of hoping you're part of the second group."
I didn't know if he was taking me at my word, but he definitely recognized the insult for what it was and took a step toward me again. Only for the sheriff to put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. The bailiff glowered at me, and I wondered if perhaps goading the man who had already been withholding food and water from me was such a good idea.
"You," the sheriff said. "Quiet."
I sighed and gave him a helpless little shrug as if to say, 'What can you do?' His silent stare told me what I could do was shut my mouth and keep it that way. To which I could only raise a brow as if to say that I could keep my mouth shut, but don't bet on it lasting long. His lingering look before turning away said he was wondering how I had lived this long with a mouth like mine, and honestly, I didn't know.
Or at least that's how the conversation felt like it went. I wasn't a mind reader.
"These the best you got?" the older stranger grunted, staring over the three of us. He struck me as the kind of man with standards too high for anyone to reach and refusing to back down.
"You're not exactly going to find prime picks here, James," the sheriff muttered. "These three are the least starved and troublesome we've got."
"Then why are they beat up?" the younger man asked, his eyes settling on me as he looked over my face and the healing busted lip. "Some worse than others."
"You can't lock men like this up together without a few scraps," the sheriff said, not sounding sorry in the least.
I grinned at the younger man, remembering my silent promise to be quiet, and gave a little shrug. It wasn't my fault the two men had come out of that fight worse than I had. Well, okay, I supposed technically that was my fault, as I’d been the one doing the most damage and avoiding what they were trying to do to me. That wasn't quite the same thing as it being all my fault that they were angry men who thought that between the two of them, they could take me. They hadn't been the first to underestimate me, and life had already taught me they wouldn't be the last.
The younger man scowled at me as he dropped his voice. “Dad?—"
"I know," his father said, his piercing gaze resting on me for a few beats longer than the other two. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Then again, I didn't know what all this was about. For all I knew, these two were only here to watch us get dragged out of our hole and blink up at the sun in confusion. "But we don't have much choice. Take what the Lord gives you and be grateful for the chance."
I didn't know what that meant, but it sounded pretty insulting for the three of us. I wasn't sure what God had to do with the situation, and if the doubtful look on the younger man's face was any indication, I wasn't alone in that. Still, it seemed smart to keep my opinion to myself. Not because I cared about their feelings or patience but because something significant was going on, and I wanted to figure it out.
"Could always go to West Mesa," the younger man muttered. "Bound to find plenty?—"
"That'll take too long. You should know that," the older man said sharply, and I almost felt bad when he followed up with, “You're smarter than that, Ambrose, so act like it."
Ambrose took the criticism stoically, but there was no missing the flash of pain that crossed his features before he bowed his head and stepped back. Unbelievably, when his eyes met mine, I saw a wave of anger that felt like it should have scorched the fuzzy patches of hair that had grown during my luxury stay. Clearly, he wasn't a fan of someone witnessing his exchange with his father, and with a Dad that harsh, I couldn't blame him, but it wasn't like I had anything else to watch.
"And," the sheriff added after a moment, clearly unfazed by the family drama happening around him, "you'd be doin' me a favor. A big one."
"I owe ya," the older man said with a grunt. "And an Isaiah remembers what they owe."
"If that's how you wanna look at it, be my guest, James," the sheriff said with a twitch of his mustache. "Will they do?"
"Not so sure about that one," James said, nodding toward Knocked Stupid. "Looks about ready to fall over at any moment."
Which wasn't wrong. Knocked Stupid wasn't looking so great despite having been awake for a bit. He was swaying a little and didn't realize what was happening around him. That, or he was just really good at pretending he wasn't doing so great. If that was the case, he was a better actor than I was.
All eyes turned to Knocked Stupid, who was either a phenomenal actor who should have answered his calling or was so oblivious because of his head wound that he didn't know he was alive, let alone the focus of attention. It was, in fact, a perfect moment for someone like me, who had drifted from everyone's attention. Now that I’d shut my mouth, everyone's attention was on the drooling idiot. Sure, my stamina and strength weren't the best, but a burst of speed along with the element of surprise would?—
Ah, Ambrose was watching me. I could see the way his eyes flicked toward me and then back to the man in question. He was wary of me, which was funny considering the weak state I was left in from being in jail. Which meant he wasn’t underestimating me as much as I’d like, or he disliked me that much he felt the need to keep an eye on me.
