Chapter Thirty-Three
Followin' miles an' miles, an' miles a' moanin', David Samuel Fisher decided that he'd had about all the 'excitement' he could handle--for one morning, anyways. So he dismounted. And--after easing his still moanin' partner down off'n his saddle--he half-carried the cripple into a shady glade along the bank of a little creek they'd come across.
"Where...are we?" his no longer moving--and so no longer moaning--companion wondered--in a whisper.
"Don' rightly know," Dave admitted. Then he pulled out his pocket watch and, after glancing down at it, continued commenting, "But we mus' be a considerable distance from the ranch...'cuz we been ridin' for over five an' a half hours, now." Seeing as how his partner appeared to be positively dreading to ponder in which direction they'd been ridin', Dave added, "I reckon we're about twenty-five miles due east a' the DD."
His companion's pain-stricken face momentarily filled with relief. But then the boy glanced back up the trail and that look turned to one of concern mingled with confusion.
"It rained...jes' before dawn," Dave said, reading the boy's boggled mind, "a real drencher! Poured down for pert' near twenty minutes!...An' washed away every las' trace a' our tracks!" the adventurous young fellah finished with a big gleam of satisfaction on his face--and a rather mischievious glint in his eyes.
His pained partner saw the gleam and caught that glint and managed an amused gasp.
Da-ave, who had also been hurtin' for the last half-dozen miles or so, retrieved he and J.R.'s saddle bags from off'n their horses and fished around inside his for a little somethin' ta alleviate his stomach's discomfort, "He-ere..." he began, breaking the humungous chunk of chocolate cake in his hands in half and passing one of the very generous portions to his partner, "Have a hunk a' my birthday cake."
J.R., who had eagerly accepted his young host's hospitable offering, suddenly looked like he'd lost his appetite.
"Go on..." Dave urged, "It's goo-ood," he continued, speaking with a mouthful, "My ma jes' baked it yesterday."
But J.R. jes' sat there, staring sadly down at the delicacy Dave had given him, "...Guess my comin' kind a' wrecked things for you," he realized aloud.
"Are you kiddin?!" a disbelieving Dave queried, "Yer the best birthday present I ever got!...Cou-ourse..."he continued, following a few mindful moments, "It'd a' been better if you weren' busted up...Then again, if it weren' for that bumb leg a' yores, you never would a' come in the firs' place!" Dave determined with a grin and finally persuaded his glum partner to partake of his cake.
There followed several minutes of silence as the two famished young fellahs concentrated on fillin' their faces. The lad with the two good legs retrieved their canteens and the remaining crumbs were washed down with several long swallows. With his hunger and thirst taken care a', Dave decided he'd try ta satisfy his curiosity, "Kin I ask you somethin'?" he posed politely.
"Suit yerself," his pained companion said, looking and sounding like he could care less.
"What does J.R. stand for?" There followed another long silence, which was finally broken by an impatient sigh.
"I said you could ask if you liked," the boy with only a set of ititials for a name reminded the sigher, "I didn' say that I would answer..."
David Samuel Fisher chewed his secretive chum's sly reply over for a few frustrated moments. Then he cocked his head to one side and stared down at the cripple, looking more curious than ever, "Julius Robert!" he shouted suddenly, and then smiled as his guess caused J.R. to smile and roll his eyes. "Jerome Rudolph!" Dave relentlessly pursued--and his partner's smile broadened into a grin. "Jacob Richard?! Jedadiah Ralph!" Dave guessed again and caused his incognito companion to grimace outright. "Joseph Romulus?!"
"It stan's for Jack Rabbit!" J.R. shouted in surrender, "An' if yah don' believe me, you kin ask my Uncle Wes'...IF we ever catch up to 'im, that is..." his obviously eager to travel companion tacked on hintingly.
"Which reminds me," David Samuel Fisher stated and started fishing around in his restless friend's saddle bags for something. "It's time for yore medicine, John Remus!" he proclaimed and proceeded to produce one of the two half-pint bottles of laudenum that Doc' Lieberg had left for him, "Yer ta take 'a few sips a' this every few hours or so'," he patiently prescribed.
His patient's jaw dropped and he stared up at Dave in disbelief, "You went into yore room?! What if yore mother would a' heard you?!"
"It's my room..." Dave reminded him, "I knew where all the loose boards were...so I didn't make a sound! An', speakin' a makin' sounds...I ain' listenin' ta another mile a' yore moanin'! So the sooner you start sippin' that stuff, the sooner we'll be leavin'," he added--er, ordered.
"This stuff makes me sleepy."
"Yore moanin' makes me si-ick!" Dave countered.
