Gus sat outside the rickety cabin, sipping from his whiskey jug. The sun beat down, lulling the men into a sort of stupor. The sound of hoof beats startled them, and Gus shielded his eyes to better see who was coming.
"Mista Gus," breathed Deets as he dismounted his horse in one smooth motion. "Young Newt, he's gone missin'. I done looked in all the usual places. Boy musta took off somewhere." Gus looked into the other man's worried eyes.
"Now, Deets, don't get yerself all riled up. It's powerful hot…could be he headed for the water. Hell, I can remember sneakin' a dip when I was young'un. Good thing my pa never caught me." Deet's eyes widened.
"Mista Gus, he done know better than to go to the creek. The boy can't swim!"
"Easy. The water's down anyway, with this drought. Let's go see. We'll fetch him back."
The two men strode to the corral, Deets snaking out Gus's mare quickly with a rope. Gus quickly saddled her, his mind pondering all the possibilities that the seven year old could've gotten himself into. There was danger plenty about. His pulse sped up, and he hurried to mount.
After a quick gallop, Gus and Deets pulled their horses up sharply, surveying the creek bed. The men breathed a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the young boy, playing in the clear water. His clothes were spread on a bush, and the boy was as naked as the day he was born.
"NEWT!" Gus' voice sounded like a shot over the quiet creek bed. The youngster jumped, his head jerking up.
"Git your britches on and get yourself home, right now." The boy jumped up guiltily, grabbing his clothes and beginning to struggle into them. "Yes, sir!" his high-pitched voice answered.
Gus shook his head. "I God, that boy. When Woodrow hears about this, his britches won't hold spit."
"Indeed, Mista Gus, the Captain don't take to havin' his orders disobeyed." Turning their horses, they rode slowly toward the ranch. Gus was deep in thought, and offered no conversation. Newt had been with the band of men here in Lonesome Dove since his mother died. It sure wasn't the best place to be raising a young'un, but they made do. He was a good boy…a bit adventurous at times…but none of them wanted him to grow up a sissy. It was obvious to Gus that Newt had figured he was safe to go swimming because the Captain was gone—off raiding the Mexicans for their horses. As much as Gus wanted to cover for the boy, he knew he couldn't. Obedience was an important thing for a young'un to learn…following orders could mean the difference between life and death out here in the west.
Gus was seated back in his accustomed place on the porch when Newt came trudging up. The boy's clothes clung to his wet skin, now dusty. He peeked at Gus from under downcast eyes.
"The water was powerful nice, Gus. I jist wanted to cool off is all." Gus smiled.
"I know, pardner. You's just hot, like the rest of us. But you can't swim yet. And ya ain't to be goin' to the crick by yerself." There were several deep places further down the creek…deep enough for a young feller to drown if he couldn't swim.
"Are ya…are ya gonna tell the Captain?" Gus sighed. Lord knows, Woodrow wouldn't admit that the kid was his son…but he sure acted like it. Wasn't no one else on the ranch who disciplined the boy, just Woodrow. And Newt knew it. Gus looked into the worried blue eyes.
"He'll be knowin'. I can't keep somethin' like this from him. Ya coulda been hurt."
"Ya think he'll whup me?"
"Well, I can't say fer sure. You just behave yerself from now on, and we'll just see. Go on, now…git yer chores done." The boy trudged forlornly down toward the barn. Gus reached his arms above his head in a mighty stretch. His eyes met those of Deets.
"Mista Gus, you ought not to give the boy false hope. The Captain's gonna whup him good, and well ya know it. I hate to say it, though, but the boy's deservin' . It ain't safe, what he done."
"I know, Deets. I just don't have the heart to tell 'im. Let him finish his day out without bein' too worried. Always hated waitin' for a lickin, myself. Woodrow'll be back before night fall, and then it'll soon be done and over. Poor kid."
The sun was well on its way down the horizon by the time the Captain rode in. Supper was over, but a plate had been kept warm. Newt sat in the corner by the fireplace, whittling on a piece of wood. Captain Call entered the cabin noisily, kicking the dust from his boots.
"Howdy, boys. Got us a few sorrel mares. Right fine stock. Deets, make sure they's made comfortable in the barn."
"Yes, suh." Deets stole a look at Gus on his way out the door. Woodrow stretched his arms over his head.
"Whew! Quite a ride. What went on here when I was away? Newt behave himself?" He cast a look at the boy in the corner. Gus decided to wait to mention the creek incident; first, he'd tell what the boy had done that day that was right.
"Got all his chores done. He curried those horses till they was shining like they's goin' to Sunday School. Boy's getting' right good with the horses. He's a natural." The old gunslinger winked at Newt. The boy flushed red at the praise, but the worried look did not leave his eyes. Gus sighed.
"But…that weren't all that happened today." Captain Call looked up, his eyes narrowing. The silence lengthened. Tired of waiting, he barked, "Were you plannin' on telling me, or ya just gonna sit there?"
"Well, Woodrow, don't get yerself upset, but young Newt was powerful hot today. He went on down to the creek to cool hisself off." Woodrow glowered at his best friend.
"Alone?" His voice was low. Gus nodded and continued to speak, his voice placating. "He was in the shallows, Woodrow. Safe as could be when me and old Deets came upon 'im." The Captain's stern gaze was now on the boy's bowed head, as he whittled feverishly.
"Newt, you come on over here." The youngster slowly put down his knife and piece of wood. He got up and trudged over to the Captain's chair.
"Yes, sir?"
