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Shirt Tale 4
A Day with a Duck
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"That's my parcel you're sittin' on!"
Jess Harper's bright blue eyes narrowed with potential menace. Bright black button eyes twinkled back at him.
There was a chuckling sound. Or it might have been a quack.
"Come on, Napoleon. Down off my chair!" Jess commanded hopefully. "And off my parcel!" he added for good measure.
There was a moment's stand-off, but Napoleon, like another one close to Jess's heart, could identify the tone that meant he really meant it. The duck jumped down with a deprecatory quack which said "Who, me? Defy you?"
Jess was not fooled but he didn't have a lot of time today for battles of will with small mallards. They were liable to be prolonged! It was hard work running the relay station on his own. Hard work and, if he was honest, lonely. He missed Slim and Andy and Mike and Jonesy more than he was ever going to admit out loud.
So he found himself talking to a duck, purely, he would have insisted, to fill the quiet which enveloped the place without the four people he cared for dearly. Slim had taken Andy, as a tribute to his growing maturity, on stage-line business to Cheyenne, Jonesy was visiting his sister in St. Louis and Mike had been swept up by the Travers clan and was no doubt having the time of his life with the younger boys. Jess and the duck had had sole possession of the relay station for a couple of days and the mallard seemed determined to oversee the work. The fact that Napoleon was hyper-sensitive to Jess's moods might, of course, also have something to do with the way the little duck was following him around even more closely than usual.
Now Jess looked down at his faithful feathered companion and grinned. "Come on, then."
He kicked the front door open with one foot as he scooped up the parcel. The paper showed definite signs of having been roosted on by a damp duck. His name and address were just about readable on the outside but there was no indication of where it had come from. Jess was too busy to bother with a mystery parcel right now. He tossed it onto the table and headed for the bunk room in search of a clean shirt. Slim had been adamant about neat attire when greeting the stages, although Jess figured the clean shirt would be pretty much the worse for wear by the time he had looked after the passengers and changed the team. Much like his current shirt. He had been shoeing a couple of the stage team and forgotten to take it off before he started. Consequently it was not only sweaty but covered with horse-hair and black ashes from the forge.
There was a shirt hanging from the end of his bunk, which saved a foray into his far from tidy drawers. Jess scrambled into it, dropping the dirty one somewhere in the direction of the laundry basket. He'd just have to deal with the washing later. Now he needed to get the coffee on. And he badly needed a cup himself.
In the living room, Napoleon was sitting smugly on the parcel once more.
"Off!" Jess ordered in what he hoped were his sternest tones. "Y'know what Jonesy'll do to you if you get on the table!" The old cook just about tolerated the duck's assumption that Jess was his domestic pet (and not the other way round) but only just. House-training duck and man had been a bit of an issue.
Napoleon gave Jess a look which reminded him unmistakeably: "Jonesy ain't here!"
Jess sighed. He regarded the determined duck for a few moments, firmly controlling his desire to laugh: Napoleon was very good at interpreting human expressions. Jess decided the best option was to go somewhere else. Napoleon was more than usually attentive, because Jess was on his own. It was obvious that the little duck had no intention of allowing Jess to get too lonely, so he was not going to go on squatting on the parcel for long.
Consequently, Jess went into the kitchen and busied himself producing the coffee. He deliberately left the door open. Sure enough, the scratch of webbed feet heralded the arrival of the erstwhile feathered parcel-cover. Then there was a flutter of those feathers as Napoleon launched himself at one of his favorite places - the sink.
"Napoleon!" Jess yelled without turning round. "Y' know soapy water ain't good for y' feathers!"
Napoleon changed trajectory and landed neatly on the edge of the bench as if it had been his only objective. Jess looked over his shoulder. Napoleon looked right back with an expression which said quite clearly: "Who me? Paddle in Jonesy's sink?"
It was unfortunate that, when Napoleon was being cooperative, he chose the bench to do so. It was also the favorite seat of Mungo, the huge ginger ranch-cat. Mungo and Napoleon had come to some kind of mutual agreement about who took precedence in various areas of the yard and outbuildings, but Mungo knew he alone ruled indoors. He had not succeeded in convincing Napoleon of this, however. The only recourse left to him was physical aggression.
A furry ginger ball of fury launched itself from its sleeping place on the sunny window-sill and a mighty clawed paw slapped into the bench where Napoleon had been sitting only a moment before. The duck launched himself upward with a startled squawk which was immediately echoed by one from Jess as Napoleon's wing caught a jar of Jonesy's home-made liniment on the shelf above.