His somewhat amused--and slightly apologetic lookin'--partner pulled the cork from the little bottle and then proceeded to down the prescribed amount a' painkiller.
By the time Dave had their gear reloaded, J.R.'s eyelids were already drooping. However, it it took two or three more drags a' laudenum ta deaden the pain sufficiently enough ta keep the crippled kid from moanin' as he was carted back over to his horse and then shoved--cast and all--back up into his saddle. Dave remounted and retrieved his horse's reins, and then the two of them resumed their eastward excursionin'...in complete silence...which--followin' five and a half hours a' constant moanin--was considered to be a refreshing cha-ange...at first.
####################
Dave soon discovered there were distinct disadvantages ta travelin' with a companion who was passed out cold. It was a constant struggle to keep the unconscious kid's dead weight from shifting precariously in his seat. And, since their current travel arrangements made mounting and dismounting incredibly difficult--if not down right impossible--they continued excursionin', ridin' right on through lunch...and a blistering afternoon heat that pert' near caused Dave ta 'pass out'--like his silent partner.
Following six or seven hours a' complete silence, Dave decided he'd give anything if J.R. would jes' make one sound. Any sound attall! Even moanin'! Or ta jes' be able ta stop for a few minutes an' stretch his stiff limbs. Dave found his last notion so appealin' that he determined ta accomplish the task by takin' it one cramped limb at a time! So he unwrapped an arm from his companion's mid-section an' slowly began raising it up over his head. He felt something latch onto his wrist and watched in wide-eyed wonder as his left arm descended--with a flutter. If the poor boy's body hadn't a' been so stiff, he'd a' prob'ly been startled clean out a' his saddle--er J.R.'s saddle.
Speakin' a' J.R....
Dave decided it was about time for him ta wake up! "J.R.?!...C'mon Jeffery Roger...or whatever the heck yore name is!" he urged with a few rough shakes, "Open yore eyes! It's time ta wake up!"
"Hu-uh? Wha-at?" the barely conscious boy wondered, "What is it?"
"We-ell..." Dave contemplated, "Either the ravens in these parts is rea-eal 'friendly'...or yore Uncle's bi-ird is settin' on my left shoulder!" he finished and felt his friend's body suddenly become as stiff as his.
"Stop the horse!" J.R. ordered.
"Why-y?" Dave requested of his real anxious soundin'--an' suddenly alert actin'--companion, "If B.J.'s here, that means yore Uncle cain' be too far off. When they was back at our place, that bird wouldn' let Wes' out a' his sight! Could be we're right behind 'im!"
"Turn ba-ack!" the boy with the busted leg begged, rewording his order. But again Dave disobeyed. So J.R. did the only sensible thing he could do--under the circumstances--he took matters into his own hands and swung their mutual mount around himself!
"What're you doin'?!" Dave demanded as they began headin' up the trail they'd jes' ridden down.
"Tryin' ta get us out a' sight!" the crazy-actin' kid calmly replied and kept right on headin' for cover, "Somethin' ain' right around here!" he added, anticipating Dave's next question. But that didn't stop them from coming.
Dave simply skipped the 'who' and the 'wherefore' and went right on ahead to the 'why' and the 'what', "Why-y?!" he pondered, "What makes yah think tha-at?!" he prompted further, curious as to what it was about the raven's arrival that had caused his companion ta come ta that scary conclusion.
"If B.J.'s here, that means he must a' flew--which means somethin' mus' be terribly wrong--'cuz B.J. never flies! Unless there's no one around...ta give 'im a lift..." J.R.'s words trailed off an' there was a brief pause as the broader aspects of the raven's sudden appearance became blatantly apparent. "B.J.'s got ta be the laziest bird alive!" the boy added lightly and did not allow himself to dwell on those 'broader aspects'. "Could be we were ridin' right inta an ambush!" he finished and finally found the perfect place for them ta hide--a huge rock outcropping on the left side of the trail, both high enough ta give them excellent vantage points for viewing, an' enormous enough ta provide them with plenty of concealment.
But hidin' was hardly Dave's idea of high adventure. Heck, he could a' stayed home an' hi-id! "What no-ow?!" the bored boy blurted sarcastically, "We gonna jes' set here for the rest a' the day?!"
"No-ow," J.R. began, shifting his gaze towards the uppermost reaches of the fifty or sixty foot high escarpment they were cowering behind, "one a' us is gonna have ta climb up there an' have a look around. If there's anything goin' on within miles a' here, you should be able ta see it from up there..." the cripple with the heavy plaster cast on his left leg hinted to the able-bodied boy seated behind him.
