Only the Stubborn Survive Page 5

  “You can’t go blaming yourself for what happened, Red,” Sheriff Harrison told the boy, taking a seat at the table. “Just think how happy the Old Man would be to know that you’ve got money enough to take care of yourself for the rest of your life, if you’re careful. I don’t doubt that he always worried about what would happen to you if something happened to him. That’s taken care of now, and you can pretty much do whatever you want. That don’t happen very often. I can tell you that my wife Annabelle and her ma struggled something awful once her pa died. Her ma did whatever she could to make money to take care of Annabelle and her three siblings. ’Tweren’t easy on any of them. Her brother died of the fever when he was just a little younger than you. Couldn’t afford no doc, and they just watched him wither away day by day. Left Annabelle in a bad way for a long time, she said.” He stopped and just sat in silence for a few minutes before continuing.

  “But in spite of that, Annabelle kept a good outlook on life. Yup, Annabelle always looked for the good side when something bad happened. What I mean is, she always said that even though you might have something terrible happen to you . . . well, you gotta keep faith and hope alive within you, because you gotta go on, and besides, you never know . . . something good could be in your future. I can’t help but think that all the hardships she suffered in her young years made her stronger in the end.” He paused. “Maybe she was always strong. What do I know.”

  Harrison got up to put on a pot of coffee. “Now in your case,” he said, standing by the stove, a glowing matchstick held in his fingers, “I’m assuming you have a lot of good memories of your adventures with your pa. And to top it off, except for some of the big ranchers, you’re richer than most everyone in the territory.” He loaded up the coffeepot. “So now you just have to be smart with your money.”

  “I am smart,” Red declared loudly. “I can read and write.”

  “Sure you are,” Harrison said reassuringly. “But I doubt that you know anything about the handling of that much money.”

  “I thought that was Mr. Reilly’s job.”

  “It is, and he’ll do an honest job of it. But someday you might want to manage your own affairs . . . buy a house, settle down, have a family, that sort of thing. I know that may seem a long way off in the future, but in the meantime if word got out about your money, every rascal in the area would come around, trying to swindle you out of it. I’m afraid that after all those years out there in the hills prospecting, just the two of you . . . well, the truth is, you really don’t have all that much experience in dealing with those kind of people. I’m not saying there aren’t a lot of good people out there, but there are a lot of miscreants looking to take advantage of those with money.”

  Red pointed to his rifle and pistol which were hanging on a gun rack near the front door. “I can deal with them just fine as long as I have those.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “There’s more to protecting yourself than just depending on a gun. But all right, let’s consider that for a moment. I know your pa taught you how to shoot to feed yourself and protect yourself, but some people out there are out to take advantage of you and get at your money. A gun can’t help you in that situation . . .”

  “They take my money, I’ll go after them, and a gun will do the talking,” Red broke in angrily.

  “Hold on, hold on,” the sheriff advised. “If word gets out, that money could put a target on your back. I know you can survive on the frontier, but living among people is different.”

  “I’ve got no use for towns or people,” Red insisted. “Me and the Old Man had a good life.”

  “But he’s gone, Red,” Harrison said kindly. “You want to live alone for the rest of your life? Wandering out there with no one to talk to or share adventures with?”

  “No, but . . .” Red said hesitantly.

  “Then what are you gonna do? Just be a rich loner?”

  “I . . .” Red responded, realizing for the first time that he had to do some hard thinking about his future.

  Harrison was wise enough to know he needed to keep quiet while Red let the reality of his situation sink in.

  After Red considered what the lawman had said, he asked: “Maybe you could teach me? About people, I mean. I could pay you.”

  Tom shook his head. “I have a better idea. Back to my original proposition.”

  A spark of suspicion shot through Red’s eyes, which Sheriff Harrison saw immediately.”

  “Well, you stay here and live with me, I’ll teach you what I’ve learned about people, good and bad, in my years as a lawman, but you don’t pay me. You go to school, and learn as much as you can. Do your best to become a part of the community of Baker’s Gap. How old are you again?”

  “Close to fifteen. You know, the Old Man once told me that if things seem too good to be true, they ain’t true.”

  “And he was right,” Tom agreed.

  “So what’s the catch?” Red asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  Tom smiled. “You live here for at least two more years. During that time, like I said, I’ll do as much as I can to help you learn about people. You’ll go to school and learn about arithmetic, history, geography . . . outside the area you know like the back of your hand . . . and everything else Ms. Harriet can teach you over at the school.”

  Red lowered his eyes, scratched his head, and then sat there, mulling it over, his arms crossed over his chest. Harrison watched him, uncertain if he had gotten his point across, afraid the boy would say no and just head out of town to be on his own again. He had to break the silence, break into the boy’s thoughts.

  “What weapon did you use to dispense with those two killers?”

  “Used my long gun, like I told you,” Red replied. “It’s the one I’m most comfortable with. The Old Man had a pistol, but I didn’t hardly get to use it. Never had enough money to buy ammunition for it.”