Jess launched himself to catch it. It upended as it fell. All over Jess's clean shirt.
"Napoleon!"
Quack! This quack and the accompanying look declared plaintively: "Don't blame me! It was that cat!"
"Mungo – out!" Jess opened the back door and glared at the enraged feline, who glared right back. "Go catch some rats!" Jess ordered.
Mungo favored him with a supercilious and still furious hiss, but didn't like the pungent smell of the liniment any more than Jess did. He stalked out with his tail in the air, swishing it viciously as he went.
"You too!" Jess told the duck. "Fair's fair. Out!"
Napoleon hesitated just long enough to let Jess know that he was doing this because he couldn't stand the herbal aroma either. For a creature with nostrils in its bill, he managed to give the impression of holding his nose remarkably well.
Jess sighed again, pushed the coffee pot to the back of the stove and hauled his dripping shirt over his head. Several buttons spat across the floor. Jess groaned. But he was in luck. Jonesy had a pile of laundry waiting to be put away and on the top was another of Jess's shirts. Jonesy had even darned it and sewn on the missing buttons. Jess knew he'd get chapter and verse later for not doing it himself before he put it in the wash, but right now he blessed Jonesy fervently.
He dropped the aromatic shirt on the floor, moving it with his foot so it mopped up the worst of the mess. He was remembering another occasion when medicinal lotion had redecorated Jonesy's kitchen and a reminiscent grin lingered on his face for a good five minutes. But he was the one smothered in sludge this time and he had to get clean before the stage hove into sight.
Going out to the pump, Jess seized a basin and pumped himself a liberal amount of cold water. Much though he would have preferred warm, he just didn't have time to heat any. He gritted his teeth and washed vigorously. Then remembered that he hadn't got a towel.
Quack! The quack sounded slightly, very slightly, apologetic. Napoleon was sitting on the outside shelf. He was eyeing the bowl of water hopefully.
"Pity I can't train you to fetch towels," Jess told him.
Napoleon gave him another look. "Train a duck? Are you suffering from delusions of grandeur?"
To this, the little bird added further hopeful quack.
"Oh, all right!" Jess was unable to resist the appeal and put down his basin of water on the ground.
Napoleon descended with glee and a great deal of quacking. For some reason, he really enjoyed a bowl of shallow water. Maybe it was because Jess had just used it.
Jess, meanwhile, dripped back into the kitchen in search of a towel. The clean laundry pile was beginning to look distinctly battered by the time he found one and several of Slim's shirts had joined Jess's in the liniment on the floor. Jess was beginning to feel harassed. He'd have to boil enough water to wash the various dirty shirts and where was he going to find time to do that? He wished Slim's pa had had the forethought to build the place beside a hot spring!
His next duty, however, was to get the stage team harnessed ready, so that he could make a quick change while juggling this with coffee and hospitality at the same time. Rushing out of the house, he nearly put his foot in the bowl plus duck. Napoleon erupted, scattering water in every direction from his wings and finally upending the bowl when he tried to perch on its rim. Jess was not amused.
The horse barn was Jess's next port of call. He was still fuming after the stumble over Napoleon's bowl, which had nearly resulted in him measuring his length on the yard. There were times when an affectionate duck was nearly as much of a hazard as an affectionate female. He let his thoughts drift in this direction momentarily, not least because, with a certain female, the barn had been the location of some of their more intense encounters. This did not, however, mitigate his unreasonable annoyance with Napoleon for tripping him up, although it was hardly fair to blame the duck, who had only been indulging in an opportunity which Jess himself had provided. Maybe Jess's memories of his passionate clashes with a certain young Frenchwoman were not helping Napoleon's case.
Napoleon followed Jess into the horse barn, quaking anxiously. He appeared to feel he had pushed Jess's patience, which was never in great supply, just a little too far.
The Texan turned, hands on hips, and glared down at the little duck. Almost immediately he regretted this. Not only was Napoleon little but he had 'poor bullied little duck' down to an even finer art than the 'I am totally innocent' expression often employed by man who was glaring at him. Jess immediately felt guilty. After all, Napoleon had only been behaving like a duck.
"Up!" Jess gestured curtly towards Traveller, who was regarding them quizzically from his stall. Napoleon obediently flew up and landed on the bay. Traveller snorted a friendly greeting: he appreciated Napoleon's affection for the One.
