Only the Stubborn Survive Page 4

  “No problem. We waited on putting up a marker. We didn’t know if you’d ever be back, but we hoped you would and so we decided to wait. Figured you’d want to make the decision about it yourself, it being a personal matter. You sure you don’t want to get something to eat before we go over there?”

  Red shook his head. “No. Want to pay my respects first. I owe the Old Man a lot more than that.”

  After locking the office, he and Red rode out of town and up the hill north of town.

  There was a tall ornate archway framing the entrance to the cemetery, with a sign on top that read: baker’s gap necropolis. Red smiled as he read the words carved into a large stone that was near the entrance. most everyone who stays here is equal in the eyes of the lord.

  The Old Man had never expressed any particular notions about religion or the afterlife, or even how he wanted to be remembered. Red had never given it a passing thought, figuring they would always be together. But now, looking around at the rows of graves, some with headstones, most with wooden crosses, all lined up, he felt this was as good a place as any for his pa’s final resting place.

  “Over there . . . under that big tree,” the sheriff said, and pointed out the plot. “I’ll leave you alone with him to say goodbye.”

  Red walked slowly over to the freshly covered gravesite, reflecting on how the mound reminded him of all their gold digging together over the years. Stopping at the grave, tears welled up in his eyes, and he smiled sadly. “You always was digging up holes, Pa, all over the place,” he began. “Guess this is your last one. I expect iffen there’s a place up there for good folks to go to rest in peace, they’ll let you in without nary a question. I want to thank you for all you done, and don’t you be worrying none about me. I’ll be all right. I even got it in my mind what I’d like to do with my life. It likely won’t involve any more picks and shovels, but it should be useful just the same. If I do it right.”

  Tom Harrison watched the boy at a respectful distance, waiting for him to return so they could head back to town.

  * * * * *

  “We’re going to get something to eat now, Red, whether you’re hungry or not,” Harrison said as they rode back into Baker’s Gap. “I know I sure as hell am. We still have some things to discuss, and then the next thing on the agenda will be to get you fitted out with some new clothes.”

  “And a new hat and boots,” Red added enthusiastically.

  Tom smiled. “Right, but first on the list is vittles. Come on, follow me.”

  The sheriff said the best eatery in town was Edith’s, the same place the Old Man and Red had gone. Upon entering, Tom took off his hat and hung it on a coatrack. Red did the same.

  “Hello, Edith. There’s two of us,” the sheriff said when the owner peeked out from the back.

  Drying her hands, she came out and looked at the boy a moment before recognizing him, then tears came to her eyes. “Oh, you poor thing,” she whispered, and wrapped Red up in her big arms. “How horrible it must be for you. Lordy mercy.” Then Edith released the embarrassed boy and escorted the two to a nearby table. “What happened to that kind man is an outrage. You just sit right here, and I’ll fix you both up something special.”

  The pair sat down, and when Red looked around the room, he could see people staring at him. “I’m not used to this much attention,” he whispered to the lawman.

  “Well, it isn’t every day that someone so young brings in two killers all by his lonesome. I expect they’re just curious is all. It’ll wear off once they get to know you.”

  “Don’t plan on them getting to know me,” he replied suspiciously as he glanced around the room again.

  Red wiped his face on his sleeve before putting his elbows up on the table as if to signal he was ready to eat.

  “Ms. Edith runs a respectable place here, so remember your etiquette,” Tom said, frowning.

  “What’s eh-ti-kit?” Red asked, unsure of what he had done wrong.

  “It’s the difference between stable manners and table manners,” the sheriff told him with a smile. “So elbows off the table.”

  It wasn’t long before Edith appeared with two bowls of hot soup and a pyramid of sourdough biscuits. “This’ll start you off, but take your time, there’s more coming up.”

  Over their meal the two discussed the immediate future.

  “Have you thought any about what you want to put on a marker for your pa? If you decide on a stone marker, it’ll take some time to get it here and have it carved.”

  “I don’t even know what goes on a marker. But I think the Old Man might like something simple, a plain wooden one,” the boy said.

  Tom ignored Red’s last comment. “Well, what one usually puts on a headstone is the person’s name and his birth date and his date of death. Maybe a saying of some kind . . .”

  “Like what?” Red broke in.

  Tom thought a moment. “Oh, you know, things like . . . maybe ‘Rest in peace’ or ‘Beloved father.’ Whatever you like.”

  Red remained silent as he thought over the idea. “I don’t even know when he was born, but if I was to put up a headstone, I would want it to say Bear Slayer.”

  “Did you say Bear Slayer?” Tom said, his brow furrowing.

  Red nodded. “Yep. I think he’d like that.”

  “That’s kinda unusual,” the lawman said. “Do you mind telling me why you’d think he’d like that? Not prying, just trying to understand is all.”

  “It’s the name the Kiowas gave him when he was young man,” Red explained. “Bear Slayer is a translation or at least close to it.”

  “And just how did he get that name? I mean aside from the obvious one.”

  Red chuckled before he answered the sheriff. “Well, it was one of his favorite stories to tell me.” Red closed his eyes and tried to think of the way the Old Man told it. He wanted to honor the story and tell it just like the Old Man had so many times to him.

