He was pleased to see his new shirt still there, lying on the ground beside Gal. The paper was a little torn from the horses dancing around when everyone ran into the general store for their big Saturday Night Fight. He couldn't see any damage to the shirt in the dim light from the store's outside lantern. He felt the package and made sure his soap was still in there. New shirt was no good if he couldn't keep it clean. Satisfied, he tied the package on the back of the saddle.
He half walked half staggered over to the water trough splashed some water on his head and picked up his hat out of the middle of the road. Looked like someone had ridden over it, but it was a good hat, a might dirtier than it had been, but no damage done that a good wetting and wearing wouldn't fix. He shaped it with his hand and put it back on his head.
By that time, the sheriff had his crazy, yellow haired sister on her horse and the two were waiting for him. He pulled himself up on top of Gal like some seventy-year-old, crippled miner and kneed her over to the join the other two in the road. He was very glad he wasn't digging any irrigation ditch tomorrow. Good day to take Gal back over to that little river and just spend the day with his sore stomach lying in the sun.
He followed the other two horses out of town and toward the ranch, lost in his thoughts, ignoring the conversation in front of him. He had saved his sister. He replayed the fight. Well, he had helped save his sister. No way he could have held off those three men much longer, but he'd held long enough. He wrapped his free arm around his stomach. He didn't like the way his middle was feeling.
He forced himself a might straighter in the saddle. She had been worried about him. That had felt very sweet. He glanced over at her and caught her looking at him again. He liked this sister thing even if it did mean taking a beating. Be nice if she had a little more sense and didn't try to get raped on Saturday night, but still looked at him concerned? But who's perfect?
"Well?" The sheriff had stopped his horse and was looking directly at him. He just stared back at the man while he tried to replay the conversation in his head. What had the man said?
"Well, you're new at the Barkleys', aren't you?"
He just looked at the man. What business of his was it how long he'd been at the ranch?
"He saw me ride out. He came after me." He looked at Audra with some surprise; was she defending him or herself? What was this about? Did the sheriff really get to ask Miss Barkley what she was doing in town the same way someone asked a bastard what he was doing in the general store?
"So you said, Miss." So they had been talking about him. He was puzzled he hadn't overheard that. He must be more out of it from the beating than he thought to have missed his name being spoken. "What's your name?" Guess it hadn't been spoken. He kneed Gal forward ready to ride on, ignoring the sheriff's question. No point in talking to the sheriff.
"Heath," his sister said. He was surprised she remembered it.
"Heath what?" Yup, a real sheriff. Sheriff was looking at him, all suspicious now, like he'd robbed the bank. Next he would be going through wanted posters looking to arrest him for something. He'd never seen any profit in being noticed by guards, officers or the law. He got on just fine keeping his head down and his mouth shut.
He looked up toward the north. He could see flames showing up brightly in the darkness not more then two, three miles away. Something big was on fire, a house or a barn, not a grass or woods fire. This was a man made wooden thing on fire. He'd seen plenty of houses burn in the war and knew the look of dried wood all piled in one place, burning.
"That's Swenson's place," and the sheriff was away. His sister followed the sheriff and he followed her. He wanted her home and safe. He wanted himself home and in bed. He wanted a good look at what was under that bandage around his middle. He tried feeling it again as his horse galloped after the other two. The bandage felt dry. He sure hoped it was.
There were perhaps twenty people either trying to put out the fire or just now riding up. The sheriff was off his horse and amidst the fire fighters in a moment. His sister, the beautiful Audra, threw him the reins of her horse and ran over to a carriage where an older woman sat and climbed in beside her.
This must be Mrs. Barkley, he thought, the wife of his father, the mother of his brothers and sister. She was a tiny woman, which surprised him. Her sons were all such tall men he would have expected her to be bigger, but she was tiny, and straight, and he thought, beautiful. He realized she was returning his scrutiny and carefully moved Gal further back into the shadows where he could continue to observe her without her seeing him. So this was the woman his father loved, his real wife, the woman he married, the mother of his real children.
He turned his head away. An older farmer was standing in the middle of the group ranting, mostly at his brothers. Talking of their father who had stood with these farmers against the railroad last year and been killed for his efforts.
He could hear his brother, Jarrod, explaining why it was necessary for the law to handle this matter. Why the Barkleys couldn't stand with these farmers against the railroad. He smiled slightly to himself at that. He looked at that poor farmer standing with the fire behind him and his hope residing with the Barkleys. Barkleys who just stood and looked back at the farmer, doing nothing.
He leaned down and gave the reins of his sister's horse to a man standing near him, asked him to hold the gelding for the Barkleys. Then he asked the man for directions to Sample's farm. His brothers might stand and watch the railroad destroy these men's lives but he would not. He would, once in his life, stand by his father's side; fight his father's fight.