Not so Jess's second string, the irritable grey Smoke. His head came up from the next stall and he lunged across the partition, teeth bared.
"Give over!" Jess gave him a hearty slap on the neck. "Y'know Napoleon, so don't go pretendin' you don't!"
The grey's ears were flat back. He was jealous of anyone, except Traveller, who had Jess's attention, although, with a purely equine stubbornness, he would not have even thought of admitting this. Traveller snorted softly again and lifted his muzzle over the partition. The two horses rubbed against each other for a moment, then Smoke gave another huff and moved away, pacing edgily round the stall. Traveller heaved a sigh, not unlike his master, and relapsed into relaxation, one hip propped and his head drooped low. Jess regarded the three animals affectionately for a moment. There were amazing critters on the planet and he felt privileged to live alongside some of them.
Not long after, the stage rolled in. Jess dutifully escorted the ladies and gentlemen within and plied them with refreshments. After this, he rushed out to the barn and helped with a rapid change of the team. He was pleased to note that Traveller was dozing, Napoleon was asleep on his back and Smoke had not bitten the head off the duck or anyone else - yet.
"Just keep behavin' y'rself and I might let you stay!" Jess told the grey as he paused in passing through the stable.
Smoke gave a snort of derision, but Jess knew it was mostly bluff. "Get on with y'. Ain't nothing but a loada hot air and y' know it!"
The grey huffed at him again, but soon relented and came and leant across the bar to have his ears rubbed.
"You think I've got all day t'spoil you?" Jess demanded, caving in as he always did when appealed to by an animal. "Y' behave like a grizzly and then expect to get y'ears rubbed?"
Smoke butted him affectionately in the stomach and used those formidable teeth delicately to size a mouthful of Jess's shirt. Several of Jonesy's newly sewn buttons bit the dust. Jess cursed under his breath. To compound things, there was also a damp patch on his shoulder where Traveller was slobbering over him, having just had a good drink at the water-bucket in which Napoleon was now taking a bath.
"Napoleon!" The duck knew perfectly well that bathing in the animals' water was strictly forbidden.
Jess grabbed the bucket and took it outside to get fresh, ignoring Napoleon's hurt 'You were neglecting me for those horses!' expression.
Coming back, he slopped the water bucket in with Traveller, getting a liberal amount over his boots. Fortunately, given his appearance, the passengers were already strolling out to board the now-ready stage. As it rolled away, adding dust to the slobbery, sweaty and more or less buttonless shirt he was wearing, Jess gave a protesting groan. It was only noon and already he felt exhausted. What he needed now was some fresh coffee!
Back in the kitchen, Jess rooted once more through the laundry pile – or disaster area as it might by this time more properly be designated. He was in luck. There was one remaining wearable shirt of his. He was about to pull it on and also to scoop up the mess of shirts on the floor, when there was a startled quack from Napoleon, who had, of course, followed him out of the barn.
Jess hastened outside, dropping his discarded shirt on the floor near the kitchen door as he did so.
Napoleon was bristling. He might be little duck, but he did not take kindly to marauding hawks diving at the loose poultry. He obviously did not consider himself to come under this category and was in the process of mounting a wing-flapping, quacking, furious defense of the chickens when Jess appeared, clean shirt in one hand and gun in the other.
It was not surprising Jess missed – if he had really been intent on doing actual harm to the aerial assassins, they would have been pot-ready before they were much older. His single shot between the pair was enough to send them spiraling upwards. For good measure, he waved his clean shirt violently, accompanied in duet by Napoleon's flapping. The chickens had hysterics.
Jess regarded them balefully. "I suppose now y' ain't gonna lay an egg between you for the next week," he observed.
Napoleon, meanwhile, was so delighted with their joint victory over the avian raiders that he flew up and perched on Jess's shoulder. Since Jess had just pulled on the clean shirt and Napoleon had just had a turn in the water bucket, the result was not felicitous. Quite apart from anything else, the grip of his webbed feet did little for the coherence of the fabric.
Jess decided to ignore the wet patch and the torn threads. At this rate, he would certainly be doing a load of washing before the others got home. But first, he'd have to gather up the dirty shirts he'd been scattering around the premises, preferably before his little feathered friend decided to nest in them.
"Down!" he ordered firmly and pointed to the ground to emphasize his order.
Napoleon gave him such a look of piteous rejection as he jumped down that Jess weakened and pumped him another bowl of water to play in. Thus, through kindliness to dumb animals, he paved the way for his own downfall. Napoleon gave a joyful chuckle of thanks – his ability to manipulate human reactions proved conclusively that he wasn't dumb at all.