  “Well, it’s like this,” he began. “Many years ago, when he was a young man, he was prospecting up north and west of the Panhandle, when suddenly he heard a horrible noise coming from the far side of a large stand of trees. He tied up his mule, mounted his horse, and pulled his .50-caliber Hawkins rifle out. He rode through the trees to the other side of the grove where he saw a young Indian brave being attacked by a large black bear. There were about ten others in the group with him, but when the bear charged, they must’ve scattered. The Old Man figured he had to act, since he couldn’t just stand there and watch the bear maul that Indian.”

  “So what’d he do?” Tom asked, taking the story in with a grain of salt.

  “Well, sir, I’ll tell you,” Red said, happy to see that the sheriff was as interested in the story as he had always been. “He spurred his mount and attacked that bear on horseback. As he charged he fired that Hawkins, and when he got closer, he pulled his single-shot flintlock belt gun and fired it too. Problem was that the two shots just got the bear all riled up. Took its attention away from the Indian it was attacking, though.” Red stopped to laugh, just as the Old Man always did at this point.

  “He wouldn’t have had time to reload,” Tom pointed out. “Not back then. Those single-shot muskets were deadly but nowhere near as fast as an angry bear.”

  “You’re right. So the Old Man got out his hunting knife and just rode that horse up to the bear as fast as he could. Then he leaped out of his saddle and onto the bear’s back with the knife in his hand.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Tom said dismissively.

  “Oh, you can believe it,” Red assured him. “Many is the time I saw his scars from that fight. Ain’t nothing makes marks like that ’cepting a bear claw. Anyway, he dove onto that bear’s back and began stabbing it for dear life. His, not the bear’s.” Red smiled as he remembered how the Old Man had always liked to tell the particulars of the story. “Finally, when the fur stopped flying, both the Old Man and the bear was lying on the ground, only the bear wasn’t breathing no more.”

  “What’d the Indians do?” Tom asked.

  “As it turned out, the man was a Kiowa war chief, and him and his hunting party was hunting far north of their usual stomping grounds. Maybe game was scarce that year, I don’t know. At any rate, both the Indian and the Old Man were tore up something awful. So the others in the party patched them up as best they could, and they skinned and butchered the bear.” Red paused to take a drink of the coffee Edith had brought them. “Well, sir, that band went back south and took him right along with them. They continued to care for him until he was healed up. Them Kiowas honored him for saving their chief by giving him a necklace they had made with some of the bear claws on it.”

  “You said the Kiowas gave him that name, didn’t you?” Tom asked.

  Red nodded. “He stayed on and lived with them for a couple of years more before he finally got the itch to move on. One day he just up and left and went back to prospecting.”

  “That’s too tall a tale even for me,” the sheriff said in total disbelief.

  “Believe it,” Red said, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, reached in, and pulled out a necklace with three bear claws strung together with beads. The claws were among the largest ones Tom Harrison had ever seen.

  “Bear Slayer it is then,” Tom said, smiling and shaking his head. “Guess all that’s left is for you to decide what kind of marker you want,” he said.

  When they were finished with the chicken dinner Edith had served, the lawman pushed back his chair and rose from the table. He stood there for a time, looking at Red, before he finally spoke.

  “So it’s agreed. For now you’re staying
with me. In the morning we’ll go see Jacob Reilly over at the bank, since you said you have business there, and then we’ll get you fitted out with some new clothes . . . boots and hat included. After that, we can talk about what comes next.”

  Red yawned loudly. “I also want to make sure the roan is taken care of over at the livery. I got to liking him right quick.”

  Sheriff Harrison looked down at the boy. “Yeah, sometimes it happens like that.”

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, when they were finished eating a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hot buttered biscuits, Red leaned back, patted his stomach, and said: “I haven’t eaten regular like this in . . . well, never. I thought you said you weren’t that good a cook.”

  The lawman laughed. “Tell you a little secret. Since I’m a widower, the women around here drop food off for me every so often. Trying to get on my good side, I guess. But when they got wind of how you were staying here, they cooked up enough food and brought in enough vegetables and other supplies to last us at least a week. There’s a stew for dinner right over there.”

  “Widower? You was married?” Red asked.

  “Yeah I was married,” he affirmed, a wistful look passing over his face. “Lost my wife and son about ten years back to Comanches. We had a ranch a couple of hundred miles west of here. The boy was only four at the time. Both were way too young to die. Annabelle was prettier than a man like me could ever dream of marrying. Good woman, good mother, and a great wife.”

  “Sorry,” Red said sincerely.

  “Long time ago,” Tom reflected. “So you see, you’re doing me a favor by staying on. Help keep me company, and who knows . . . maybe the food’ll keep a-comin’.”

  Red said nothing. He was still noncommittal, never having lived in a town.

  As they started to leave the house, the boy grabbed up his pistol and stuck it in his belt.

  “You won’t need that with me along,” the sheriff said confidently.