  “Well, since you bought yourself that fancy new pistol,” Harrison said, “what say we throw in lessons on that gun as part of the deal, in case you decide to become a lawman?” Harrison smiled, hoping he could lure in Red with a skill he would be interested in gaining. He was pleased with himself for coming up with the idea.

  “What’s this Ms.—Harriet, is it?—like?” Red asked.

  Harrison almost let out a sigh of relief for the first time, having the feeling that Red might be swayed. “She’s a nice lady, but she’s as strict as a rock is hard when it comes to getting an education.”

  Red’s expression quickly changed. “How many hours do I have to be at this school a day?”

  “Not rightly sure. No matter, you’ll get to like it. They got books there aplenty.”

  “I guess I do have a lot to learn,” Red muttered to himself, which made Tom smile. “That it?” Red asked as he pondered what, if any, his alternatives were. He quickly determined there was only one, and its appeal was diminished greatly without the company of the Old Man.

  “Nope,” Harrison admitted, “there’s one last part to the deal. And you leave that pistol and rifle right where they are, unless I give you permission to take them out.”

  Red shook his head angrily, started to get up, almost shouting: “No way am I promising that!”

  “Wait a second, and hear me out,” Tom urged, kicking himself for bringing this last condition up before he had convinced the boy. “If you’re going hunting, or we’re going out to practice shooting, or any other good reason, you can carry your gun. But you can’t take it to school or carry it around town. I think that’s fair.”

  “What if some friend of those two killers comes around and hears that I was the one . . .”

  Tom put out his hand. “I’m the sheriff, remember. I don’t think a young man like yourself, walking around town, would be identified as a killer of those two hardcases by someone coming into town. Hell, you’d probably be more of a target if you had a gun on you and they learned you were the one that done it. Besides, Baker’s Gap is a pretty peaceful town when compared with others.”

  Red went back to being silent. Finally, he asked: “Why are you doing this for me?”

  Tom scratched his head, expelling air through pursed lips. “Don’t rightly know for sure, but I know it ain’t pity . . .” He stopped. “That’s not true, Red. Can I be honest with you?” Red nodded. “As I told you, I lost my son. Left a hole in my insides. Sometimes when I see a young boy . . . well, it reminds me of what I lost, and I wonder what kind of man he would have grown into. Felt that when I saw you coming back into town. And now that I’ve gotten to know you a little better, I believe he would have been a lot like you. Don’t ask me why, but I feel that. So I want to help you, because you have helped me already. I don’t feel so alone when I’m with you . . . I feel like I’m with my son. I understand why the prospector took you under his wing. You’ve shared camp with him for most of your life. I can’t replace him. But Red, you’ve got the makings of a fine man in you, and I want to do what I can to help in any way I can to make you that man. I think we might be good for each other.”

  Red put his hands on his knees awkwardly, shrugged, stood, and then stuck out his right hand. “All right. You’ve got a deal, Sheriff.”

  “Unless I’m on duty, just call me Tom from now on,” he said with a big smile.

  Red smiled back. “That won’t be a problem at all, Tom.”

  * * * * *

  For Sheriff Harrison, the deal he had struck with Red was everything he had hoped it would be. The young man was helpful and provided the companionship that had been missing from his home life for far too many years. There were many times throughout the day when the lawman would just sit back and study Red no matter what he was doing, and he would think to himself : That’s the way my Johnny would have approached that. It didn’t matter what it was, from the way Red wrinkled his brow when he was reading to the way he wiped his mouth on his sleeve when he thought no one was looking.

  For Red, the transition from a nomadic life to living in a house in a town took some getting used to. But after years of living primarily on the game he and the Old Man had killed, and wild onions, the dishes the women prepared for him and Tom—especially Mrs. Flagg’s desserts—were a welcome experience, though he missed the spicy fare he and the Old Man had eaten near the border. Tom volunteered him to help with the maintenance of the gardens of several of the women who supplied them on a regular basis with many of the tasty dinners they feasted on. He quickly developed a taste for sugar in his coffee, of which there was an endless supply that never had to be rationed.

  By the end of August, he felt as though he had met just about everybody in Baker’s Gap, all of whom enjoyed sharing a story or two upon any chance encounter. Red suspected they were expecting to learn more about him, but he preferred to listen and then make an exit as quickly as he could. It seemed most didn’t subscribe to the Western belief that one shouldn’t ask questions.

  The most difficult adjustment for Red was sleeping inside on a bed. He preferred sleeping in his bedroll under the stars, and it took several months for him to stop sneaking out at night, once Tom was asleep, so he could stare into the heavens, which helped him drift off.

  * * * * *

  Tom kept his promise, and at least a couple of times a week, they would head out of town and practice shooting. He even took him to the local leather smith to be measured for a holster for his Colt Peacemaker.

  “So, just how do you want to wear it?” the smith asked.

  “How about making it real low, like the ones I’ve seen in the south,” Red suggested. “And maybe we could add some fancy silver conchos on it?”

  The leather smith, a short, middle-aged fellow named Griff, smiled in anticipation of the price he could charge. He had already heard rumors about Red’s fortune.