Leaving the duck happily splashing, Jess went back inside and poured himself a very strong cup of coffee. And another. And another. Feeling somewhat better, but very hungry, he looked around for something to eat. The options were limited without getting down to some serious cooking. He grabbed bread and cheese instead. It would have to do because he had far too much else outside to cope with. He banked up the stove, ready to cook something in the evening, washed out the coffee pot and prepared it for the next stage. When he had collected the crockery from the previous one, he dumped it in the sink, hoping to ignore for at least a little longer the way the washing up was piling up.
Thus somewhat refreshed, he went back out to the barn and made sure there was sufficient hay, water and feed for the next incoming team. He fetched in the replacement horses from the paddock and set about brushing them down thoroughly. Napoleon sauntered in after a while – yes, that duck could saunter where others merely waddled. He hopped up on to Traveller once more and proceeded to have a little snooze.
Jess was getting hot and dusty again, but only stopped as he crossed the yard on his way to the vegetable garden in order to stick his head under the pump. It didn't do much for the shirt. Jess was not keen on gardening, only on eating the results. But he dutifully hoed two rows of beans on the grounds that it would save Jonesy's back some. Then he picked a good selection of ripe vegetables and deposited them in one of the boxes stacked under the eaves of the house for such a purpose.
On his way back to the kitchen, he remembered that he had promised to mend the catch on one of the big crates Andy and Mike had converted to house their adopted animals. He was not surprised to see Napoleon sitting on top of it. The way that duck read his mind was positively spooky but always pretty accurate! Even though Napoleon himself was a seasoned escapologist, he was quite keen for the menagerie to stay safely locked up. There were critters in there which might be partial to a mouthful of duck. He gave Jess a meaningful stare which said 'Are you going to keep me safe?'
"All right, I'm getting on with it!" Jess deposited the box of vegetables out of the way and fetched some tools from the smaller barn. It did not take him long to fix the fastening and put the tools away again. Meanwhile, once the mallard was satisfied that his human was getting on with priority tasks, Napoleon returned to the area of the pump, which was now more of a duck-wallow due to his activities in basins of water.
It was a pity Jess did not spot this. As it was, his view of his feet was impeded by the vegetable box. The area outside the kitchen door resembled a mud-slide.
Jess slid.
He landed flat on his back in several inches of mud. Vegetables rained down on him from the box which had flown out of his hands, executing a neat arc and nearly braining Napoleon as it landed. All the breath was driven out of his lungs. For a moment.
"Na - ppp- oleon!"
The duck, faced with a muddy and infuriated cowboy, gave an almighty quack and flew up onto the roof. There were times when being well out of Jess's arms' reach was a distinctly good idea!
Below him there was the sound of muddy vegetables being hurled back into a wooden box. Vegetable mash was likely on the menu tonight. The kitchen door banged open. It slammed shut. Wood thudded on wood as the box hit the bench. Another door crashed open. Boots stamped angrily across the living room. The door of the bunk-room got the same treatment as all the rest. Napoleon was no expert on human carpentry, but he sure hoped it was going to stand up to Jess's temper. After that, there was silence for at least two minutes.
During those two minutes, Jess divested himself of his muddy shirt and pants.
Then came the rattle of a drawer being pulled out from the chest of drawers.
Jess found a clean pair of pants. At least someone must be looking out for him a bit today! he mused as he pulled them on and refastened his gun-belt.
The top drawer of the chest was already half open. It was Jess's shirt drawer.
"Na – po – lee – un!"
Napoleon resolved to remain on the roof for the foreseeable future. Actually a duck can't foresee the future any more than humans can, but he knew full well he had crossed the line last night.
"You disgustin' little duck! What've y' done on my clean shirts!" Jess yelled.
This was purely a rhetorical question, since they both knew exactly what Napoleon had done. It was a result of sneaking in the open bedroom window and spending the night nesting as close as he dared to his pet without actually revealing his firmly forbidden presence.
The bunk-room window slammed open even wider and a pile of odoriferous and mucky shirts landed outside. Napoleon backed up the roof and hid behind the chimney.
Below Jess stood in the bunk-room, his shirtless chest heaving with a combination of anger and slightly hysterical laughter. Jonesy always said he had a vendetta against shirts. It appeared that Napoleon had taken this several stages further.
