They rode in silence, for a wonder Nick out of words. He thought on the handguns they had stashed in the saddlebag on one of the horses carrying a dead horse thief. Could he get the sheriff in Jackson to let him have one of those rigs? The horses and saddles should cover the burying on the two dead cowboys and then some, and he sure would admire having a side arm again. The one gun was a nice Colt. The sight had been ground down, which he didn't mind, would have done it any way. The gun looked new and well cared for, the rig was clean, not showy, good leather. He guessed it didn't belong to the man who owned the paint horse.
Nick interrupted his meditation on gun rigs by saying, "I was looking for you."
He looked at Nick, surprised by this bit of information. What he'd heard back at the ranch, the last thing he thought would be Nick looking for him. He waited to see what else Nick had to say on that.
"My mother, Jarrod…" Nick stopped talking and looked away from him, messed with the lead lines on the two brood mares for no reason he could see.
He waited. Nick had something to say, he'd get to it in time.
"My mother and Jarrod think you're my father's son." Nick studied the backs of the two men ahead of them intently as he spoke, the words seemed to be intended more for the horse thieves than for Heath, though spoken so softly they would never hear them.
Mrs. Barkley, that day in the bedroom when they had spoken, she'd known. He replayed that conversation in his head again. That had been a good few minutes. He'd felt bad at first. He must have made her very sad. Then she had seemed so happy. He'd wondered at that then and was still surprised about it, but pleased she wasn't sad that he had come.
Jarrod surprised him. He'd not exchanged more then five or six words with Jarrod. Was a funny thing for the man to decide on the basis of that small an acquaintance, that they were brothers.
"BOY, DON'T YOU EVER SAY ANYTHING?" Nick was looking at him now, glowering at him, angry again and ready to fight. He played the last few minutes back, made sure he hadn't missed some part of the conversation while he was thinking. He decided he better say something before Nick punched him.
"Yeah."
"YEAH? YEAH YOU ARE MY BROTHER, OR YEAH YOU NEVER SAY ANYTHING?"
"Your mother. We spoke." He thought on how he wanted to go on with this. He didn't really want to get into the whole Tom Barkley thing. He was pleased to have met his family but he was leaving now. He would like to leave without another fight with Nick if he could. Nick was so angry, he wasn't sure he could say anything wouldn't set him off again to punching and hitting.
"Are you my father's son?" Nick looked at him this time as he asked the question.
He didn't want to make this brother unhappy. He'd gotten what he came to the ranch to get. He'd seen his brothers and sister. He'd seen the life his father'd chosen to live after giving life to him. He'd never meant to hurt any of them or to mess with that life of his father's. He'd just wanted to see it, to know. All those years of wondering about the man who'd given him life, he'd just wanted to know. Now he did. More than that, he had memories of a sister and two brothers to carry with him the rest of his life, a face for a brother who, in his imaginings, had always been faceless.
He'd thought he could get all those things without being seen. He still wondered how they had come to see him. His whole life lived on the edge of other people's lives, him the nearly invisible sin women moved their skirts to avoid and men struck to get out of their paths. How had these Barkleys seen him?
"Nick, I'm riding away from here. I'll never see you again." he played with the bite of the lead rope in his hand, not looking at Nick as he spoke.
They rode in silence for another mile while he unraveled the end of that rope and then wove it back together again.
"I guess I want to know the answer to that question, whether I see you again or not."
He gave Nick a quick glance without moving his head and found the other man looking directly at him. He went back to studying on the end of that rope while he thought.
"Yeah. Tom Barkley's my father." He steeled himself for what would come, punches, yelling. He was surprised by silence that lasted for the rest of the time they rode.
He kept his attention on his horse and that piece of rope until he finally decided they could stop for the night. They came to a little stream, looked like seasonal run off from some vernal pond further up in the hills, but would do for the horses. He rode up beside Leg Wound who'd been riding and talking beside his pal and told them to pull off the trail near a couple of old cottonwoods that would provide a little fire wood without too much effort.
The two thieves didn't have much to say to them, and Nick remained silent. It wasn't an angry stillness and the work of setting up camp went smoothly. Were a lot of horses to see to but he just pulled saddles and dropped them where they fell. He hated to treat good gear that way, but figured someone wanted them, they could clean them up tomorrow in Jackson. He and Nick tried to treat the two dead men as well as they could, but they already had an odor to them so they left them a couple hundred yards down wind of the camp.
The two thieves didn't look like they were going anywhere fast, so Heath dragged a couple saddles over for them and left them sit. He hobbled the four new saddle horses and the mares and turned his mare out loose with them. The brood mares were maybe close enough to their home range to have a go at heading home and he didn't want to lose them. Nick took care of his horse and then went to work on a fire and he hoped, dinner.