Well, it wasn't like I’d make it far, even if I made a break for it. I knew the area well enough to know there wasn't another town for quite a while, and it took little time to die in a place like this. Especially when you were already lacking water and food in your body, let alone your supplies. It had been an impulsive thought, and I was almost grateful for Ambrose's paranoid stare.
Almost.
"In any case," James said after a moment, turning back to the three of us instead of the one still barely functioning as a person. "These three should do fine. They're able enough to work."
"I beg your pardon?" I blurted out, taken aback and shocked into speech again.
I wasn't surprised when Ambrose scowled at me, and James stared with something like curiosity for the briefest of moments. It was enough of a look to remind me I needed to tread carefully as far as the older man was concerned. Cold he might have been, but that ice wall around him didn't prevent him from seeing things clearly. I wasn't sure if his son was the same, but I needed to be careful around both of them if I wanted even the slightest hope of getting away with anything while they were around.
"You're going to work," James said to me as if that answered everything.
"Work?" I wondered aloud, trying to figure out what that would entail...which could be a lot. The idea of law and justice could get...shaky and unpredictable. Work this far west could mean anything from slaving away in a mine until you dropped under the offer of freedom once you’d worked off your crime. It could also mean being made to do some basic, usually demeaning work for weeks or months with the slight possibility of being eventually let go.
Or you were just dragged out into some far-flung harsh land and either left there to die or shown some sliver of mercy and shot dead and left for the carrion birds.
"I hoped you’d at least have understood the idea better," the sheriff said dryly. "See, here's how it's gonna work, boys. You three, along with everyone we've had to shove into that fine jail of ours, are a problem. Mostly because there's too many of you to keep, and I got a couple that are wanted up near East Mesa. Gonna be a few weeks 'til they can get here, though, but there ain't no one out here lookin' for you. At least not yet. I got a feeling you three probably don't want anyone to come looking for you."
Ambrose, apparently having recovered from the blow to his pride, stirred to life with a frown, an expression I was beginning to think was the only one he knew. "Why, what did they do?"
"Well, these two got nabbed from a little spat. Part of what they called The Family over in East Mesa; don't let the name fool ya, though. Ain't one thing about them that's like a family," the sheriff said with a shrug. "Just a bunch of criminals, killers, rapists, thieves, robbers, you name it. But they ain't the worst out there, I'm sure ya know."
I grimaced as his eyes swiveled to me. “And this one?"
"Enough," James said softly, shaking his head. "I just need to know if they're of sound mind and body. The nature of their spirit and heart is between them and the Lord."
"Well, can't speak for the state they're in now," the sheriff said with a shrug. "But I'm sure you could get them into decent shape and get some long-term use out of them. Or run 'em down. What goes on on your ranch is up to you."
Again, I was struck by the difference between father and son. James stared back at the sheriff as if inviting him to say more, listening to him with little or complete disinterest or warning him. Quite honestly, it was frustrating and fascinating how impossible it was to read the man and his intentions.
When I was a boy, I had gone walking after a particularly brutal couple of weeks of storms during the cold winter far north and east of here. I hadn't realized it until my footing slid, but I had stepped onto the ice. It was the first time I’d experienced something so brutal and unforgiving as that winter, having always lived in milder places. The idea that ice could grow so thick from the cold that it wouldn't break under my weight was fascinating, and I spent longer than I should on that sheet of ice, admiring how implacable and unyielding it was...kind of like this man.
His son, however, felt more like a cheap duplicate of his father. Almost like an apprentice clockmaker who knew how to put a clock back together because he’d seen it done hundreds of times and yet couldn't tell you what the pieces were for or how exactly the clock worked or could be improved. He tried for the cold stoicism of his father, but there were too many cracks in his facade for it to work. The emotions still found ways to get through and show themselves to anyone who paid attention, especially when you caught him right after something happened.
Ambrose wasn't happy with what the sheriff had to say. Now, whether that was because he didn't like the idea of taking a trio of criminals to his ranch or because he was offended that the sheriff hinted something nasty could happen to us on the ranch, I didn’t know. I would give him some credit at least; he wasn't as good at concealing everything like his father was, but there were still things, nuances, that were lost that I couldn't pick out from under his attempted stoic mask.
