When Wolf brought the wagon up to Dawson's cabin, he was nonplussed to find the old man sitting with a coffee cup in his hand, rocking slowly. The afternoon sun was already making its lonely journey down beyond the mountain's rim, casting a cold shadow on the valley. The cabin already wore the dark shawl, and only the stream, several yards down from the house, still caught the rays of light and danced with a blue-satin sheen.
The chill was creeping fast in and it was no longer the cool breath of autumn. Tonight would be frigidly cold and bitter in the mountain's lap. There was no way they could make it back to the ranch without resting the milking cow, so no matter how much Wolf dreaded it, a night outdoors would be endured.
"Afternoon, Mr. Dawson, I take it?" Wolf tipped his hat as he brought the horses to a halt near the stream. Still showcased in the sunlight, he wanted the old man to see he was no force or threat.
"You be Wolf Stoddard, by my guess." The old, scratchy voice reached him from the shadows.
"Yes, sir. I assume Darby Cole's around here somewhere," Wolf said as he slowly turned his head and eyed the landscape, somehow sensing the boy's presence in his bones.
"What if I say he isn't?"
"Then I'd say you care for the boy, and most likely he's been feeding you the same stories he's been passing all around town."
"Young 'uns, whooha," the old man let out a cackled laugh, "they are something aren't they? 'Cept sometimes they speak a wisdom all their own."
Wolf realized he was being tested. Part of him respected the old man for the protective nature he freely threw around his young prisoner, but part of him was getting frustrated by the obvious delay such inquisition would demand.
"Mr. Dawson, I'm an ex-marshal. I've tracked hardened criminals, murderers, men who would just as soon shoot you as look at you, and most times more likely to shoot you just for the sheer fun of it. I've had my fill of wasting my life ridding the country of scum. Granted, when I took Darby into my custody, I wanted to spare the boy the hard lesson of prison, but it wasn't long before I realized there's a lot of good in that boy. He'll be punished. I don't know what stories he's been telling you, but he stole...outright stole property that didn't belong to him. I intend to see he puts those habits far behind him, one way or the other."
"What if I says the boy ain't going back with you. I'll keep him here with me and set him straight myself."
Wolf could tell the old man was enjoying the game, the parrying of wit and tongue.
"I'd say, I can't let that happen. The boy's wild, cunning and clever, but he's also sweet and charming and, quite frankly, Mr. Dawson, I've grown attached to him...much as I hate to say it...boy's mine in more ways than right now I want to admit or analyze. I'd say, I ain't leaving without him."
Mr. Dawson rose slowly, his old bones creaking with the last vestiges of life, like the rocking chair still rolling on by itself, meeting the groans of the wood porch.... man, chair, and house in sync with each other.
"Come on." He waved his hand, beckoning Wolf down. "Come on, he's mad right now, ornery and pissed like a little cougar cub. He needs bringing in line and I'm too old to tend to him properly."
Wolf walked up to the porch steps and waited as the old man went inside. Moments later he came out with a razor strop. Thick leather, well worn, the old man ran crooked fingers lovingly over it.
"I'd be right proud if you took this, used it properly on the boy. It was my Papa's and his Papa's before him. My son never gave me no grandchildren and I've come to think of the boy as my own. I guess I judged you wrong in the beginning. Forgetting how children sometimes fluff their stories up a bit for drama and sympathy. If I hadn't of seen you run to the fool boy when he threw himself that little lynching party, I'd probably be coming at you with a shotgun right now. I know you ain't never taken a bullwhip to the boy, guess I knew that all along, just felt protective of Darby. God, I love that boy." Mr. Dawson stopped and ran a tired hand down his face, washing away the weariness, but also the tears that were gleaming along the ridges of his eyes.
Wolf took the leather strop. Nodding his head, he asked, "Where is he?"
Mr. Dawson reached in his pocket for some keys. Selecting a small one, he pulled it from the loop and handed it to Wolf. "Fifty yards back of here, there's a cluster of rocks. Behind the rocks, you'll see a door in the hill. Old storage area used by the mining company that owned this property before I moved in. He's locked up nice and safe, waiting for you to fetch him."
"I'll be firm, but fair. Might sound like I'm killing him, but rest assured I'm only as cruel as necessary to eventually be kind. He needs to take this law stuff more seriously."