"That true? Did ya go on down to the crick by yerself? No, you look at me when I'm talkin' to ya, boy," he instructed, as Newt looked at the floor. He reluctantly raised his eyes to those of the Captain.
"I'm waitin' fer an answer. And I'd advise yer not lyin' to me." Newt squared his shoulders and rapidly blinked back the tears.
"Yes, sir." The soft words could barely be heard. Woodrow sighed.
"Well, you know better. Didn't I tell you to stay away from that crick unless you's with someone?"
"Y-yes, Sir."
"You get on out to the barn. I'll be there shortly." It was utterly silent in the small cabin as all watched the little boy make his way out the door.
"I God, Woodrow, the boy meant no harm. Can't ya jist…let 'im off with a warnin' or somethin'? I don't cotton to hearin' the sound of a belt swingin' tonite." The Captain snorted.
"Well, gee whiz, Gus—we all know if you was in charge, the boy'd get away with everything. Puttin' himself in danger and disobeyin' what I done tole him….he's gettin' a whippin, and I ain't gonna listen to anymore." Finishing up his dinner, the man rose and removed his gunbelt. Leaving the other belt, the one that held up his pants, in place, he strode out the door.
Newt leaned against the barn wall, watching the sunset over the plains around Lonesome Dove. The horses nickered softly, and he was comforted by the familiar sounds. All too soon, the sound of the Captain's boots approaching reached his ears, and he could feel his heart thumping with trepidation. The man's walk even sounded angry.
"In the barn, boy." The command was not to be disobeyed. Newt figured he'd done enough of that for one day, and he scurried to do as he was told. The Captain wasn't one to stall. The boy's stomach tightened with butterflies as he heard the clink of a belt buckle and the slide of the leather through the loops. His teary eyes shot to those of the Captain.
"I-I'm sorry, sir. Please don't whup me! Please!" Woodrow met his gaze sternly.
"Newt…you done disobeyed orders. I tole you that you weren't to go on down to the crik alone. You've not learned to swim yet and it ain't safe. You're gonna learn, boy…that when I tell ya not to do somethin', you don't. You understand me?"
"Yes,sir!" the boy whimpered.
"If I can't get through to ya through your ears, I'm gonna have to go through your backside." The big man sighed. "I think that's enough talkin'. Go on…bend over."
Newt swallowed hard. Golly, but it was hard to turn your back to the man who was gonna whup ya. Leaning over, Newt reached both hands below his knees. A firm hand was placed on his back, holding him in place. He squirmed a little, anticipating the coming punishment.
"Ahhh!" he yelped as the belt landed hard on his backside. Tears poured down his cheeks as the leather came down twice more. Purely on instinct, he tried to squirm his behind out of the line of fire. The Captain's arm went around his waist, pulling him in close. No longer able to squirm, he let loose a whimper.
"Hold still!" He barked. "You're deservin' of this, and you know it." He began to swing the belt in even cadence and with unerring accuracy. The fire built, and Newt was soon wailing and promising never to go to the creek alone again. Finishing with several licks to the boy's sit spots, Woodrow released his hold and allowed the youngster to stand. Newt was crying hard, rubbing his sore bottom with both hands. Threading his belt back through the loops, the Captain remained silent. He did not offer comfort; his pa had never done so with him…in fact, the idea never occurred to him.
"Ya come on in when ya git yourself together." He spoke gruffly. "It's nigh on time for bed…you's got a big day comin' tomorrow." Striding out the door, he left the youngster alone in the twilight of the barn.
Newt slowly calmed, wiping his tears with his sleeve and sniffling. He rubbed and rubbed at the sting, but it didn't help much. The Captain sure knew how to swing a belt. I guess I'd better not go to the creek again till I can swim. Maybe I can get Gus to teach me. With a final deep shuddery breath, he trudged toward the rickety shack that was home.
Much later that night, Gus made his way home from the saloon—having spent some time with Laurie. Entering the dark cabin, his nose twitched at the smell of unwashed bodies that permeated the small space.
"Be more fresh air outside," he muttered as he stepped out onto the porch. Settling himself, he breathed a great sigh. It was a right fine evening. Musing over the events of the day, the old cowboy tensed as he heard a rustling behind him. Pulling out his Colt revolver, he spoke softly…menacingly.
"Who's there?" He breathed a sigh of relief as a small voice answered.
"It's me, Gus. Newt."
"I God, son, you startled me. What're you doing out of bed this late?" Even as he asked the question, Gus knew the answer. The boy always came to him for comfort after Woodrow gave him a licking. He held out his arm, and Newt snuggled next to him.
"What am I gonna do with you, boy?" he scolded gently.
"I'm sorry, Gus. I'm sorry I went to the crick behind yer back." He could hear tears in the youngster's voice. His arm tightened around the thin shoulders.
"Weel, I'm sorry you got yer backside tanned tonight, even if it was deserved. But now it's all over…ya got a clean slate. I trust that now you'll stay away from the crick?"
"Yes, sir!" was the emphatic reply. The boy lay his head down on the old cowboy's chest, and felt safe. The two sat together without speaking for some minutes. Gus finally stirred himself.
"Best get to bed, Newt." Newt grimaced as he got to his feet, his hand going back to rub. Gus chuckled.
"Yer behind sore?"
"Yes, sir. It's gonna be mighty hard to sit my horse tomorrow," the boy lamented as he moved slowly through the door and back to bed. Neither of them noticed the figure of Captain Call standing in the shadows, having heard the entire conversation.
Thanks, Gus. He spoke inwardly. Thanks for doin' what I can't do. I love that boy a powerful lot…I just can't show 'im. Maybe next time.