"That said," the sheriff said, turning back toward us, "you three seem more than capable of doing more than sitting around, waiting for judgment day to come, unlike some here and others whose judgment day is only a couple of months away. So instead, I'm gonna be nice to you folks, probably nicer than you've been to good people in a long time, if ya ever have at all."
Which was a lot of assumption, but who could blame him when he had arrested all three of us? It wasn't like our pasts were going to say good things about us. It was probably nothing to assume we'd been rotten from start to finish. Of course, it was ridiculous to assume that a baby could live a life of crime and wickedness, but I wasn't going to argue. I'd probably just get thrown in jail again to rot away until I starved or keeled over from the heat.
"So," he continued, "instead of being locked up like you deserve, you three are going to go work at the nearby ranch, understood? You're gonna work your butts as hard as James and his people say, and you're going to take whatever they give ya in return. And if you behave, I might just consider not dragging you back here and hanging you for the outlaws and murderers you are."
"Do what I say, murderers, or we'll kill you," I said, wondering if irony existed in his dictionary. From his dry look, irony might not have been a word he knew, but he was intelligent enough to understand I was mocking him.
"And that one, you can let rot for all I care," the sheriff said, finally letting his irritation at me show.
"That's...fair," I noted and then grew quiet as I watched while Broken Nose finally caught up with the rest of us.
"Now, hold on," he snarled. "We ain't been given what we were owed! We're s’posed to go afore a judge! S’posed to have a trial!"
"You boys sure do love living by the way it works out here until it bites you in the ass," the sheriff said with a snort. "I am your judge, your jury, and if you want, I can be the man who hangs you too. Or you can be a smart son of a bitch for the first time in your life and take the good deal you're being given. Which you would, if you had the brains the Lord saw fit to give to a prairie dog."
"We're just lettin' 'em go?" the bailiff asked, and I wondered if Knocked Stupid might be a contender for the most brain-dead person in this weird show.
The sheriff gave him a pointed look. “Weren't you just bellyachin' yesterday that watching and listening to them all day was driving you crazy? Well, here's the solution, and the biggest pain in the ass is going with them, so you come out on top."
That...was probably me.
"Don't seem right, is all," the bailiff muttered, clearly annoyed to lose toys he could play with by starving and mocking them whenever they called for water or hurt themselves. The line between justice and cruelty was as thin as the one between a righteous man and a tyrant, and my chubby little friend here loved to pretend to be on one side of the line so he could reap the benefits of the other.
"You're damned right it ain't right," Broken Nose snarled. "I ain't bustin' my back to work for some random asshole just cuz you say I broke the law. Prove it!"
"You were caught after your friends decided they weren't going to stick around and help you when you got hurt fighting us," the sheriff said dryly. "The only one who had any decency in your group is that fellow there who stayed behind, trying to help you."
"Well, you didn't catch me in the middle of any gunfight," I pointed out.
His eyes narrowed. “And if you don't think we didn't recognize the Old Boys symbol on the inside of your shirt, then you must think we're stupid or blind."
"Now, I don't think it's in my best interest to try and guess how stupid you are," I said with a slow smile. "But that's not proof. C'mon, anyone can find clothes and put them on."
"And anyone can lie through their teeth, which you do quite a lot," he said. "Either take the offer or go back to the cell until I figure out what else to do with you...if you survive that long."
I didn't consider that a threat, as the sheriff struck me as the kind of man that, if he intended to kill you, would just let you know outright. No, I think he was aware of the conditions of his jail and the chances that we’d make it another week or two. That or he was aware he had a monster on a short chain as his bailiff and knew our chances were dwindling every day while he was in charge.
Not that I needed a threat to see the writing on the wall. It was the only chance I would get not to rot in jail. Sure, I might find a way to get out of the cell. I might be smart enough for that. The problem was, this town was the only one for miles and by now, everyone knew what I looked like. There was no way for me to get away after breaking out without ending up back in the cell or dead.
Working my butt off at a ranch didn't sound appealing, but it was the one chance I had. Maybe I would end up getting worked to death, or maybe, just maybe, they might follow through on their word and let me go. Of course, that meant taking them at their word, which...again, trusting the law in a place like this was a dangerous and unpredictable game.
Still, I wasn't a betting man, but I knew how to handle odds when needed. Staying here meant inevitable death, either by starvation and dehydration or from the heat that would eventually bake me alive. Going to the ranch and working would mean the possibility of death from whatever might happen out there, and that included them going back on their word. I would take possibility over certainty any day, especially regarding my life.