Dave took the hint and slipped stiffly to the ground. Climbin' cliffs was excitin'...dangerous even! Which means his progress towards the peak was painstakingly slow. The out-cropping crumbled beneath even the lad's light weight--making what few footholds he could find--extremely treacherous. A full fifteen minutes--and one sweat-stained face and forehead later--David Samuel Fisher finally reached the summit and took a careful look around. Nothin'! Nothin' was all he 'saw' for miles...an' miles...an' miles! "I cain' see...NOTHIN'!" Dave gasped in disgust--bein' as how he was still a bit breathless from all his wasted efforts an' over-exertion! "NOTHIN' at a-all!" he angrily announced and shot the boy--whose bright idea it was ta climb up there in the first place--an angry glare. But--when Dave looked down--he didn't see nothin' neither! Both the boy with the cast on his leg a-and their horses were GO-ONE! Dave cursed and took a swift kick at one of the rocks at his feet. His angry action launched the stone from the ledge and his angry shout launched the big, black bird from his left shoulder.
'Yore folks have been real kind ta me! An' kidnappin' their youngest son an' maybe even gettin' 'im killt', ain't my idea a' how you repay people for their hospitality!' Dave suddenly recalled and realized that he had been duped! 'The J. stands for Judas--an' the R. stands for Rat!' Dave decided an' was about an instant away from flyin' inta a fit of ra-age when he suddenly recalled somethin' else. Time an' time again, his pa had told him, 'A man has ta live by his principles, Davey! Any man without principles ain't worth a tinker's da-amn!' Dave was reasonably certain that J.R. was jes' doin' his darndest ta keep him out a' danger. J.R. didn't mean ta trick Dave...or ta make him look like the idiot that he was.
That's what Dave kept tellin' himself as he carefully descended the outcropping.
####################
An' that's what Dave was still tellin' himself forty-five minutes--an' several lo-ong, dry-y, dusty miles--later...when he finally came upon his slippery partner.
The crippled boy was seated in a little clearing with his back resting up against a boulder...and his Uncle Wes' lifeless body resting in his lap.
"What happened, J.R.?!" Dave called out, covering the remainder of the distance between he and his grief-stricken companion at a dead--uh, run.
"They were...layin' for 'im," the dead man's nephew numbly replied, "He was...bush-whacked...by four men...from those rocks...right over there...sometime...shortly after dawn. They hung around for a while...hopin' ta get the drop on me. But I-I didn't show. An' the-ey must a' got tired a' waitin'...'cuz they took off up the trail there..." the sadder-than-sad sounding lad finished softly and motioned with his head towards the east.
Dave didn't know what ta make a' any of it! He stood there in stunned silence, starin' down at Wes' Thatcher's dead body--listenin' to his partner's long-winded reply. The young ranch boy had never seen a dead body before, least ways, not a human bein's! Two months back, his dog had barked at the wrong bronc and had got his brains kicked in. But that was the closest Dave had ever come ta dealin' with death. An' now, there it was again! Right there before him! And the boy--who had lived such a boring, sheltered life--was both shocked and sickened by the gosh-awful sight! Really sickened! The incredibly ill feelin' young fellah ran behind the boulder J.R. was leanin' against an' barfed up the squooshed birthday cake he'd bolted down for breakfast.
Unfortunately, it wasn' any easier for him ta stare death in the face with an empty stomach. David Samuel Fisher had to force himself ta step back over to where his poor partner lay, cradling his dead uncle's body in his lap. J.R.'s still shocked, an' still sickened side-kick stiffened as a rather shocking, sickening thought suddenly occurred to him. "Yah think they might come ba-ack?!" he queried, glancing anxiously up the trail in the direction the young man's murderers had supposedly mosied off in.
The grief-stricken boy on the ground gave his head a quick shake, "They're prob'ly holed up back in 'Prairie View' by now. Since they eliminated the only law in the town, they sort a' feel safe there..."
But a doubting Dave glanced nervously around, "You sure there was only four of 'em?!" he asked, soundin' every bit as anxious as he looked.
This time, the dead man's next a' kin nodded, "There were four sets of hoof prints...I found a spent cartridge in four separate places...an' I counted four bullet holes in his back..." he said, looking every bit as sad as he sounded. An' J.R. was justifiably sad.
But Dave was kind a' surprised ta see that the young man had actually been crying. J.R. must a' been cryin', 'cuz his dark eyes were all swollen an' red an' his tanned cheeks were still tear-streaked. Dave was surprised 'cuz--at least, accordin' ta his older brother Daniel--if a body cried, that meant that he was still just a 'little boy'...or a 'big baby'! 'Mature males,' the sixteen year old had assured him, 'NEVER cry!' An' Dave had figured fer sure that J.R. mus' be mature!