Wolf waited, watching the old man. He liked this crusty, but soft-shelled man, this principled soul who cared for the boy as much as he did. He didn't want to excite him unduly, but he knew the boy would put up a fight this time, and he knew he'd make sure the boy knew the seriousness of the crime first thing.
Mr. Dawson nodded. "Guess it's for the best." Then sadly turning to enter the cabin, he mumbled, "Get on with it then."
Darby sat in the corner on the cold, dirt floor. Huddling deep, his head resting on his raised knees, he knew he was doomed. There was no one left to help him now. No one left to side with him and fight his cause; no mama to hold him against her bosom, whispering sweet, soothing words in his ear, brushing his hair back from his forehead and planting her tender kiss...always forgiving and loving. There was no Sophie here to push him behind her, whilst she took her firm, large stand against all intruders, protective and strong, wise and funny, always there for him, Sophie was a force few men and no other women, save Mama, were up to contending with. No, now there were no protectors. He had turned everyone against him and he felt deflated. His spirit was gone, just as surely as it had up and walked off.
Hearing the key turn in the lock, he jumped up. Backing further into the corner, trying to ease himself into the small angles of darkness where the oil lamp barely reached, he waited.
Wolf unlocked the door, then slowly swung it open. There was light in the rather large room, but the chill that sprang out at him gave him a momentary shiver. Quickly scanning the area, he would have missed the boy had his vision not dropped to the floor. The tips of Darby's new boots could be seen just out of reach of the light. He pushed the door closed behind him. The leather strop hung over his right shoulder, along with a coil of rope. He pulled them down and walking forward into the enclosure he laid them on the table off to his left.
Taking a deep sigh, he started, "Best come..." but before he could finish quick movement caught his eye and Darby raced for the door. Wolf hooked his arm out and caught the boy around the waist, but Darby turned pulling out of his grasp. Darby raised his booted foot and kicked Wolf sharply in the shin.
"Goddamn it!"
Darby was at the door now, struggling with the hasp. Wolf hooked his fingers in his belt from behind. Darby spun again trying to land a punch to Wolf's jaw, but Wolf held on to the belt, and simply tugged back, pulling the boy off balance.
"Let me be. MR. DAWSON! HE'S KILLING ME!"
Wolf hauled him over to the table. Pushing the small figure forward, he bent him across the dusty surface. Securing him firmly in this position, he reached over and picked up the leather strop. Standing back, raising the leather high, he brought it down full force against the britches-clad, upturned bottom.
"AGH!" Again. "OH, NO!" Again. "Please." The sharp slaps of leather echoing throughout the enclosure sounded cruel and impersonal. Darby's shrieks, no doubt reaching Mr. Dawson in the cabin, were woeful and forlorn. Wolf prayed the old man wasn't too upset by the cries.
Then Darby, in true Darby fashion, changed tracks in the middle of the ride. "Damn you. I hate you, Wolf, I HATE YOU!"
Crack. Crack. Crack. Darby's expletives increased in degrees until Wolf heard a few choice phrases he never heard before.
"You don't change you're attitude, boy, we can go on like this until nightfall." He pulled his hand back and delivered five, direct, sharp strikes with the hard leather. Darby answered with vehemence, but by the fifth blow, the soft whimper didn't sound so belligerent.
"You don't come round soon, I'll do it on your bare backside until your hide's as tanned as this leather."
"Okay, okay. Please, Wolf, please." Darby wailed. "I'm sorry. Pleeeease."
Wolf stopped. However, the minute he laid the strop down, Darby kicked back aiming for his crotch---missing by inches. Lifting him briefly up off the table, Wolf positioned himself behind the boy, his right arm high against his throat, pinning him helplessly against his chest. He reached down and loosened the belt, unbuttoned the britches, and leaning Darby forward pulled his pants down in one quick move. Unbuttoning the flap of his long johns he exposed the rounded globes of Darby's bottom.
Darby gasped as the cold air touched his skin. "Please, Wolf, please don't."
He reached for the strop and Darby once again struggled, but it was futile in his present position. Wolf's large hand was pushing him hard down on the table. Raising the strop he began a systematic punishing routine that within minutes had the soft flesh, red, hot and swollen.
There were no more promises coming from the boy. Now, once the loud wails of shock and horror quieted, there were only great gulping sobs and deep sorrowful gasps for air. Wolf heard the complete and utter despair, the total capitulation, and the defeat of spirit. He delivered the remaining ten blows sharply with the strop, hoping by his harshness that it would be a long time before he had to hurt the boy again.... especially this severely.