  Red pointed at the man’s sling. “No offense, but I don’t believe that’s necessarily true.” When he saw the expression on the sheriff ’s face, Red immediately regretted his comment. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

  “Forget it. But I repeat . . . you won’t need that.”

  “Again no offense, Sheriff, but I’ve been sleeping with a firearm within reach since I was knee-high to a possum.”

  “Out on the trail sure, but we’re in town now,” Harrison reminded him.

  “And nothing bad ever happens in town? We heard that this was a nice peaceful place and less than a day after arriving, the Old Man gets killed. I think I’ll just carry this with me, anyway.”

  “You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tom said, shaking his head.

  The pair ended up crisscrossing the town all morning, from livery to the general store, from the leather smith to the town barber. They put off going to the undertaker to discuss a marker, but they did go to the bank. As Red walked though the bank door, he kept looking down at his new boots with pride.

  Jacob Reilly was pleased to see the two entering his establishment. He stood up and extended a hand to the sheriff. “Glad to see you up and around, Tom.” The man hesitated a moment before gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk.

  “As for you, son, I am real sorry about your father.”

  “Yes, sir, and thank you,” Red said, taking a seat. The sheriff sat down next to him.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the gold we left here in the bank,” Red said, jumping right in. “I’m sort of trying to figure out what to do next.”

  The banker nodded as he sat down. “I am sure it all seems overwhelming. Please, let me explain.” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out an envelope and then unfolded the sheet of paper inside. “Have you seen this?” he asked Red. “Do you know what this is?”

  Red looked at the paper and shook his head. “No, sir. Never saw it before.”

  “Well, this is your pa’s Last Will and Testament. Wrote right here in this bank. So let me explain it in simple terms. This is a legal document your pa wrote to outline what the bank was supposed to do in the event of his . . . um . . . passing.”

  Red looked at the sheriff and back at Reilly. “And?”

  The banker looked over at the sheriff and smiled. “Well, simply put, with your portion of the gold that you two discovered, you would be considered well-to-do for the rest of your life. However, with your pa’s passing . . .” He tapped the paper. “His half of the gold is to be transferred to you when you are a little older. Twenty-five to be exact. Except, that is, for a small amount to be used by the bank for managing your accounts and insuring your capital.”

  “So what does that all mean exactly?”

  Jacob Reilly let out a small laugh. “Son, it means that you are a very wealthy young man. Very wealthy, indeed.”

  Reilly looked at the sheriff. “I’m going to give the sheriff here this copy of the will, so the two of you can go over it and confirm that what I have told you are the wishes of your pa, as expressed in the document. I have already transferred your pa’s share of the funds into a private account. It will accrue interest until you are twenty-five. In the meantime, your account will always have more than enough money in it to meet your needs and then some. I must say, few of your age, or any age, can even dream of being in your position.”

  Red thought of all the good years he had spent with the Old Man. “Somehow I don’t feel much like being in this position right now,” he said softly.

  The banker nodded his head. “And that is totally understandable. But believe me, son, I promised Mr. Smith, your pa, that I would watch out for your best interests, and I don’t give my word lightly. Just ask Tom here if you have any doubts.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I would stake all I have on Jacob’s word. I think anyone in town will tell you the same.”

  Red looked from Tom to the banker. “I want some money now, so I can pay for all the things I bought and pay the sheriff here for all his help.”

  “Not a problem, my boy. It’ll take just a moment.” Jacob Reilly headed for the closest teller.

  Tom shook his head. “Red, you don’t owe me a thing.”

  “That’s not the way I see it,” Red replied.

  “Tell you what,” Harrison said. “Let’s go back home. I think I may have a proposal you just might like.”

  The banker came back, and after counting out the money, he handed it to Red. The sheriff stared incredulously.

  “That’s more than I make in months,” he commented, scratching his head.

  “Which is precisely why it’s important that someone trustworthy protect this boy’s interests,” the banker reaffirmed.

  Red became angered and patted the revolver stuck in his belt. “Stop calling me a boy. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Reilly said, flinching slightly in his chair. “But that’s with things you know about. I’m talking about con artists, crooked gamblers, and people looking for investors. Ever heard of a bunco artist, a sting, or a blackmail setup?”

  “No, sir,” Red replied truthfully.

  “Let me help with this, Jacob,” Tom Harrison said. “See, Red, it’s like this. It seldom is the things you are aware of that get you into trouble when it comes to money. To the contrary, it’s the unknown, the things that you didn’t even know existed that often get you. What Mr. Reilly is saying is, there’s a lot you need to learn about certain types of people and that you need to be educated about those things.”

  Red thought for a moment. “I just don’t know. It sounds like a good idea, but . . .”

  “It is,” the sheriff interrupted. “Red, that is what I wanted to discuss with you back at home.” He rose from the chair and addressed the banker. “Jacob, after we look over the will and talk it over, I promise we will get it back to you, and we’ll let you know if we have any questions.”

  The banker smiled and nodded. “Sounds good, Tom. You two take care.”

  Chapter Six

  Red walked into the house, threw his hat on the table, saying: “I wish we never had found that damned gold!” He turned to look the sheriff in the eye, adding: “The Old Man might still be alive today if we hadn’t.”