Author's Note: You have been my friends. That in itself is a tremendous thing. – E.B. White

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.


Then:

"Hey, mister," a familiar deep voice called, disturbing Ward's concentration at his 'diggings,' "I could carry you a growler of beer for fifteen cents."

"Isn't that a bit steep? I could get two beers at the saloon for ten."

"You're on, if you're buying," Heath laughed, stepping into sight.

"Ole buddy, I am so glad to see, I may do just that."

The men embraced roughly, hammering each other on the back for a moment.

"Your momma said you was expected," Ward remarked after they had released each other. "How come?"

Heath shrugged before explaining casually, "It's better'n a year since I been back, and I haven't written for some several months: I let that happen, Momma worries I'll forget the way back here 'n calls me to heel."

"I am right down ashamed of you, Heath. Man should treat his momma better'n that."

To Ward's delight, his friend blushed. "I know," the younger man admitted. "That's why I came when she called."

"That's a good boy," the hypocrite praised. Ward not seen nor written to his own mother for over four years. "I guess I'm about done here for now," he said. He wiped his hands on a rag, retrieved his coat and put it on. "How's about that beer?"

Smiling, Heath led the way.


The (relative) afternoon quiet of the saloon was broken by a big, dusty man in his full, virile prime wearing a tin star.

"Hey, anybody in here interested in riding posse?"

Heath's ears pricked up. "What's it all about, sheriff?"

"Two men killed a homesteader and his wife, about half way between here and Modesto. They came this way, but it's been quite a chase, and we could use some more men. Interested?"

"Yeah."

"What's your name?"

"Heath."

"And yours?"

"Ward Whitcomb."

In half an hour, they had gotten their gear, Heath had kissed his mother, and the two boys were off with the posse.


"Ward," Heath asked his friend, as the two rode drag on the little herd of men, "have you ever been out with a posse before?"

Ward laughed. "Nope."

"What made you decide to come then?"

"I like your company, Heath, ole buddy. You make me laugh."

Heath shook his head and didn't reply, but a smile shone in his eyes, and he was laughing softly, too.


They did not catch the killers. Instead, they were met in Angel Camp by the news that the men had been caught by another posse and were safely under hatches in the hoosecow in Stockton.

Ward, after two days in the saddle, was tired of roughing it anyway, and Heath's Mollie, who had at first occasioned amusement as a mount in a posse, had proven her worth to the extent of being traded for a wiry little blue roan plus twenty-five dollars, so for Heath the two day ride had been extremely profitable, never mind the modest per diem.

The friends decided to celebrate by whetting their whistles at the saloon across the street from the Angels Hotel.

"Prob'ly just as well," Heath remarked, referring to the abbreviated end to their adventure. "A posse can be a tricky thing."

"Hmm," Ward answered. It was not clear whether this meant he agreed or disagreed, but what was clear was that Ward's attention had shifted to something across the room. "This place is well named," he stated.

Heath turned his head, and when he saw what had occasioned this remark, he grinned. "Boy howdy, ain't she sweet?"

"Sure is," Ward whispered, in what sounded like awe.

The saloon girl, for that was what she was, was the loveliest Heath had ever seen, bar none. Her neat, trim figure, while dressed in the usual garish finery, possessed a waifish grace, and soft tendrils of her lustrous brown hair had escaped the stylishly coiled updo to frame a face of delicate beauty. The huge eyes wore a startled look, as though a doe had wandered into this realm of men.

Heath was charmed, both by the girl, and by her surprising impact on his friend.

"Hey, pretty lady," Ward called to her hoarsely.

She came over to their table willingly, welcomed them to the saloon, told them her name, and listened to theirs, but she refused to sit, despite all Ward's blandishments, even though it was plain she was strongly attracted to Heath's friend. She remained standing nervously and kept looking around at the other customers (or perhaps at her boss) because Ward, for all his polish, was failing to say what a man must to secure the undivided attention of a saloon girl.

At length, Heath took pity and did it for him. "Won't you have a drink with us, Miss Nora?"


A week later Heath was back at his mother's cabin, sitting over a chessboard with her, and losing badly.

"What's wrong, son?" Leah asked, as she captured his queen.

He bit his lip, studying the board. "Nothing." He reached a hand to his remaining bishop, then pulled it back without making the move.

"It doesn't seem like nothing," his mother probed. "Are you jealous of Ward, sweetheart?"

"Jealous?" Heath seemed surprised. "No, I— I like Nora, but I… I'm not in love with her, you know? And she's crazy about Ward."

"And he's smitten with her as well… what troubles you about it?"

"Nothing," Heath insisted. "I'm happy for them."

"But?"

He sighed. "But how long did Ward work at his diggings, Momma?"

She considered. "He was here about a week before you arrived."

"He was sick of the posse before the end of the first day… and he was at Campbell's with me, we signed on together, did you know that?"

Leah shook her head.

"He lasted two weeks, Momma, then he met up with this fella in the saloon on payday Saturday night, got mixed up in some kinda crazy get-rich-quick scheme, and quit Campbell's to go pursue it." Heath shook his head bewildered. "I don't understand him sometimes. He doesn't stick at things. How're he and Nora gonna make out?"

The lovebirds had returned with Heath to Strawberry, so Ward could wrap up his 'diggings,' then moved on to what they supposed would be greener pastures in Modesto.

"They'll make out, honey. People do." Then, because her son still seemed troubled, she continued, "Look, Heath, your friends don't have to be just like you. And If you wait to be friends only with perfect people, you're not gonna have any friends."

Heath seemed puzzled. "But Momma—"

"You like Ward?"

He nodded, smiling shyly. "He mostly can't make things work right, but I just wanna smile all the time when he's around. I know he's not reliable, but—"

"If he's not reliable, son, then don't rely on him. But you can still be his friend. And that's nothing to laugh at."