Jess kicked the one he had taken off first, which was lying in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket. It served him right for picking it up off the floor that morning instead of looking in his drawer for a clean one; at least then he'd have known the worst. After two days use, it was quite unwearable. He stood for a bit, debating with himself. Then, with an air of resolution and daring, he yanked open Slim's shirt drawer.
It was empty.
Slim must have taken all his clean shirts to Cheyenne! Jess realized, closely followed by the baffled mental demand: What the devil could he want with more than a couple of clean shirts in Cheyenne? And the answer which did occur to him was quickly scotched by the flat impossibility of it: Not when Andy was with him!
Jess looked around some more. Andy's shirts were hopeless. Jess might have been able to squeeze into one when he first arrived, half-starved and cutting-edge lean, at the ranch, and even then he'd have been hard-put to button it. Now Jonesy was making sure he got properly fed and with all the physical labor he was doing, his physique put paid to any such borrowing. Mike's were plumb impossible. Jonesy? But Jonesy favored stiff detachable collars on his shirts. Jess had never ever mastered the art of fastening one and was not sanguine about Slim's reaction to him appearing before passengers without a collar to his name. Besides, they were totally unsuitable for someone with Jess's ability to attract grime, not to mention being extremely hot during physical labor.
He wandered absently back into the living room with the vague idea that a shirt might be lurking somewhere down the back of the couch or cunningly disguised as a floor-rag. There was no sign of any such thing, although he looked everywhere, even under the table.
Rising up, his eyes came level with the parcel he had laid aside so long ago. Now he tossed the muddy shirt, screwed into a tight ball by his frustrated hands, into the log basket by the fire. He fished out his knife and cut the string of the parcel. The wrapping fell away. Lying in his hands was a shirt.
It was deep glowing violet with white spots.
Jess stared at it dumbly for several more minutes. He reviewed his options. Spend the rest of the day shirtless and face Slim's wrath at treating the passengers to much more than just coffee and biscuits? Wear his winter coat and expire from heat-exhaustion? Hastily wash all the dirty shirts and wear a wet one? Nope – that option would be nearly as revealing as no shirt and might possibly incur even more of Slim's wrath.
Wear the spotted shirt and take the consequences?
At this point, the familiar rattle of wheels and hooves sounded on the road outside.
That did it! Jess rapidly pulled on the shirt and went out into the yard, tucking it in as he did so and fastening down his gun-belt.
The stage pulled up with a flourish, although not quite the flourish it would have made if Jess had done his usual trick of standing right in its path until the last possible minute. Given the lurid color of his shirt, this was probably as well, for the horses would not have taken kindly to its brilliance.
Frank, the driver, looked down and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Jess came over to deal with the passengers. A gleeful smirk crossed his face and he elbowed the shot-gun guard meaningfully in the ribs.
"What are y' –" The guard stopped abruptly as his jaw dropped open in surprise. A snide grin transformed his features. "Well, hey – will y' look at …"
His voice trailed off into silence. There was something about the set of Jess's shoulders and the stalk in his walk which suggested that further comment would be highly inadvisable. Both driver and guard shut up abruptly and hastily looked in the other direction.
When he had opened the door Jess stood back politely, ready to assist any female passengers. First off was Mr. Mulholland, the bank manager. He was halfway through a cheerful greeting when reality struck.
"Good afternoon, Jess! Saw Slim and Andy in Cheyenne and they – " He gathered himself with a considerable effort and continued: "I can see you're all ready to celebrate their return home."
"Mr. Mulholland." Jess gave him a polite nod and turned back to the coach. He extended a hand to the next passenger, who happened to be one of the Mulhollands' innumerable nieces. Not ever having met Jess, her eyes widened as she took in the shirt, but she politely kept her comments to herself and her smile behind the fan she was wielding.
Behind her came a sprightly old lady who did not conceal her broad grin at the sight of her favorite young man clad in material which would have done justice to a summer dress. Since Miss Eli was the local dressmaker, she eyed him up and down from the height of the doorway and said briskly: "Bright – but hardly practical."
"Tell me about it!" Jess groaned as he lifted her down to the ground in a single movement.
"You definitely sweep me off my feet," Miss Eli told him, "but I sell that stuff at 50 cents a yard for church wear!"
"Come and have some coffee!" Jess gave her his arm and escorted her politely into the house, where he went through the usual routine of providing refreshments before dashing outside to help complete the change-over of the team.