"David Samuel Fisher," the boy with the dead body in his arms began, "I'd be much obliged...if you would help me...bury...my Uncle."
"Sure, J.R.!" Dave readily replied. He would gladly do his part to get the gruesome sight out a' sight. "We ain' got a shovel...but I kin bring you enough stones ta cover the body...an' keep the scavengers away..." he volunteered uneasily.
"Thanks..." J.R. said softly and gave Dave a blurry, but grateful, glance. "Sorry I had ta trick you," he continued, speaking in dead--uh, earnest, "but when B.J. showed up, I knew there was gonna be trouble ahead. I hated to leave yah up there like that, but I wasn' sure what I was gonna be ridin into here..."
"I know..." Dave assured his sorry associate with a sad smile, "I figured it was an 'extenuatin' circumstance'..." his words trailed off an' his sad smile vanished, "I'm sorry, too, J.R...about yore Uncle, I mean..."
The boy on the ground gave him another grateful glance and there was a long, comfortable silence as the two new friends came to appreciate each other's quiet presence in their lives.
"Oh an'," the more mobile young man muttered as he turned to go, "you kin call me 'David'...fer short..." he allowed and succeeded in coaxin' a sad smile out of the boy who had nothin' but initials for a name.
####################
Usin' J.R.'s bedroll for a 'stone-boat' an' his horse ta haul, David dragged a considerable amount of manageable boulders over ta--what was soon ta become--Wesley Thatcher's grave site. The rock-toting task he had undertaken was not an easy one by any means and the able-bodied fellah couldn't fathom how the kid with the cast managed to pile them all up.
The pai-ain produced by all the crawlin' an' commotion must a' been considerable as well, 'cuz his crippled partner passed out--twice--and requested a double dose of his prescribed medication. The laudenum appeared to work wonders with the boy's broken leg. But it didn' do nothin' at all for his broken heart. The stream of tears down his new friend's face was a steady one.
"I 'cried'...when my Uncle died, too..." David Samuel Fisher confessed--rather ashamedly.
The kid was distracted by the comment 'cuz he stopped stacking the stones and glanced up at him, "There's no shame in grievin'," J.R. assured his companion, sounding more disturbed than distracted, "When you lose someone very close to you...'cryin'' jes' seems like the natural thing ta do."
"Not ta my older brother, Daniel, it don't!" Dave glumly declared, "He's sixteen! An' he claims it's un-natural! Claims only women an' babies 'cry-y'..." There followed a long, glum silence.
"You ever heard a' Jesus?" the kid on his knees inquired as he began stacking the little boulders up again.
Dave stared down at the stupefying, blurry-eyed boy in disbelief, "What?! Do I look like a heathen?! 'Course I heard a' Jesus! My folks raised me Christian, yah know!"
"From what I kin gather 'bout 'im," the kid calmly continued, "from readin' The Good Book, Jesus was the finest...the GREATEST man who ever lived!"
"Yea-ah...So-o?" Dave said, "What does Christ got ta do with cryin'?"
"Accordin' ta the Bible," his still-piling partner patiently explained, "there were several occasions when even he 'cried'."
"Jesus 'cried'?!"
"Eh, yeah..."
"Whe-en?! When he was a baby?"
"He cried when his friend Lazarus died...an' when the folks he loved--an' was sent ta save--wouldn' listen to him. Believe me, Jesus Christ had plenty a' causes for cryin'! An' he was in his thirties at the time! So it cain't be jes' 'cuz he was you-oung!" There followed another long--thoughtful--silence, which the boy with the busted leg finally broke. "My Uncle Wes' says...used ta say..." the kid sadly corrected and stopped his stacking, "...that it takes more courage for a man ta face up ta his feelin's--an' deal with 'em out in the open--than it does ta run away from 'em--or ta deny they even exist...'course, that don' mean a man has ta grieve in front a' folks�he kin do his grievin' in private...Either way--there's no...sha-ame...in grievin'," J.R. rather shakily repeated.
And--as the kid reverently reached out to touch the stones that now encased his closest, an' recently deceased, kin--Dave saw that fresh tears were streaming down both sides of the boy's--er, young man's face. He swallowed hard and reached slowly out to give his courageous companion's slumped shoulder a few sympathetic pats.
"How did you lose yore Uncle?" the kid quietly inquired as he quietly resumed his rock piling.
"My Pa, an' his older brother, Douglas, used ta work the DD tagether. My folks were 'Abolitionists'. So-o, when the War broke out, Pa put on a blue uniform. His brother chose 'Confederate' grey. Last year...when the fightin' finally ended...Pa came home. Uncle Doug' didn't..." Dave's words trailed off. "I still 'miss' 'im!" he confessed unashamedly and began blinking--as tears started stingin' at his own eyes. He couldn' wait ta get back an tell Daniel about Christ cryin'! His vision was so blurred that he could barely see the sympathetic glance that the grief-stricken boy on the ground gave him.