"I ain't workin' on no ranch," Broken Nose said, and I sighed, rolling my eyes. I could see his pride swelling from the apparent wound it had taken at the mere idea of working on a ranch. I didn't know if it was because he hated being pushed into something against his will or was that opposed to the idea of a hard day's work. There were outlaws out there who saw the idea of honest work as blasphemous.
"Then get your ass back in the cell, and we'll get the rest of them moving," the sheriff said, and I truly believed he didn't care one way or the other. All that mattered to him was that he got his problem taken care of so he could move on to the next step in whatever plan was in his head.
"Well, unlike my, uh...aesthetically challenged friend here, I don't have a problem with it," I said with a shrug. "What's a little slave labor to work off my debt to society? Plus, if you're on such good terms with the righteous and honorable sheriff here, I don't see a problem agreeing. You seem like men of your word."
"More than could be said of you," the sheriff said, and despite everything, he sounded amused. I didn't want to dare think maybe I’d finally managed to do more than irritate him, but in this life, you took what you could get, even if it came in small pieces that barely fed you.
Again, it was impossible to tell if James had a single thought about what was happening as he watched us. His son's expression soured slightly when I agreed to take the offer, but that didn't surprise me; he didn't seem happy about the deal in the first place. Then again, that could just be a dislike of me, which seemed to be pretty common around here. Then again, after years of honing my specific type of...charm, I’d found that people weren't all that fond of me, especially when they were supposed to be in positions of authority or power over me. And to think, those were the ones who accused me of having problems with authority and enjoying starting trouble.
Me? Never.
Yet right now, I had trouble in heaps, which meant it was time to show the brains I swore up and down I had and bite my tongue to let things play out. Knocked Stupid still seemed barely to understand what was happening, but if he did, he wasn't bothered by the change in his affairs. Broken Nose, however, was still fuming, and I wondered if I was about to watch him be even more stupid than I’d already seen and he was preparing to put up an even bigger fight that would inevitably turn ugly, or he was going to fume and save the stupidity for a later day.
"Ain't nothin' we can do," Knocked Stupid piped up, surprising me. His face was still pretty vacant, and his voice sounded distant, but his words were as clear as a bell. "Let it go, Jo. Ain't no point in fightin', we're cooked."
And it was damn good advice, so apparently, some parts of his brain were still functioning. To my surprise, it also managed to drain some of the color and anger out of Broken Nose's face as his shoulders slumped. That, more than anything, surprised me because he hadn't struck me as an understanding or patient man, and definitely not one that could be easily talked down when he was riled up. It seemed the two men were closer than I thought, far closer than two men who’d belonged to the same outlaw gang, that was for sure.
Interesting, at least that explained why they had tried to make an example of me without seeming to have exchanged words while I was in earshot. Of course, that also meant I now knew the two of them were close and willing to work together in the future. It wasn't guaranteed that that would be a problem for me, but I might need to keep an eye out for it in the future.
"Fine," Broken Nose grunted after a moment. "I better not be shovelin' shit for the rest of my life."
James watched him for a moment before adjusting his hat. “That'll do. Ambrose, go get the horses. I hope you boys are fit enough to ride."
"Not so sure about all of us," I said, eyeing Knocked Stupid to make my point.
"There's ways around it," James grunted, the first words he'd directed at me. "Get moving. And don't make me bring out the iron to bring you back either."
My nose wrinkled at the mention. I didn't particularly relish the idea of being slapped in irons again. It had happened a few too many times in my life, though anything above zero was too much as far as I was concerned. And I didn't particularly like how he looked at me when he said it.
"Don't worry about me," I assured him. "It's my mouth that runs freely, not my legs."
"Good," he grunted, and again, I had no idea if he believed me, disliked me, or simply saw me as a pair of hands he could use on his ranch and nothing beyond that. It was probably better that he didn't notice my existence often. I wasn't all that fond of dealing with people I couldn't anticipate, and he was definitely the worst I'd met...so far.
The sheriff walked off with James to talk to him out of earshot. I couldn't make out any snippets from how low they were talking, and they were turned away, so I couldn't make out their expressions either. Apparently, I was going to go into this blindly, so I’d have to stay on my toes.
