Chapter 2 Barn Burnin'

After salvaging as much as he could from the wrecked barn, Bret had taken time to ride out on Sugar to look for his own horse, a chestnut, red with a blond mane and tail. Luckily, he still had his saddle. The sun shone, but even though the skies had cleared, the prairie grasses were still wet and glistening in the sun.

Riding out as far as he dared on the old plow horse, he found no sign of Clancy. Discouraged, he returned to the house and set to work again scavenging what he could from the old barn, boards, nails, and tack. Then with the sun beginning to go down, he set it on fire, cautioning Davy to keep away from flying embers.

As the blazing barn lit up the twilight with an orange, unearthly glow, every once in a while with a whoosh! a superheated nail flew out. Bret shoveled the ashes to contain them, or used the back of the shovel to tamp them out. Davy, with a rake as big as he was from the tool shed, raked along the edges. Finally, hours after dark, Bret drove Davy to the pond to wash off the soot and ash, then he sent him in for the night.

Afterward, the sparking embers making him cough, Bret himself slipped down to the pond and swam a bit, still in his smoky clothes. It was a good way to wash him and them.

At last, feeling like himself again, he went back to his job of shoveling sand over the embers. Livy, ashen-faced in the strong light of a full moon, came out to bring him some coffee and another sandwich.

As she watched the sparks fly up, she said, wistfully, "I wish I had my cow to milk."

Bret looked at her, feeling that somehow the storm and the loss of the cow was his fault. Too tired to talk much, he was actually glad Livy didn't stay long.

As he watched her go, he still dreamt of how she'd look in the fancy salon of a Mississippi packet boat.

After another quick dip, he called it quits. Soot and ash hung in the air and even after strenuous scrubbing, still clung to his hands and face.

Livy had kept supper warm on the stove, but she and Davy had already gone to bed, Livy behind the curtain, and Davy in his own room. Bret poured a cup of coffee, ate his meal, then dropping into the rocker, he fell asleep in minutes. It was a haunted sleep, and he woke with a start now and then. Even in his dreams, he could hear the snapping fire.

All in all, it had been a busy, if not a completely productive day.

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Davy wanted to go along with Bret into town to get some supplies. As the wagon was gone, along with the barn, the cow, and Jack, he had nothing to hitch Sugar to, so he saddled him instead.

"Won't be long," he promised Livy.

"Two dollars, Bret," she said, handing it up. "Flour, beans, and sugar."

Bret hated leaving her. He could imagine the hours she spent in that house, maybe at the table, leaning over her hands, waiting for Mike Keene to show up. No one could reckon, he guessed, how deep the loneliness had sunk into her soul.

He always had places to go, things to look forward to doing, people to see. New towns. New streets. New poker palaces to play in. He was good at his game, and never lacked for companions. Favorable-looking, it was easy for him to make acquaintances of the non-playing sort, too, the ones in ruffled dresses and feathered hats.

From Livy's farm, it was only about two, two and a half miles to Willow Springs. She did all her shopping there, but as he rode down the single street, with Davy in the saddle before him, folks stared at them. Some scurried back into stores or homes, or peeked out from under awnings hanging over the sidewalk. Curious behavior, almost off the wall.

When he and the boy went into one of the two General Stores, several men, bolder than the rest of the town, entered and approached him.

"I see you're back," one said, a portly man with a bad case of 'whiskers.' "How's Mrs. Keene?"

He had never been to Willow Springs before. How was it that he was 'back'?

"She's well," he said, tersely. "All things considered.

"What things?" another asked.

"Twister hit night before last," Bret explained, though he didn't know why he had to. They must have known it had struck the area by now. "Tore up the barn. Took the cow and one of the horses."

"Then it's good you're back, ain't it?" said the first man, still harping on the notion that Bret had returned.

Ah, now he understood. These town timewasters thought he was Livy's husband. "You look like Mike," Livy had once said to him. Not only that, but he had Davy with him. Bret rushed to tell them that he wasn't Mike Keene, but he didn't bother to add who he was.

"If you're not Mike Keene, you're his twin," said the second man. "Which one are you then?"

"Which one am I what?" asked Bret, dumbfounded.

"Which one of the Keene gang?"

"Gang? I don't know Mike Keene," he answered, somewhat sharply. "Never met 'im."

"Then what're you doin' hangin' around the Keene farm?"

Bret laughed a little. "I'm helpin' out." He turned back to the grocer, who had stockpiled his order on the counter, a trio of brown paper packages. "Is that everything?"

"Two pounds of beans, and one of sugar. A sack of flour."

It was all there, except for the sack of flour, which he'd get outside.

"Add a pound of coffee to that, and thanks." He collected up his packages and noticed Davy eyeing a jar of licorice sticks. His eyes were as big as the moon. "A couple of licorice sticks, too." He pulled out a few coins to pay for them.

As Bret turned to go, herding Davy out before him, the first man stepped up again. "Think Mike Keene won't care if you dally with his missus?"