"Uncle Wes' was too busy wagin' his own 'war' ta bother choosin' sides," J.R. announced. "When anyone asked, he'd say he was strictly neutral. We spent the entire war chasin' bandits below the border."
"What about you, J.R.?" Dave wondered, "If you'd a' been old enough, what side would you a' fought on?"
"Neither!" came back the kid's startling reply, "The North was fightin' to preserve the Union, an' the South was fightin' for the rights of individual States ta secede. An' if killin's the only way folks kin settle such political differences--then I guess you could say I jes' ain' inta 'politics'!"
"But, what about slavery?!" Dave gasped in horror and gazed down at his 'a-political' partner like he obviously had rocks in his head--as well as in his hands!
"I was--I am--an' always will be opposed to it!" the kid commented and kept right on piling his rocks, "There's a much higher law than man's, an' that law states that you should treat other people the way you'd wanna be treated yerself. Now, I don' know about you, but I know I sure wouldn' want ta have my freedom taken away from me--an' have ta watch my loved ones be 'auctioned off' like cattle--an' then have ta live the rest a my life in chai-ains!" he stopped and stared angrily down at the stone in his hand, "Slavery is a MORAL--not a 'political' issue! Not everyone who wore blue wanted to 'abolish it' an' not everyone who wore grey wanted ta 'preserve it'," he bitterly observed and rammed the rock in his hand down on top of the pile--with the rest of them.
Dave was dumb-struck once again! Though he greatly admired his Uncle Doug', he couldn't comprehend how he could possibly ever have chosen to defend such an ugly institution as slavery! That is, until no-ow! His uncle hadn't died defending SLAVERY, after all! He had simply 'fought for the rights a' the Confederacy'...an' lo-ost. He stared thoughtfully down at his deep-thinkin' companion for a few moments an' then flashed his newly found friend a slight, unseen smile. His admiration for the young man--with only initials for a name--was growin'...considerably! "I wanted ta be a part a' the 'Underground Railroad'..." Dave proudly announced.
The grief-stricken boy's groggy head snapped back up, "Me, too-oo!"
"But," Dave added glumly, "my folks said I was too young."
"An' I," J.R. added, equally glumly, "was stuck way down in Mexico."
There was another long silence. Somehow, the fact that they had once shared the same idealistic dream, drew the two of them even closer together.
"I've never been ta Mexico," Dave announced, dropping to his knees to lend his drugged friend a hand.
The laudenum was really beginning ta slow the boy down now and causing the poor kid's eyelids to feel every bit as heavy as the boulders he'd been handling. "It's a nice place..." the groggy boy said, giving his assistant a groggy--but grateful--glance, "The people...are real friendly. I think you'd really like it. We'd prob'ly still be down there...if'n those hombres we was after...hadn' a' headed back across the border."
"J.R., if you an' yore Uncle weren't collectin' any 'bounty' on those bandits--then where on earth did you's come up with all that money yore Uncle was carryin'?"
"By collectin'...co-ows," the kid answered as he collapsed slowly down upon the sizeable pile a' rocks--which constituted Wesley Thatcher's final resting place. "There mus' be a couple a' million head a' unbranded an' unclaimed cattle...between here...an' Mexico. Once we crossed the border...we simply rounded up a few hundred or so of 'em...an' then sold 'em--for top dollar--at the railhead...in Sedalia..."
Dave, who had been struck dumb for the half-dozenth time that day, stared disbelievingly down at the ambitious young drover, "You an' yore Uncle took a herd all the way through ta Missouri?!"
The dead drover's nephew nodded and slowly lowered his sleepy head down upon his folded arms.
"Jes' the two a' you?! " he tacked on and received a second nod. "Bu-ut..." he blurted jes' as the kid was about to close his tired eyes, "What about rustlers?! An' wo-olves?! An' renegades?! An' Indians?! Not ta mention swollen streams an' stampedes!"
"Punchin' cows...is a...piece a' cake...compared ta...chasin' Comancheros..." the practically unconscious 'cow puncher' added conditionally. "I sure wish you hadn' a' gone off an' got yerself kilt' like this," J.R. whispered sadly, "The world...didn' need...no more flowers...but I sure needed you. Now I got nobody..."
B.J. landed on his back jes' then with a raucous caw.
"Ravens don' count," the boy told the bird.
B.J. cawed again and tugged at the boy's hair.