"Alright," James said as he turned around at the sound of horses approaching, "here's how it's going to work. We're going to get you boys back to the ranch and get you set up. Ain't gonna be pretty, but it'll be somewhere to sleep and rest when you ain't workin'. If you think you can behave yourselves on the way there, we might even think about letting you get cleaned up and rested since I'm sure you ain't exactly been livin' good lately."
Which was an understatement of incredible proportions, but I wasn't going to point that out, especially since I was sure he already had an idea of what we’d gone through. Plus, he didn't seem the type to care much about our problems. Still, he was at least going to give us a chance to get back on our feet a bit before throwing us into work. I wasn't going to mark that as Christian charity despite his religious words earlier, that seemed more like a practical decision than a moral one. What good was it to have three run-down people working for you if they were just going to drop in a week or two?
"Decide not to behave, and we'll find a way to keep you in one place," James told us with the same level of calm and disinterest as before. "And I feel I should point out that we don't have a jail on our ranch. So think about where you’ll find yourself chained up if you start any problems on the way there, understood?"
"Sure do," I said, flashing him a smile that I wasn't surprised he didn't bat an eye at.
"Here they are," Ambrose said, and I turned to find him standing with a group of horses and watching everyone with the same unhappy expression he'd left with. There were exactly enough horses, which meant they’d planned to grab three of us, or they’d been willing to make others walk if they found more. It was probably the first, as James didn't strike me as the type to set out for Rapture unless he knew exactly what he was getting.
"Think you can manage a horse?" James asked as he nodded toward the animals. All of them looked clean and well-fed and were calm despite being led up together amidst the noise of the town. They were probably used to the trips and the people, but even more so, they were used to each other and good treatment from their owners. That, at least, was a good thing. Anyone out here who didn't have the sense to treat their horses right wasn't someone you wanted anything to do with.
"Can't say it fills me with joy," I said, thinking of my aches and bruises. "But I won't complain."
"You just did," Ambrose said, and it was the first time I'd heard him speak clearly and not under his breath. If it wasn't for the fact that he looked at me like I was manure he’d just stepped ankle-deep in, I might have called his voice nice. It lacked the chill of his father's but still had a timbre and resonance that could carry over a noisy saloon if he shouted.
"It was an observation," I told him with a smile. "Just in case you decided to take note."
"I wasn't," he said, steering a horse toward me, the only one without a saddle I noticed. "Here, you can ride him."
The horse, which was a mottled gray and white color, gave a soft snort and bowed his head to examine me. I was more than familiar with horses and reached up to let him decide if I could touch him. Warm air huffed over my knuckles as the horse snuffled and sniffed, his large eyes gazing up at me. Horses had always been funny creatures to me. Their eyes struck me as a mix of creatures who possessed a wisdom and knowledge mankind never could and beasts scared of their own shadows, shattering their ankles while running away.
This horse, however, was more than happy to bump my hand with his head rather than show any wariness or fear, and when I opened my hand, he shoved his nose into my palm. I laughed, which made him toss his gray mane as he stepped closer and let me stroke his neck. He was handsome, and after a moment, I realized he was a stallion rather than a gelding.
I glanced at Ambrose, who mimicked his father quite well now. He was watching the horse and me with an unreadable expression, and I wondered what was going on in that head of his. Interestingly, his father seemed to take just as much interest in him, considering he watched his son as intently as Ambrose was watching me.
"I think I'm going to call you Pushy," I said with a snort when the horse gave me another shove with his head, almost sending me to the ground, "because that's what you are."
"He's got a name already," Ambrose growled.
"Well, now he has two, I guess, at least for the time being," I said, no longer paying much attention to Ambrose. Not that I could have. Pushy was going out of his way to ensure I was paying attention to him above anything else.
I didn't know what game Ambrose had been trying to play with me, but I could make a decent guess. It was the only horse without a comfortable saddle, which meant my ride back was going to be less comfortable than anyone else's. Stallions weren't known for their good temperament as riding horses, yet they had brought one along, and Ambrose had decided to give that horse to me. It was obvious I was the one Ambrose didn't like, but if his father had issues with Ambrose already targeting someone, he kept the thought to himself as he mounted up.
I was a little slower than everyone else to mount up. My stiff limbs and the lack of saddle made it difficult, but I managed. Thankfully, there was a bridle so I could steer Pushy back the way he'd been led. I wasn't sure what was going to happen but if the past hour had shown me anything, it was going to be interesting.
It was nice to have something to look forward to again, even if it was just a little.