Releasing Darby, he stepped back. Darby didn't rise. Instead he grabbed the tablesides and pressed his face sideways into the wood, as though seeking comfort from the hard surface. "Ohhhhhh," he moaned.
Wolf sighed, wanting so badly to take the boy in his arms. No, not the time to show him mercy, nor compassion. Hold firm. You've got to show the boy what life in Laramie would be like.
"Stand up and button up," he ordered harshly.
"It hurts too much."
Wolf reached down and pulled Darby roughly by the arm, hearing a painful gasp. "You're my prisoner now boy, plain and simple. I won't be coddling you anymore. You're going to get a taste of Laramie. In prison men don't get special treatment after they're whipped." He shook him roughly, watching as huge tears fell freely down the reddened cheeks. Darby looked so pathetic, Wolf had to concentrate on a spot over his head to deliver his firm edict.
"You'll be receiving the same treatment you'd get at Laramie this time around, boy."
Turning Darby around, he ignored the soft moan of protest. Buttoning the flap, he bent and pulled up the jeans. "Now button up." Darby hiccuped dramatically and with trembling fingers started to button his pants and buckle his belt.
Wolf never left his side, lest he make another break for the door. Reaching down next to Darby he picked up the coil of rope. Starting with the end piece, looking Darby in the eye this time he said, "You stand still, boy. You hear?"
Instead of looking away, he glared threateningly into the coal, black eyes. This time Wolf saw no hatred, no bitter contempt that raged with a spirit too wild to tame. This time Wolf saw despair, loss, and a glazed dullness. Momentarily he considered whether he was taking this thing too far. Then memory swept the present scene away and the pages of his mind were covered with the faces of other boys he had brought to justice, some who never learned and now lay buried in a Boot Hill in one town or another. Then that one face, that one face that would haunt him for the rest of his life, exploded, and Falcon was laughing at him. Podna, whacha deal now? Where's the hard lawman been keeping himself?
Stooping down he tied one end around Darby's left ankle, then leaving only enough space for Darby to walk at a slow, hobbling gate, he tied his right ankle. Allowing just enough room for the length of Darby's body, he pulled the rope up and around his waist. Bringing it forward he grabbed Darby's wrists and tied them in front. He secured another end of the rope to the hobble rope between Darby's feet.
"You're paying for those supplies you stole, boy. I've taken the silver frame and paid off your debts."
Darby's face paled. "NO! NO! PLEASE YOU CAN'T. It's my Mama's...the only thing I have of my mama's." Darby reached forward with his tied hands and grabbing Wolf by the shirt as he fell forward he lost his balance and clung to Wolf while wailing, "PLEASE, NOT THAT. I'll do anything...please, please, please, pleeeeeeeaaase...."
Wolf couldn't take it anymore. He just didn't have the heart to carry the ruse that far.
"It's okay, boy. I took the frame, but I've locked it away. You'll work it off and I'll give it back to you.... when you work it off. You hear me, boy?" Wolf was growing frightened by the hysteria the boy seemed overcome with.
Reaching down he pulled him back up by the shoulders and shook him roughly. "Listen to me, Darby. The frame is safe and sound and you can earn it back, but earn it back you WILL!"
Darby quieted. He probably found Wolf's harshness more believable right now than any soothing words of comfort and reassurance.
Taking the rope that now connected him to Darby's wrists he pulled gently. Rousing Darby from his stupor, Wolf walked slowly, opening the door to allow the late afternoon sun entrance, he snuffed the oil lamp, and pulled his compliant captive along.
After depositing his prisoner in the back of the wagon, tying him securely in place. Wolf went up to the cabin and knocked on the door.
The puckered and withered face peered out and Wolf saw the tear tracks and red-rimmed eyes. Wolf handed the strop back to Mr. Dawson.
Gently laying his hand on one stooped shoulder, Wolf said gently, "Next time you see the boy, I promise, he'll be happy...." then Wolf smiled, that glorious frugal treat to a select few, "and law abiding." With that, he winked and Mr. Dawson gave his own gift of a return smile.
"I'll see the supplies are returned to Mr. Brown," the old man vouched.
"No. They're bought and paid for. Consider it a gift from Darby. He'll learn the price of labor and a lesson to boot."
"I'll hold you to that promise, Mr. Stoddard. I'll hold you to bringing that boy back to me....happy."