A bit more put out this time, Bret eyed each of the three men in turn. "I hope, wherever he is," he said, "he does care." Then he thought about it. One of the men had used the word 'gang.' "Where is Mr. Keene, anyway?" he asked.

"Don't rightly know, young fella. He's likely to be in dirt up to his chin by now."

Laughter. Then the trio of loafers shilly-shallied out of the store, still chuckling. Bret felt a big confused and puzzled as to what to think. Livy had some explaining to do about Mike.

He turned back to the merchant. "I'm forgetting," he said. "I'd like a box of nails, too. And I noticed some lumber out back."

The wiry, surprisingly agile older man helped him choose some boards and load them into the wagon Bret had rented earlier from the livery stable before getting the groceries. He had forked over his own money for that, too, and now he paid for the lumber in the same way. He knew Livy didn't have it.

"I know Mike Keene," said the store owner, scratching his beard. "You look powerful like 'im!"

"I'm beginning to think that that's a bad thing," said Bret, climbing up on the wagon seat and nodding his thanks. Davy, already on the seat beside him, was chewing on a licorice stick. As Bret slapped reins and "Yahhed!" to Sugar, the stares of the town followed them out as they had followed them in.

On the road to the turnoff to Livy's farm, they passed Cemetery Hill. A chill swept down Bret's spine as he saw the plentiful wooden markers of men who had died 'with their boots on,' or violently. At the wrong end of a gun. Of 'lead' poisoning. A few stone markers for the more well-to-do also were scattered across the area.

After a mile or so more on the regular road, he turned into the grassy track leading up to the Keene place, but on the way there, he decided to stop at Ezra and Aggie Tucker's farm, that of Livy's neighbors.

Bret slipped out of the wagon and helped Davy down so they could stretch their legs. The boy ran over to a couple of Ezra's dogs and sat playing with them while Bret introduced himself. He told them about how the twister took out the barn.

"Didn't think it hit nothin'," said Ezra, a lanky older man in blue overalls. "Ain't much over that way to hit."

"Mrs. Keene, she need anything?" asked Aggie, who had been hanging clothes outside.

"Some milk, perhaps, ma'am. Her cow died when the barn roof fell in. Got some I could buy?"

"Sure. An' no charge, lad," said this good woman of the bonny shores of Ireland. "I'll go get a can and put some of ours in it. And I also have a jug of cream you can have, just skimmed this morning. Good for coffee!"

"Thanks," Bret said, rather choked up over the Tuckers' willingness to help. About ten months ago, Ezra and Aggie, short for Agnes, had given Livy the cow. Ezra kept the calf, but by dint of Livy's usual morning milking, the cow continued giving milk.

Aggie brought out a few other things Livy might need and Ezra and Bret loaded the wagon. "I also ladled up some stew for y'all," Aggie said, handing him a closed tin container. He took it with much gratitude, knowing Livy didn't feel much like cooking.

When Aggie, all smiles, had gone back in the house, Ezra secretively bent towards Bret. "Livy's husband, Mike. You know 'im?"

"I know of him," Bret replied, honestly. "Gone a lot, it seems."

"You ain't one of his gang?" At Bret's headshake, Ezra looked relieved. "Wouldn't tangle with 'im, if'n I was you, Bret," he added. "Outlaw. That's why he ain't here."

"I'll bear that in mind. Where's he now, do you suppose?"

"Reckon he's like the wind. No one knows where he comes from, or where he goes. He and his gang hold up stages. Do other things."

"Maybe I'll clear out before I see him," said Bret, knowing he wouldn't like to meet Mike Keene, not for love or money.

"Hope so, for your sake," said Ezra. "He wouldn't take kindly to no other man in his house."

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Bret pulled up in the yard, whoaaing Sugar to a stop. Shifting the reins to his left hand, he happened to look up at the house. He did a small double take. A horse stood tied to the porch rail, and it wasn't his, though he hardly expected to see Clancy again. Not after that storm.

Who could be Livy's visitor? Another neighbor? Bret had a deep-down notion who it was, but he was leery of saying so, even to himself. He got down off the wagon and went to the back to wrestle the milk can out of the wagon bed.

Setting the can on the porch, he unhitched Sugar from the wagon and Davy led him to the pond to drink, then Bret fetched the packages, the cream, and the stew tin. Shifting all of it in his arms, he knocked at the door. Something he hadn't done in a while.

"Come in!" Livy called from the dark living room. Bret lifted his hat off and stepped in. A man he didn't know was sitting in the rocker and Livy was working over some dough at the table. Had Bret interrupted a family scene?

"Livy, ah, Mrs. Keene," he said. "I'll set these things in the kitchen." He proceeded that way and set it all down by the stove. "By the way," he said, looking up, "Ezra Tucker sent some milk. It's outside."

Kneading the dough, she nodded and wiped flour on her forehead. "Thanks, Bret. I'm much obliged. We sure can use it. Especially for the bread." Then turning, she gestured with a floury hand. "My husband, Mike. Mike, Bret Maverick."