He considered offering his last cooked rabbit to the communal pot and then didn't want the Barkleys knowing he lived on water and rabbit and surreptitiously tossed the body into the brush when he unsaddled Gal.
Once the horses were seen to, he looked at the wounds on their two captives, washed them both out and cut one of his two spare bandages in half to give them both a better job of doctoring. Then, feeling self-conscious, he wandered away from the camp with his canteen and clean bandage to see to his own hurts. He was pleased to see a good scab all around his wound and most of the heat gone from it. He'd skip the awful willow tea tonight.
Nick had a big pot of beans cooking and a poke with cold biscuits and ham. Heath went through the outlaw's saddlebags and found their cups and plates and delivered dinner to the two thieves. He'd keep an eye on Leg Wound. Didn't think the man could get too far with that leg, but he knew the man had nothing to lose from trying and everything lost if he got into Jackson and was tried for a horse thief. Shoulder Wound was yammering away again with his excuses, he figured that idiot thought he could talk his way out of hanging and probably wouldn't be so eager to try his luck against him and Nick.
He took a plate from Nick and enjoyed the hot beans and ham and the coffee. Rabbit was fine when a man was really hungry, but it was hard to get much better than a good piece of ham. He sat back against his saddle when the eating was done and enjoyed his coffee, thought how nice it had been sharing the camp duties. Neither of them saying much but both doing a share. Been a lot to do, so many horses, but been nice Nick there, doing part of it, his brother having food and sharing it with him.
Nick offered him a second cup, poured it for him. He smiled at him in thanks. That had been very fine. He watched how Nick poured the coffee, careful not to spill any on his hand, offered him more maybe because he was his brother, but not to the thieves because they weren't. He would remember that little bit there for later, the sharing and the coffee.
Then of a sudden Nick began to talk again. Not on brothers and familes and dead fathers but about the three brood mares. Where he'd gotten them from, what their breeding was and who they were bred to. He talked about the stallions they had been bred to. Where they had come from, what they were like and what their get were like. Heath sat and drank his last cup of coffee and listened, stored the words away. Enjoyed hearing Nick talk, not angry, just talking about the ranch and the horses. Sit by the fire, drink a cup of coffee listen to his brother talk about his ranch, he smiled to himself held it all close.
After a while, even Nick ran out of words and they sat in silence and watched the stars appear one by one. Finally, he stood and collected the plates and took them to the stream to wash. He helped Leg Wound and Shoulder Wound away from the camp one at a time to do their business and got them settled for the night in the bedrolls Nick had spread out.
"I'll take the first watch," he told him and spread his own bedroll near where the fire had burned. He got his rifle and wandered away from the camp to lean against one of the cottonwood trees where he could hear and see the camp without being in it. He sat and thought and watched, satisfied to sit the night through, made no move to wake Nick as the hours passed, having a lot to think on in the dark.
Sometime after the biggest part of the night, Nick woke and came over. "You never woke me?"
"No need, wasn't tired."
"Well, get some sleep, I'll watch."
He gave Nick a smile he knew the other man couldn't see and headed to the bedroll. Now the watching was over he was tired, worn out with all the thinking and sitting. Nice to have a brother to take part of the watch.
He knew when he woke with Nick leaning over him he should have been more careful. He'd forgotten about his rocks and he knew some demon had been to see him in the night. "Hey boy, you okay? Wake up." He could feel the perspiration on his face and the wet shirt on his back, the shaking and the fear all over him. The stars were gone, so not long to morning, but still dark so he couldn't see the condemnation on Nick's face. He pushed Nick's hands away and got up as quick as his ribs would allow.
"I'm good. I'm ok." He walked away from his humiliation, so angry, so stupid. He knew better, after the fight on the road the demons were sure to come. A few rocks under his blankets or just stay awake. Why was he so stupid? The dinner had been so good and the coffee and he had ruined it with his moaning and crying and being the child. He stopped twenty feet from the camp and just stood, looked up at the stars and waited to catch his breath, waited for the shakes to stop.
"It's okay, boy, we all got demons." He'd been so busy feeling sorry for himself he hadn't even heard Nick walk up. He closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment.
"Stupid, sorry."
"When I got home from the war… well, for a few months I almost shouted the house down in the night."
"Yeah, well, five years later and I'm still shouting." The self-loathing almost over whelmed him.
"You were young for a soldier."
"Young and stupid, not much has changed, just not so young." He turned toward Nick, but he couldn't look up played with the sleeve of his shirt, worried that button as if all the answers were in that bit of thread.
"Yeah, young and stupid helps, if you're going to be a soldier." Nick put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze.
He looked up at him, grateful not to hear the condemnation, the disgust he had expected. As he looked, up he caught the movement behind Nick in the early morning light. He pushed Nick hard, sent him over backward just as the shot sounded in the still morning.