As he approached the barn, he heard Frank chuckling: "Church dress, my eye! I don't think the good Reverend Fitzwilliam is goin' to be welcomin' Jess Harper while he's wearin' that!"
Jess stepped through the door. "And he'll miss your voice in the choir, Frank, when you can't sing a note because I've pushed y' damn tongue through y' teeth!"
He sounded so ferocious that both men backed off rapidly, making protesting noises and apologies. Jess glowered at them, clearly controlling his temper with difficulty. There was a moment's stand-off before they all thought the better of letting the situation deteriorate any further and completed the change swiftly. Soon the stage departed in another cloud of dust.
It did not settle on Jess because he had already started on his next task, the afternoon milking. The cow took exception to his shirt too. She refused to stand still, nearly upending the bucket several times. In the end, Jess tied her up so firmly she could do nothing but swat him with her tail and bellow mournfully through the whole process. Feeling slightly deafened, all on account of a measly shirt, Jess hastened to put the cow back in the pasture and round up the goats.
Round up was probably his intent, but the goats, unlike the cow, had lurid tastes and took the shirt as an invitation to play. They cheerfully skittered just out of Jess's reach, frustrating his attempts to grab and halter them. Soon he was hot, cross and had succeeded in extracting only about half a bucket from the frisky animals.
At this point, he gave up and hauled both buckets off to the dairy. The dairy was full of Mungo. He seemed determined to include it in his kingdom, despite being totally forbidden entry.
"Out!" Jess snarled, not for the first time that day. He was beginning to wonder if he had got stuck in a verbal groove with only the animals for company. Maybe by the time the rest of the family got back, he'd have forgotten how to talk?
The sight of Mungo naturally brought his rival to mind. Jess wondered where Napoleon was hiding. He took a good look round the dairy, in case. It would be just his luck to come back and find the wretched duck swimming in the milk bucket! And that thought made him begin to grin, despite all that had gone wrong. In his heart of hearts, he missed the little fellow's encouraging chuckle, masquerading as a quack. O well, he'd put in an appearance when he wanted to be fed! Like master, like duck!
There were no more scheduled stages today and Jess had in mind to take a brisk ride round the nearer parts of the range to check the young stock and the fences. It wasn't really necessary, but he was most at home in the saddle and needed a break from the house and any potential visitors who would have sarcastic comments to make on his shirt.
It was definitely not his lucky day.
He was busy saddling Smoke, who deserved to do some work after his behavior earlier, when he heard the sound of a number of horses approaching at a steady lope. He waited to see if they would pass on by, but instead he heard the pace slow and someone call out: "Looks like we c'n get water at this place."
Better than sneaking some out of the lake! Jess thought with a wry grin, recalling his first encounter with Slim Sherman. He finished saddling Smoke quickly, then let the grey loose to follow him out of the barn, knowing that the animal would stand and wait if signaled to do so. He took this precaution in order to keep both hands free, for his suspicions were aroused by what he was and wasn't hearing outside.
There was, for instance, no call or greeting and no sound of knocking at the ranch house door. On the contrary, the place felt as if it had just been invaded by those who considered they were tough enough to take whatever they wanted and so were justified in helping themselves. At the very least, this was bad manners. At worst it argued visitors he could well do without.
Jess strolled casually out of the barn, his horse behind him, as if trouble was the furthest thing from his mind. In reality, however, every nerve and sinew was alert and ready to spring into action. He saw five men. This vision clarified almost instantly – three men, an old man and a youngster, hardly more than a boy. They were all totally preoccupied with their own business.
"Fill the canteens, Benny!" one of the men ordered. He was taller than the other two men, bulging with muscle, and looked mean with it. "And get a move on! We ain't gonna waste more time than we have to."
The boy immediately crossed to the pump and began to work the handle vigorously. Water splashed everywhere – messy and wasteful! But it was clear he understood the consequences of not obeying swiftly. Jess knew the feeling well. The men were obviously drifters: their gear, the condition of their horses and, most of all, the set of their faces told of a life moving from place to place, rootless, without loyalty or ties, not even to each other beyond the needs of the moment. They might or might not be criminals – Jess had no way to judge this, but at once, in his heart, he wanted to free Ben from the life of toil and hardship which he knew the kid was enduring.
The uninvited visitors were still oblivious to his presence.
"Can I help you?" Jess inquired quietly, but with sufficient steel in his voice to indicate that he did not take their actions kindly.
The big man, who had given the orders to the kid, swung round at the sound of a voice. He looked Jess up and down and grinned in a manner which make no attempt to conceal his thoughts.