"Mike Keene," said the man, rising and extending his hand. In rough clothes, he was an ordinary-looking man, except that he matched Bret in almost every particular. "You been helpin' Livy, I gather."

"A week or so," Bret answered, measuredly, wishing to have no more than a few words with this man.

"I see. Well, Livy's been singin' your praises. I guess I ought to say thanks. I—ah—couldn't be here."

"So I gathered," said Bret, instantly regretting his holier-than-thou tone.

Keene coughed into his hand. "Sad thing though about the barn. We had a barn raisin' when I was workin' for the folks who used to own this farm."

"They sold out to you?"

"No, gave it. Seein' as how I had just got married. Eastern folk. Pennsylvania. Went back. Said they never liked it out here. Too dry."

"Well, it rained buckets the other night!" Bret turned towards the table. "Livy, I bought some boards and nails in town for a new barn."

For the second time, her name on Bret's lips didn't escape Keene, but he said nothing. No use stirring up trouble with a man who might turn out to be a better shot than he.

Without a further word, Bret went out again and brought the milk can in. Livy was so overjoyed, she was beside herself, and went to get a dipperful right away to sprinkle on the bread, and then drink the rest. Bret took his leave and headed to the pond where Davy and Sugar were.

Of Sugar, he said, laughing, "The thirsty beast's almost drunk the pond dry!"

He pulled out the makin's, made a cigarette, lit it with a match, and smoking against a tree, he looked over the expansive prairie, broken only by a few low hills. "Look at that," he said, pointing up at the sky. Davy raised his eyes. "Not a cloud in it. Just blue."

It was peaceful there. A man, he thought, could get used to it.

However, with Mike Keene on the premises, he had to decide what to do. Hang around, and possibly get in the way of a husband and wife, or gather up his things, and take a hike? He needed a horse, but since he still had most of his three hundred dollars, he could always get one in Willow Springs.

Soon, he was joined by Mike Keene himself. Davy, on seeing his pa for the first time in weeks, months even, ran up to him, but stopped just shy of giving his pa a hug. There were no 'hugs' between these two. While Bret stood at the tree, Mike plunked down in the grass at his side. He took out a wad of money from his shirt pocket, separating out twenty-five dollars.

"Here, Bret, take this for all those boards."

Never one to turn down ready cash, Bret shortened his gaze from the sky and the prairie, and reached for the money. Even as he put the bills in his shirt pocket, where he also kept his makin's, he thought he didn't have to ask where it came from, or how Keene had come by it. He robbed stages, Ezra had said. This could be part of that money.

Looking up from the ground, Mike asked him, "What do you do?"

Bret said, very simply, "I play cards."

"Oh, a card sharp, is it?"

"Not quite. I'm not a gambler. I just read the cards well enough to win."

"Are you readin' the 'cards,' as you say, here on my farm?"

"What d'you mean?" asked Bret, genuinely baffled.

"You seem to fit in here. Livy and the boy have both takin' a likin' to you."

Bret looked away again, across the rolling miles of grass. "They needed me. Who wouldn't want to help them?"

Mike reached for a piece of grass to chew. "Point taken," he said.

"I could stay and help you raise that barn again," Bret offered, though he didn't know why he did.

"I can't stay long," admitted Mike. "Things might get a bit hot if I hang around."

Bret looked down at him. Mike Keene was a lean man, like himself. Dark, wavy hair, a square jaw, like his own. About the same height. Roughly the same all over. Why did that resemblance bother him?

"Livy needs a barn," he said. "She'll be gettin' a new cow soon, I figure. There's seed, too, that has to be stored, and hay for the winter."

Mike squinted up at him. "Who's goin' to cut the hay?"

"She told me she has a hired man."

"Why," Mike teased, laughing, "when she's got you, Bret?"

"I'm not staying either," he said, "just long enough to put up the barn."

"Then she can't depend on either one of us," Mike said, looking back at the pond. "Livy told me your horse ran off. Shall we go and try trackin' 'im?"

"I already did. He's long gone."

Mike sighed. "Then while Livy fixes lunch, how about startin' on that barn?"

"Sure," Bret replied. "I'm itchin' to get it back up again."

Mike climbed to his feet. "It won't be the same," he said. "Too many memories in the old one."

That afternoon, the two men worked diligently to prepare the site for a new barn, although it was going to be of a smaller footprint than the previous one. Removing fire-blackened debris and ash, they stopped only for some ham and honey-coated biscuits.

After checking on their 'work,' as she told them, Livy went back in, put the loaf of bread in the oven, then sat down to churn Ezra's cream into butter. Davy took a turn at it when he wasn't outside with Bret and Mike.

Bret sorted the new lumber and sawed. Mike and Davy tossed the old wood aside and poured buckets of sand on any ashy place, raking it in.

"Thanks for savin' Sugar," Keene hollered over to Bret, who glanced up, nodding only. He didn't like working with the outlaw. Keene had a way about him, rough, impatient, as if he just had to move on. That was the pot calling the kettle black, Bret thought with some amusement.