"Get lost, B.J.!" J.R. ordered with a sad smile. "Go find yerself a girl bird...an' build a nest...or somethin'..." he sleepily suggested.
And the big, black bird lazily launched itself back into the air.
Dave watched as the raven circled the little clearing a couple a' times and then vanished completely from view. He looked down an' found that J.R. had drifted off into a drug induced--an' very deep--slumber. Dave took a seat on the ground beside the boy and then leaned his back up against the boulders. His respect for J.R.'s abilities an' his amazement at the kid's accomplishments seemed to be multiplyin' by the minute! "Wo-ow!" the overwhelmed ranch kid exclaimed. Perhaps J.R. could be talked inta stayin' on at the DD? Dave had a feelin' his life would never be dull again if he did! David Samuel Fisher fell asleep himself--dreamin' a' things ta say that might convince the kid ta stay.
####################
Dave was awakened--shortly before dark--by the loud plodding sound of a rather large group of approaching horses. He sat stiffly up and stared disbelievingly off at the distressing sight before him. "Better WAKE UP, J.R.!" he shouted with a shiver. "Someone's comin'!" he added with a shake. Much to his surprise, the comotose kid stiffened and then opened his eyes.
"Comancheros?!" the instantly alert lad anxiously inquired.
"WORSE!" David declared. "My folks! Ma-an...my Ma's gonna cry...an' my Pa's gonna kill me!" he glumly realized.
"No-o," J.R. corrected, "Yore Pa's gonna kill ME-E! For ridin' off with HI-IS horse!"
"There they are!" David's older brother Daniel shouted suddenly, "Over there in that clearing!"
"Thank God!" Angela Fisher exclaimed, urging her horse into a canter.
David scrambled quickly to his feet and went out to meet the group that was now headed their way. Besides his entire family, the search party contained three-fourths of the DD's crew.
Upon finding her son both safe and unharmed, Angela Fisher did indeed burst into tears--of joy. "David! O-oh David!" she cried, flyin' off'n her horse an' flingin' her arms about the boy, "I'm so glad you're SAFE!"
"What were you thinkin', son?!" his pa demanded, "Yore Mother and I have been worried SICK about you! We been ridin' since before sun up! We covered half the countryside lookin' for you! Do you realize you set us back one whole day on the roundup?!"
"Sorry..." David told his justifiably upset parents, "I guess I wasn' thinkin'. J.R. tried to stop me. He tole me ta stay home!...guess I wasn' listenin', either..."
"Speakin' a' J.R...." Angela Fisher suddenly interrupted, "Where is he?!"
"He's lyin' over there...on the ground..." Dave promptly pointed out, "...by his Uncle's ...grave."
His mother gasped.
His father winced.
His brother's smug look momentarilly vanished.
And the rest of the members of the search party exchanged shocked glances.
"What happened?!" Dan Fisher wondered as he dropped to the ground and followed his wife over to where the dead man--and his young nephew were lyin'.
"Wes' was bushwhacked, Pa," his youngest son sadly explained, "J.R. found 'im lyin' face down with four bullet holes in his back."
"Sorry to hear about yore Uncle, J.R.," Angela Fisher said, sounding genuinely sad. "I tried ta talk 'im out a' leavin' las' night. Guess maybe I should a' tried a little harder, huh," she added, giving the mound of boulders beside her a gra-ave glance.
"Thanks, Ma-am," J.R. acknowledged, "But there ain' much a body kin do when someone's that DETERMINED ta die.." Then, seein' Dave's folks' looks of confusion, he continued. "He's always felt that he should a' died in that raid--with the rest a' our folks. Secretly, I think he's always hoped that, some day, those same men would kill HIM. Now--after nine years--Uncle Wes' has finally got his wish..." his words trailed off an' he stared sadly down at the pile of stones beside him--a monument to one, fine, young man's madness! "Sorry ta cause you an' yore family so much grief, Sir," J.R. said sincerely, "I wrote you an' yore wife a note--tellin' yah which direction we'd gone off in. I even put down the name a' the road we'd be on--so's you's could FIND us. But I guess you's never found it..."
"O-Oh," Dan Fisher suddenly said, "we found it, all right. An' leavin' us a note was real considerate a' you, son. Only there ain' nobody on the DD that kin rea-ead..." he added an' eyed his youngest son accusingly.
"Doc' Lieberg finally showed up ta check on that leg a' yores," Angela joined in. "He read yore note for us. Said we'd find you's on the road ta 'Prairie View'. How is yore leg, by the way? The Doctor was real worried. Said you were in no condition ta be settin' a horse, right now," she chastised sternly, but then flashed the boy a deeply sympathetic smile.