It took about half an hour riding to see the lights from Sample's house. He didn't ride in too close but headed back into the hills a short distance, looking for some water, suspecting the man wouldn't have built his house too far from some sort of water. Finding a small stream that ran off from Barkleys' bigger river, he unsaddled Gal and turned her out. He would spend the night here, afraid about sleeping in the bunkhouse after the fight in town anyway. Afraid that fight might remind his dream demons of other fights. Preferring this night to sleep alone and outside.
He put his head on his saddle and laid as much of his body as he could on Gal's saddle blanket. Not having planned to sleep out, he'd left his bedroll and saddle bags in the bunkhouse, so no bedroll and no coffee in the morning. Wouldn't be the first time for either.
He figured he wouldn't sleep much being so sore from the fight in town but he might as well lie his tired bones down for a while. He would have liked a fire so he could look under that bandage, but he figured with all those angry farmers riding home he'd just bring trouble down on himself if he lit a beacon.
He looked up at the stars and mourned the loss of his family. All his life he had dreamed of his family. When he would stand in Mr. Cronin's store waiting for the man to decide to see him, waiting while the women switched their skirts away from him, he used to play the Brother Game. He used to pretend his brother came in that door and told Mr. Cronin to wait on him. His brother would be angry with Mr. Cronin for making him wait and Mr. Cronin would be afraid of his big brother. He used to think on the Brother Game the whole time he waited in that store.
When Danny Fowler and his two brothers would catch him, which they did several times a week in spite of his constant vigilance, he used to pretend that his big brother would come up behind Danny Fowler and haul him off and beat the snot out of him. Beat Danny Fowler until that boy was screaming and crying for his mother.
Some times when he was running out of the mine as fast as he could after setting a charge and he would slip and fall in the dark, he would pretend that his brother was there, helping him run. Taking his arm, helping him over the rough spots, telling him to hurry, making sure he got clear before the powder blew. The Brother Game had always been the best game, his big brother looking out for him, making sure no one could sneak up behind him, watching his back. He'd still been playing the Brother Game in the war. When it would get real bad, he would tell himself not to worry, his brother would come if it got too awful. So no brother meant things weren't really so desperate, not so bad he couldn't handle it alone. 'Cause if it got to be too much for him alone, why surely his brother would come.
That moment in line, waiting to be paid, had felt like the Brother Game only true. His big brother had stood for him. Told Barrett to be gone. His brother had watched out for him, saved him from a beating. Just like Jarrod had spoken up for him on the porch to get him the job. Nick had taken his part. Those had been such fine moments, moments he meant to save and replay in his head later so he could remember his family, just as he would replay Audra's asking him if he was okay after the fight. He would leave, but he would know what it was to have two big brothers and a beautiful sister.
Then at Swenson's farm when they had not stood with the farmers, he felt he lost that. His brothers weren't the men he thought they were. They weren't the sort of men after all who would stand with the little farmers against the railroad, or with little brothers against the world. He wished now he hadn't come. That he hadn't looked at the real brothers. His brothers were not the men to protect him from the danger and evil in the world. A feeling of great sadness and futility weighed on him, not helped by the pain in his gut or his aching body.
He misjudged how much the fight and the pain had worn him out. He didn't wake until Gal stuck her nose in his ear and gave a good blow, looking for oats he didn't have. He looked up at the sky and judged it to be after 7:00. He'd missed the best part of the morning and if he didn't hurry, would miss his chance to get himself killed.
He quickly saddled Gal and checked the load in his rifle. He'd cleaned the rifle Friday night and knew it was loaded, but checking his weapon was something he'd learned early. A man couldn't check his weapon too often when his life depended upon its perfect function.
Before he mounted, he removed his shirt and unwound the bandage around his middle, now he finally had light to see the damage. The last of the bandage was stuck firm by dried blood. He poured a little water on the bandage from his canteen. Once it was wet, he was able to loosen it and see the wound.
Not too bad, he decided. The inside edge of the wound had opened up again and done some bleeding, but not too much. He tried pushing on the area around the open part. It was sore but nothing he couldn't handle. Blood came out when he pushed that was okay, the pus that came out not so good. The newly opened place looked pretty deep. He didn't like that and wished he had a clean bandage to put on it, but along with his bedroll it was back in the bunkhouse. He rinsed the bloody place with the water in his canteen, then he rewrapped the old bandage and put the cleanest part of it against the wound. It would keep until after the fight. Could be he'd be dead in an hour and wouldn't need to worry on old stomach wounds.
As he rode in toward the farm, he looked at all of the places he would have positioned himself if he was still a sharpshooter, roof of the barn, trees on the hill, even in the low spot adjacent to the house. Not so good as higher ground but better than the front porch where all of the farmers seemed to be standing. He dismounted behind the house and gave Gal a strong swat on her rear to send her away. He would stand in the line for this fight. He would not take the sharpshooter's part. He no longer had to do that, sit in wait, play the murderer.
He was amazed when he walked around the house to see his brothers there, his two big brothers standing with the farmers. He felt he had been given the gift of his brothers back. He smiled. He almost laughed he was so happy.