  But Tom Harrison shook his head. “The last thing you want to do when you carry a gun is to call attention to yourself. Fancy conchos and silver studs are either the mark of a dude or a fool. There’s nothing wrong with fine-tooled leather, but it should be appreciated for its workmanship and not be flashy like an advertisement.”

  Though disappointed, Griff nodded in agreement. “I can still make it really special, Red, if that’s your wish without being . . . what’s the word . . . ostentatious.”

  Red had no idea what that word meant, so he merely shrugged. He made a mental note to ask Tom later.

  “And the style and measurement?” the leather smith asked.

  Yeah, what about that? Red wondered.

  When Red didn’t answer, Griff said: “How ’bout we make you a buscadero rig. The cartridge belt’ll ride through the leather in the holster, settling the gun on your hip, level with the palm of your hand. That way when you draw, your hand will naturally cock your Colt as you raise it up.”

  “That the best way?” Red asked curiously

  “Hard to answer that. There are shootists who carry their gun cross-draw style, while others use a twist draw with the gun butt facing forward. Others keep their pistol real low on the leg like those Texas pistoleros you mentioned. Some use a shoulder holster or carry the gun square in front of their belt buckle. And if . . .”

  “A buscadero rig should serve you just fine,” the sheriff interjected, cutting off Griff ’s long-windedness.

  Red looked at Tom and nodded.

  “One thing’s for sure,” Griff said. “When I get through working on it, that there pistol of yours will come out of my greased leather holster quicker than a fox fleeing a henhouse.”

  Tom laughed. “Not very proud of your work are you, Griff ?”

  “Got every right to be,” he replied, sticking out his chest.

  “Don’t worry, Red,” the sheriff agreed, patting his holster, which caused a twinge in his shoulder. “He’s not just blowing smoke. Griff made this here holster for me, and it hasn’t failed me yet. Least not in a fair fight.”

  So a holster was ordered. Red was excited, but a few weeks later, the first day of school arrived.

  * * * * *

  Flinging his coat off onto the floor of the sheriff ’s office, Red announced: “I’m not going back to that school!” He yanked the chair out from in front of Tom’s desk and stared unflinchingly at the lawman.

  “Problem with school, Red?” Tom asked calmly.

  “What’s not wrong with it? I’m the oldest, the biggest, the strongest, the smartest kid in the place.”

  “You’re the smartest, huh?” Tom said.

  “Yeah, I probably am,” Red snapped back. “Besides, they all stare at me. I don’t like it. And the girls . . . they giggle!”

  “What are you there for, Red?” Tom asked.

  “Because you said I had to go to school, or have you forgotten?” he responded as he slumped down deeper into the chair and started muttering to himself.

  “No, I haven’t forgotten,” Tom said. “But perhaps you’ve forgotten that we made a deal, and going to school was part of it, so you could better yourself. I know you want to. You ask me all sorts of questions . . . you want to know the meaning of words, so I know you want to expand your vocabulary. You wouldn’t even know that word’s meaning if you hadn’t asked me. Besides, in time you might make friends with some of the other students and . . .”

  “Be friends with those . . . those kids? That will never happen.”

  His frustration growing, Tom said: “You’re right. You’re there to learn, not make friends. So do that,” he said, getting up from the chair and grabbing his coat and hat. Before going out the door, he added: “You owe it to yourself, not to me.”

  * * * * *

  Anyone else in Red’s position would probably have simply quit and moved on, especially with so much money in the bank, but this boy was stubborn and had a strong sense of honor. He had shaken hands with Tom and given his word. As long as his new friend and mentor upheld his end of the bargain, Red would keep his, even if it killed him.

  Resigned, Red went to school the next day, and the next, and soon he learned to just ignore the other students. As Tom had said, Ms. Harriet ran her classroom of twelve students with an iron fist. He reasoned that a wagon master would probably have been more lenient than Ms. Harriet. But seeing how rowdy the students could get when she left the room even for a few minutes, he understood her approach.

  He found keeping up with the work on some subjects was difficult, and he could have done without the homework. But several weeks in, he realized that the sheriff had been right and that he didn’t know all that much. No subject captured his imagination as did history, and he was soon ordering books recommended by Ms. Harriet in their after-class conversations, which grew in frequency, as did his hunger to learn more. He received his first lesson in carpentry when Tom suggested they build a bookcase to house his growing collection of books. By the end of the school year, his most prized volume was his dictionary, and he was determined to learn the meaning and the spelling of all seventy thousand words in it. He thought this Webster fellow must be the smartest man in the world.

  The conversations he had with Tom at night about what he was learning made the sheriff proud of Red’s diligence. Oftentimes Red had to teach Tom about a historical event in which he was interested so that they could talk about it, which made Tom smile. Red learned that every Saturday night when Tom would leave for a couple of hours, he was going over to the boardinghouse to have dinner with Ms. Harriet. When he got up the nerve, he asked if they could invite Ms. Harriet over to their house occasionally on those nights so he could join in the conversation. That only happened a couple of times, though, because Red was full of questions for Ms. Harriet, and he monopolized the conversation. Although Red was upset, once Tom told him that he was treating Ms. Harriet like a teacher on one of her two nights off, he understood.