"Well, look'y here! D'you get dressed up all pretty just t' welcome us?"
There was a supporting titter from the other two men, even though they hung well back from the confrontation which was taking place.
"You ain't welcome!" Jess was pulling no punches on this. "Water for you and y' horses we'll give, same as we'd expect on the road. But next time, remember it's polite t' ask first."
"Oh, dear!" the big man mocked. "Did we offend y', sweetheart?"
Jess made no answer to this. Just stood rock-solid and braced, ready to take down the whole lot of them if need be.
"What y' need is a little tenderness." The man was closing the gap between them as he spoke. "Guess there ain't much fun for a … lady … this far out of town."
His brand of humor drew further sniggers from his companions. Jess continued, apparently, to focus his entire attention on the leader. Actually he was rapidly calculating height, weight, distance and likely speed of response for all three of the strangers.
"A little darlin' like you needs takin' straight back in the barn an' teachin' how to behave to a real man!" The big man made a grab for Jess, but found himself floundering and snatching at empty space.
There are death-stares. And then there is the look of a Harper who has just been called 'little'. The drifter should have paid more attention to the difference.
"Water y' horses and get out of here!"
"Now that's a mighty unfriendly attitude from someone as fetchin' as you. Maybe y' need t'learn some ladylike manners!"
Again the leader made a lunge, aiming to bring Jess into an unbreakable grapple. Instead he met with a straight right to the jaw, followed by a slamming left to the solar plexus which had him doubled up instantly. This did nothing to cool his animosity.
"Why you little runt!"
Two uses of the L-word within so many seconds really sealed his fate. Jess waded in with unleashed fury, not just at the insults but because of the insolent disregard for the laws of hospitality. The really bad shirt day that he was having might, just might, have added a little extra to his rage.
At any rate, he set about the leader, fists flying in true Harper fashion, to such an extent that the man yelled to his companions to help him. A second drifter jumped on Jess's back, meaning to throttle him from behind, and was summarily tossed head over heels as Jess twisted and spun in his grasp. As the second man landed flat on his own back, Jess kicked the big man's legs from under him, sending him toppling to join the one already on the floor. The third man realized the fight was definitely not going their way and gave a roar of intended intimidation as he leapt into the fray.
It was this roar which decided Napoleon. He had been peeking from behind the chimney for some time and seeing Jess set upon by such unequal odds was too much for him. He spread his wings, tore down the roof, gaining considerable speed for his take-off, and launched himself straight for the face of the only antagonist left standing.
The man flung up an arm in defense against this feathered tornado, leaving himself wide open to one of Jess's 'double-you-up' punches. As he bent over clutching his stomach, the valiant rescue duck's wings beat about his head and, for good measure, a huge ginger cat appeared out of nowhere and took a nasty swipe at his leg, aiming with long practice for the part above boot-level.
On the edge of this melee, Smoke had stood as bidden with commendable patience. It was not, however, in his nature, any more than it was his master's, to resist the temptation of a good fight. Once Napoleon and Mungo had joined in, the grey saw no reason to restrain his habitual bad temper with other horses who violated the space he considered rightfully his. In this case, drinking from his water-trough was out!
With a snort and a squeal of rage, Smoke charged the three horses, nipping and snapping and snaking his head from side to side with gleeful malice. He reared up and lashed out, narrowly missing making contact, which may or may not have been deliberate. The three horses didn't wait to find out. With one accord, they bolted back to the road. Smoke charged after them, driving them into a stampede, not in the direction of Laramie, but back the way they had come.
The old man had been sitting on his horse, all this while, watching the altercation with a bitter grin. When he saw that the drifters were not, in fact, going to get the better of Jess, the grin turned to a cackle of laughter. As the other horses bolted, he turned his own mount and the boy's pony which he had been holding.
"Come on, Ben! Mount up, son, and let's get the hell out of here while the goin's good!"
The boy raced across the yard, the full canteens bouncing as he ran. He jumped onto the pony and the pair raced off down the road to Laramie as fast as the other horses were bolting in the opposite direction. Observing this, Jess felt somewhat reassured about the boy's fate, but made a mental note to check up on the new arrivals next time he was in town. Meanwhile, he had a task to finish.
Jess picked up the two opponents he had felled by their grubby vests, dragged them over the water trough and ducked them smartly in it. He held them down for as long as was commensurate with a good fright, then let them up again. As they spluttered and gasped, he snarled: "You got the message yet?"