"That's the God's honest truth!" the kid with the bum left leg glumly agreed and reluctantly returned his attention to the understanding woman's hopefully understanding husband, "Speakin' a' horses...I had ev-er-y intention a' RETURNIN' Rambler to you, sir!"
"Why-y?" Dan Fisher wondered. "Don' you like 'im? Rambler's the finest hunk a' horse flesh that's ever set foot on our ranch!"
"I don' doubt that, sir," J.R. quickly assured David's obviously offended father, "An' I like 'im jes' fine! I imagine a man would be hard pressed ta find his equal in these parts. I jes' wanted yah ta know that I wasn't stealin' 'im, Si-ir..."
A look of dawnin' understandin' came over Dan Fisher's face and he shot his youngest offspring another accusin', yet somewhat amusin', glare. "I'm su-ure you weren't! It'd be real HARD--if not down right impossible--for a man ta 'stea-eal' his own horse!" Dave's pa paused to exchange grins with the rest of the search party. But, upon seein' the puzzled expression on the poor kid's face, the boss man sobered somewhat an' continued. "David apparently didn't see the need ta mention it this mornin', but yore Uncle Wes' bought that animal for you las' night--before he left. That's ri-ight, son," Dan reassured the now utterly astonished young fellow, "Rambler's yore horse now! An' Angela has a piece a' paper in her pocket that proves that THAT animal belongs ta you!"
His wife produced the 'bill of sale' from said pocket and handed it over to J.R. for his inspection.
The boy stared down at the paper in disbelief for a few moments before aiming an annoyed stare at David.
"I told yah that he wasn' my father's horse!" Dave reminded his upset partner.
"Yea-ah...you also told me ta write that no-ote!" J.R. reminded him right ba-ack.
David managed an innocent shrug.
Dan Fisher exchanged grins with his men once again. The sound of someone approaching in a wagon suddenly broke the silence. "That'll be Old Dan," the boss man explained as every able-bodied person in the clearing turned to stare in that sound's direction, "Since the Doc says you shouldn' be settin' a horse, I had 'im bring the buggy."
But--instead of being positively delighted by the news--Dave noticed that J.R. seemed suddenly saddened by it.
His mom noticed the change in her patient's appearance as well, and gripped the boy's hand reassuringly, "Don' worry. We'll give you somethin' ta deaden the pain before we move you. An' you'll be back at the ranch before you even know it!"
"That might not be such a good idea, Ma-am," the young man gravely announced, "goin' back ta the ranch with you," he specified further. "Those men know that I know where they are. What they don' know is that I didn' make no 'vows' an' I don' have no 'death wish'. When I don' show up in Prairie View, they may get tired a' waitin' an' decide ta come lookin' for me...an' I don' want any innocent folks standin' around when they find me!" the crippled--but courageous--kid stated, sounding very determined.
Angela Fisher stared down at the boy for a rather long while, lookin' somewhat in awe. Then she looked up at her husband and the two of them carried on a lengthy conversation with each other, using only eye contact.
"That does it!" Dan Fisher declared, sounding even more determined than the boy. "Daniel, you an Ol' Dan see ta it that yore mother an' the boys make it back ta the ranch all right. I should be back by sun-up," he added confidently and quickly remounted.
"Where're yah goin'?!" Dave's unbelievably dumb older brother inquired, soundin' somewhat hurt that he hadn' been invited to tag along.
"Ta pay 'Prairie View' a little 'visit'!" Dave's father icily informed him.
Knowin' the rancher as well as he did, the ranch's main foreman didn' wait for an invitation ta tag along. He knew that Dan Fisher would never order--or even a-ask--his men ta do anything that might unnecessarily endanger their lives. "Mind if me an' the boys ride along?" Walt Reed wondered, swingin' his horse in alongside his employer's.
"Yea-ah, Boss," Paul Gaspar agreed, pullin' his horse in on the opposite side, "We ain' been ta Prairie View in A-AGES!" he added lightly.
An' the three men exchanged grins once again.
"Thanks," Dan Fisher told them--an' the rest of his men--as they all fell in behind him, "Appreciate yore company!"
"Careful, Dan!" Angela Fisher called after her man.
"Always, Angie!" her man promised--with a wave an' a smile.
An'--as Dave watched the group go gallopin' off down the road ta Prairie View--he realized he'd never been prouder a' his pa than he was at that moment.
J.R. watched the group leave, too. Then he gasped in frustration an' fell back up against his uncle's grave.
"Don' you worry none, J.R.," Angela Fisher urged, flashing the frustrated young man another genuinely warm and sympathetic smile, "If the entire Confederate Army couldn' kill 'im, I'm sure that he kin handle 'four old...broken down...bandits," her voice trailed off as she came to realize that the words she was quotin' were now the words of a DEAD man. Worse! She recalled that he had died at the hands of those 'four old...broken down...bandits'.
