PART ONE: The First Thanksgiving

The two men tramped through the brush, shotguns tucked in their arms, while the dog coursed ahead, casting this way and that for the elusive scent. They didn't speak much. They didn't need to. They had been together so long that they knew what each other was thinking and could communicate more in a look than anyone could imagine. It was a fine hunting day; there had been a light frost and some mist earlier, but the frost had burned off and the mist lifted as the morning progressed. Neither man was noticing the fine day, however.

The light-haired man stole a glance at his silent, darker companion, and sighed slightly. He noticed that his friend's dark hair was more gray than dark these days and that his eyes were hooded. He knew that he, too, was beginning to show his age, finally after all these years of people thinking him younger than he actually was. And what years they had been for two old friends, partners, closer than most family really. They had drifted for years, wandering the West before they met two sisters, Ruth and Esther, and settled down. Hard to believe it after their years of roaming, of never getting involved, but they had both fallen hard for the girls. In their drifting days, they had done things they weren't too proud of, but all that had ended long ago, even before meeting Ruth and Esther. These settled years had been good to them, no more wandering; now they had a home and families. They shared the ranch, and he and Ruth had been blessed with little Clementine and Joshua. His partner and Esther were expecting their first.

He knew they had a lot to be thankful for, but this year he just couldn't find it in his heart to believe it, and he knew his friend wasn't feeling very thankful either. This year had been hard. First, there had been the long, cold winter that had strained the stock, and they'd lost too many. Then came the brush fire that destroyed most of their best grazing. They'd had to sell off most of their remaining herd at terrible prices. The railroads had gouged them on the freight to ship the cattle - well that figured, never did like the railroads. Then the worst thing, Ruthie had lost little Aaron. It had been almost six months now, and she was still grieving. Finally, they'd had to let the ranch hands go. Now, too many chores fell on Clem and Josh. And they'd been out for three hours already and not a sign of a bird. Yeah, not much to be thankful for this year, he thought. Somehow it just didn't seem fair.

"What do you say we give up and head back? It's getting late."

"No, not yet," his partner responded. "I promised the girls we'd get some birds for tomorrow's dinner. Ruthie, well it would give Ruthie something else to think about. And Esther, I haven't told you this, she doesn't want to say anything to upset Ruthie, but I know she's scared that she'll lose her baby too. We have to bring something back; we have to turn things around somehow."

"Okay, another hour then we need to get back, or they'll start worrying about us."

So they tramped on, tense now and worried, each lost in his thoughts. Suddenly the dog froze and went on point. They glanced at each other, raised their shotguns, and gave a low whistle. The dog nosed forward cautiously and poked at the bush. Three partridges sprang into the air, the shotguns blasted, almost drowning out three sharp cracks, and all three birds plummeted to the ground, out of sight behind a small stand of trees. The dog barked and gave chase. The men followed more slowly, taking their time, smiling slightly, knowing that they now had a Thanksgiving dinner to bring home.

When they came around the little stand of trees, however, they pulled up abruptly. The dog stood guard over the birds, but there were two men, boys really, standing there trying to get around the dog.

"Go get a stick; I'll stay here and make sure he don't eat them," the dark-haired one urged his blond companion. The other turned to comply, then saw the men emerge from around the trees, and swung back to line up next to his friend.

"Don't do it, boy; those are our birds."

The blond spoke, "No, sir, they're not, at least not two of them. See only one's been hit by a shotgun; we shot the others," and he pointed out their six-guns.

"Don't be ridiculous, boy, can't nobody shoot partridges in flight with a six-gun. We should know; my partner here is mighty handy with a gun."

The dark-haired boy, who appeared to be the older of the two, spoke up. "He can, and he did." Then he turned to his companion, "You're real good with that gun; we'll eat well tonight."

His friend responded, "Na, you can shoot too. See you winged that one."

Again the boys moved to retrieve the partridges, but stopped short at the sound of two shotguns being reloaded and cocked.

The older, dark-haired man pointed his shotgun at the two of them and spoke, "I said those are our birds. Our families need them, and we will have them. You two go home."

The younger boy's blue eyes turned to ice as he glared at the men, "We told you, you shot one bird, and we shot two. Now we aim to have our birds." His hand tightened on the gun, and he lifted it slightly. His companion reached out and patted his shoulder, his eyes dark and thunderous. "It's okay; we can get us a couple other birds. Let's go." He turned away, pulling his friend with him.

"We can't get a couple more birds; I don't have any more bullets. It ain't fair! It ain't right!"

"Who said life was fair for the likes of us? When has it ever been fair to us? Now, I've got two more bullets; you can have them; that'll be enough. And if it isn't, well then we can get to the next town and maybe get some stew and hoe cakes. You know you like hoe cakes. Maybe we've even got enough for a hotel room for a night."

"No. That money is to buy you new boots; you know you need boots, and we ain't found a hotel yet that will give us a room anyway."

"Well, then we can use the money to get into a poker game. You know I'm pretty good at that, as good as you are at shooting. Maybe we can double or triple it even, then we'd have enough for boots and food, and we'd spend the night somewhere warm, even if it is just a saloon."

The two men examined the boys as this conversation went on, then glanced at each other. The boys were scruffy, their hair too long, their clothes too small, worn, and ripped. They both had pinched expressions and were too thin, thinner even than boys at that age ought to be. The men looked down at the older boy's boots. They were about worn out and the sides had been split to allow too-big feet to continue to wear them. The men sighed and lowered their shotguns.

"Hold up there boys."

"Why? All's we got is three dollars and fifty-seven cents; you gonna steal that, too?" the dark-haired boy stormed at them as the two turned back.

"What are you two boys doing out here anyway? Where're your parents?"

"Dead, and what's it to you?" the dark-haired boy challenged them.

"Who takes care of you?"

"We take care of each other just fine."

"Yeah, we can see that," the older man replied dryly. He looked at his partner and the two held a silent conversation.

"Tell you what, why don't you come back with us and spend the night with our families, and we'll all share the birds tomorrow. Maybe we can find you some boots and a coat or two."

"We don't need charity."

"It ain't charity. We all have a dispute about the birds. Now my partner and I had to let our ranch hands go; we can't pay you, but perhaps if you would stay and help us out for a few months, maybe through the winter say, we could give you room and board – a place to sleep and food – and maybe manage to rustle up some clothes and such in exchange for your labor. In fact, we'd be honored to have two who can shoot as well as you two stay with us for a while. What do you say?"

The two boys looked at each other and held a silent conversation. The men noticed some of the despair leave their eyes and their slouches straighten as they absorbed the words. They shrugged then turned back to the men.

"Okay, deal," the darker, older one stated for both of them, and he held out his hand. His younger companion hesitated a moment longer then held out his hand as well.

"What're your names, boys?"

"Heyes,"

"That's all?"

"Yeah, just Heyes and this here's my partner, Jed Curry."

The dark-haired man gave a short laugh, "Well, Just Heyes and Jed Curry, I'm Nate Rembacker and this is my partner, John Hotchkiss. Nice to meet you, now let's go get something to eat."

As the four headed back the way the two men had come, they noticed what a lovely day it was. Maybe there was something to be thankful for after all this year.