The campsite chosen was near the base of the mountain rim that trailed the distance to their ranch. Wolf knew there was no way to return to the ranch, not while pulling the milking cow, without resting for the night.
Darby hobbled around, hesitating only briefly to any orders Wolf gave him. Not that his spirit was dulled by the confrontation, but some of the sparks were mere sputters now. Any defiance that popped up was momentary and uncertain. Wolf gave him an allotted mental count of three and if Darby failed to respond, he pulled harshly on the tether and either sent Darby sprawling backwards on his backside or forward onto his knees.
The evening meal was a sullen affair, bitter and tasteless to their digestion. The cold biscuits and dried meat a deliberate lesson to the boy that jail food was not gourmet. Wolf intentionally watered the coffee down. He had to turn his head and hide a smile when Darby coughed the tasteless, hot drink into the flames. However, he never once said a word.
After putting away the remnants of their evening, Wolf set two blankets side by side on one side of the campfire. The cold night winds had picked up and Wolf had selected a site within some rocks at the base of the mountain, giving them shelter. Darby stood near the blankets unsure of the close proximity of two blankets. He didn't want this man near him, not while his backside still burned and protested from the abuse, not while his soul still felt bruised and battered. He just wanted some time alone to renourish his soul.
"Get to bed, boy." Wolf said, seeing the hesitation.
"Not here. I'll sleep over aways." Darby raised his tied hands towards some rocks deeper against the basin.
Wolf bent down and picked up the tether end. He stared at Darby awaiting a change of heart. The cold eyes dared him to do the inevitable. The mental count finished, yanking harshly on the bottom tether and pulling Darby's feet out from under him, the boy fell hard on his backside. "OW!" With his hands tied in front, there was no way to rub or administer to the region.
"Damn you!" Darby yelled, not caring about retaliation, rolling over on his hip to ease the pressure to his rump.
"We're going back to "sir, yes and no," Darby. I won't press the matter tonight. I don't think your bottom could handle any further lessons. I know you're cranky and tired, so I'm more forgiving. Get some sleep." Wolf turned and affected an air of indifference. Shortly he heard Darby settle on the blankets.
Wolf came to him and loosened the ties around his ankles. Pulling Darby's boots off, he re-tightened the hobbles. He loosened the bindings on his wrist, giving the boy more movement for the night, but left him still secured around the waist. Covering him, he watched as Darby turned towards the fire, presenting his back to Wolf as reward for his treatment. Wolf sighed and crawled in next to him.
Darby felt Wolf position himself in back of him. Stiffening, he huddled deeper into the blankets. Wolf reached an arm around Darby's waist and pulled him back against him, spooning their figures.
"Relax, boy. The night's going to be bitterly cold. We should have been back at the ranch already. Too late in the season for overlays outdoors. Sharing body heat will help."
Then he pulled another blanket over both of them. Darby could feel the cold eyes on the back of his head.
"I know you think I'm being hard, boy, but it still is nothing like Laramie. You're going to be all right, little mite, I'll see to it."
Then Darby, hearing the treasured nickname, the one term of endearment he could associate to a fatherly relationship with this man, relaxed. He was desperate for comfort and forgiveness and love right now. If this was all the man could offer, then Darby ran to it eagerly like a starving wolf to a bone.
Easing his body back, careful of his tender backside and any contact
with Wolf's hard thighs, he allowed himself to be held. Sighing deeply,
almost contentedly, Darby clung to the simple moniker that implied feelings
for him.... he had been given hope....and where there was hope, Darby Cole's
spirit sprung eternal and green.
THE END
Thank you for reading and I hope that you have been entertained.
There is a need inside ourselves that reaches out against our will
It grabs the things we miss the most and knows what holes to fill
To analyze is but a waste for there are no secrets to impart
The place to look is deep within your lonely, silent heart.
For in this silence rests our souls in bitter exile safe and sound
Where all our hurts and needs and wants can always there be found
We talk of trust and friendships rare and long to know the thrill
But we turn away and run and hide and can't control our will.
If life in such a lonely place must always grace our souls
How can we be expected then to reach for higher goals
If no one reaches out to us and pulls us in to tame
We've lost our spirits to the wilds and we are fair as hunter's game.
---mmm
Cajun Words compliments of: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/4396/language.html
Papere: Grandfather
Mon Petite: Little one
Podna: Friend/Partner
Rodee: To run the roads/never stay home
Bebette: A little monster; a little critter
Mon Ami: My love