Speakin' a' the dead man...
"He-ere," the woman said, returning from her grim reveries to produce several more pieces of paper--and a rather large sum of money--from the front pocket of her sheepskin jacket, "Yore Uncle Wes' wanted you ta have these."
"Appreciate yore passin' 'em on ta me, Ma-am," J.R. assured the woman, numbly acceptin' the items as they were handed to 'im. "I'm grateful for everything you an' yore family are doin' for me...I don' know how I'm ever gonna repay yous..." he realized aloud--an' suddenly felt more frustrated than ever.
"We-ell, for starters," Angela Fisher informed him, "How 'bout teachin' me--an' my family--an' anyone else on the ranch who wants ta learn--how ta read an' write?"
Dave's countenance suddenly fell.
As did his older brother, Daniel's.
The kid with the busted leg's countenance brightened considerably--at the prospect. "It'd be my pleasure, Mam! I'd be right honored to!"
"Fine!" Angela Fisher surmised with a broad smile of satisfaction, "I'll send someone in ta town tomorrow ta fetch whatever supplies you'll be needin'. An'--jes' as soon as yer feelin' up to it--you kin set yerself up a little schoo-ool in the parlor!"
Dave an' his older brother stared down at their 'schoo-ool' teacher in utter disbelief for a few moments--before exchangin' dismayed glances. Up till then, the DD's remote distance from civilization had spared the two boys from 'book learnin''. Dave shoved the disgustin' idea out a' his mind for the moment an' stooped stiffly down beside his partner. None a' the things he'd come up with ta say--ta get the boy ta stay--could even come close ta matchin' his mother's disturbin' little proposal.
With the little matter of the little 'schoo-ool in the parlor' settled, their teacher turned his attention to other matters at--or rather, in--hand. It was barely bright enough no-ow ta even see the words that were printed on the paper, so it was a real struggle for the 'ejucated' kid ta read 'em.
But then David caught sight a' the tears that were formin' in the corners of his friend's tightly closed eyes, an' he came ta realize that it was the writin'...an not the lightin' that was makin' the readin' so...difficult for 'im. "What is it, J.R.?" the ranch kid inquired, suddenly soundin' deeply concerned, "What does it sa-ay?"
J.R. swallowed hard and then slowly reopened his damp, dark eyes, "It sa-ays..." his partner shakily replied, "...That my name is...James Rolland Cro-own!" he proudly announced. The-en, the kid who no longer had only a set of initials for a name, turned to David Samuel Fisher an' added with a wry smile, "But, you-ou kin jes' call me JAMES," 'James' generously allowed, "...for short," he finished, his wry smile broadenin' into an even wryer grin.
David returned his grin, "JA-AMES, huh..."
"Eh, yeah! An' don' you EVER forget it!" Ja-ames warned.
####################
"An' THAT," Senator David Samuel Fisher summed up with a somewhat dramatic flare, "is why I still call Jim Crown 'JA-AMES'...to his face!"
'Finally!' Charley Adams thought to himself, 'Leave it ta a POLITICIAN ta come up with such a lo-ong winded answer ta such a short an' simple question!' "Yore Pa ever make it back from Prairie View?" he inquired, carefully wording his question so as to require only a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer.
"Eh, yeah," the Senator said, coining one a' Jim Crown's favorite phrases, "After he an' the boys took care a' their business, he bought 'em all a few--too many--beers. Bu-ut, jes' like he sai-aid, they were back at the ranch before sun-up!"
The two men rode on in complete an'--at least by Charley's standards--bless-ed silence for a few miles.
"Kin you stay awake, now?" Dave Fisher finally inquired, "Or do I got ta keep on jabberin'?"
"No-o, that won' be necessary," Mr. Adams assured the Senator, "'Sides, we're only 'bout an hour or so away from the Fort, now. So I doubt if you'd have enough ti-ime ta answer another question for me..." he teased rather truthfully.
"Jim always said," the Senator confessed with a chuckle, "that I could pallaver a jaguar inta partin' with his spots!"
Charley Adams chuckled at the man's candid comment. Personally, he had no use for 'politicians'. But he decided he'd make an exception in the Senator's case. Charley liked any man who could laugh at himself. Claimed the ability to do so kept a man from takin' himself too seriously. 'Sides, the 'Marshal's old friend from back East' may a' been long-winded, all right, but at least he wasn' borin'!
Their laughter drifted off, an' the two friends drifted on--through the dark--in the direction of Fort Dawes.