More spluttering seemed to acknowledge that they had been seriously mistaken in trying to commandeer the resources of the young man in the spotted shirt. The third man was still grovelling on the ground, trying to hide his head from the combined assault of duck and cat.
"That's enough, Napoleon!"
Napoleon gave a final jab of his beak to his victim and flew triumphantly to perch on Jess's shoulder. Jess gave Mungo a look. The cat uttered a yowl which would have done credit to one of its much larger relatives. The third man scrambled to his feet and ran. His fellows followed him and all three could be seen staggering up the slope of the rise towards Cheyenne, over which their horses had long since disappeared.
Jess gave a lilting whistle, one which Smoke knew meant a reward. The grey cantered back to the yard, scarcely blown, but snorting with what appeared to be equine amusement.
Man, duck, cat and horse stood watching until their enemies were finally out of sight.
"I suppose you lot are gonna want feedin' now?" Jess observed to his animal allies.
Mungo uttered a satisfied meow which was more like a growl and stalked off to sit impatiently outside the back door. Jess led Smoke back to his stall, unsaddled him and gave him a handful of oats and a good ear-pull. All the while, the faithful duck clung to his shoulder.
When Smoke had been duly rewarded, Jess turned his full attention to the mighty mallard. He encouraged Napoleon to come down from his perch for a more comfortable cuddle in his arms.
"Ok, little hero – I was certainly right t' give you a battlin' name!"
He strolled over to the house, deposited Napoleon temporarily in his duck-wallow by the pump and went inside to find some scraps for Mungo. Then he shut the kitchen door firmly on the mess of dirty shirts occupying almost all the floor. Instead of clearing up and getting on with the supper, he went back to the porch and flopped into a chair. Even his stomach would have to wait a while. Napoleon hopped up on to his knee, with the inevitable mud accompanying him.
Jess sighed. "Ain't you got a nice pond and three wives to play mud-paddlin' with instead of hangin' around the house porch?"
Napoleon gave him a duck-to-man look: If you had three wives, you'd be hanging out here with your best friend too!
ooooo
It was early evening when Slim, Andy and Mike rode into the yard. The brothers had collected the newest member of the family from the Travers and, although he was sorry to leave the company in which he had had such fun, Mike was delighted to be riding home with his older companions.
The ranch house lay peacefully in the soft sunset light. There was a drift of smoke from the chimney and lamplight showing from the kitchen window and the smell of something savory wafting on the gently moving air.
"Good, Jess's made supper," Andy said with rather more enthusiasm than Jess's cooking skills probably warranted.
"Hope he's made enough!" Mike's appetite, like that of his guardian, was not easily satisfied.
Slim was casting an experienced eye over the yard and buildings. He could see the normal evening tasks had been done and the place secured for the night. He hoped Jess had got the message he sent with Mr Mulholland about their impending return. It looked as if everything was in order. But there was something niggling at his mind. Something not quite right, although he could not immediately put a finger on what.
It wasn't until they had stabled the horses and were making their way to the house that he noticed all his available shirts flapping on the line. A puzzled frown creased his forehead. Jess had obviously found time to do some laundry, but why Slim's shirts, which he was positive Jonesy had washed before he left? His uneasiness was further increased by spotting a heap of material outside the bunk-room window. It looked like a pile of Jess's shirts.
Slim frowned again. Jess could be untidy, but never yet took to keeping his dirty linen outside!
The smell of supper lured them into the kitchen, where they found another shirt by the door and one dumped to soak in a basin next to the sink.
Slim frowned some more. More laundry? And the floor looked suspiciously clean too.
They all crowded into the living room at once. Slim strode over to the table, pulled down the hanging lamp and lit it. The warm glow revealed another battered shirt screwed up in a ball in the log basket. He had to look somewhat harder to locate his partner.
Jess was sprawled on the couch, concealed from immediate view. His boots were off and Napoleon was sitting on his chest. Sitting on a chest clad in a glowing purple and white spotted shirt.
They all stood dumbfounded for several seconds. Napoleon gave them a greeting quack, which sounded suspiciously like a prolonged chuckle. Andy and Mike struggled hard to contain their own mirth at the sight Jess presented.
Not so Slim.
"Jess, why on earth are you wearing that terrible shirt?" he demanded.
Jess didn't even bother to open his eyes.
"Ask Napoleon!" he said.
.
.
Notes
Napoleon is, of course, the hero of 'Duck Rustler'.
