Do You Hear What I Hear?

by Calico West

Merry Christmas, everyone!

3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A child, a child, shivers in the cold…

The cloud sat like a heavy blanket over him, but there was no comfort like being wrapped in a quilt, sitting in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa on the stove. He wasn't at home, and every minute that passed the cloud was getting darker. It was getting more frightening. And it was starting to snow.

Mike shivered. The courses through his body were growing stronger, had been ever since the sun disappeared underneath the cloud. When he saw the first snowflake, the chill that had been set inside of his bones leapt into his teeth. It was a good thing rattlesnakes wouldn't be slithering along the frozen earth. One just might mistake him for a close relation and curl up around his legs.

If only Buttons was with him, then the dog could be what was circling his body. But no, he wouldn't want anyone else to be stuck in the cold, shivering so hard that it hurt. He wouldn't even want Slim and Jess to be caught in the wind, with hats and coats turning white by the swirling snow. That thought was wrong, he knew it, just as Mike knew he had made a mistake wandering too far away from the house. Slim and Jess would be out there, searching for him, worrying over him. And what of Aunt Daisy? He closed his eyes, hope allowed to tamp down an added fear. They wouldn't let her come out. She would stay by the window, wringing her apron into a worried knot.

But where was Slim and Jess?

"They've gotta be out here."

Gloved hands up to his mouth, Mike prepared the high-pitched peal in the back of his throat. He would never get the call for help to work. A gunshot booming louder than any thunderclap, Mike's hands pressed over his open mouth. He didn't know if he should run, stay put or cry. He quickly struck off that last thought. The tears would just turn to ice anyway. That left his choices at the first two, and as Mike's thoughts ticked back and forth between them, the second option began to sound more appealing. After all, it might not be anything wrong. Slim or Jess could be the one on the other side of the gun, showing him where they were and that everything was all right again. Being wrapped in a quilt, sitting in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa on the stove was starting to become very real.

The next shot stole the feeling of comfort away.

Too scared to call out a familiar name, Mike ran. It was hard to recognize the land with his legs churning underneath him. With the snow racing down almost as hard, it was worse. He couldn't stop to look for the road, not with the thought of a gunman on his tail. The fear had the strength to dare him to take a peek in his rearview. Mike's chin touching his shoulder, he expected to see a burly body with a long gun beyond the stream of his frightened breath. There was no one there. This assurance still couldn't make Mike stop. He had to run away from the gun. Or was he running straight into it?

Fear pushing him harder, Mike raced onto ground that would have sucked him into its depths if it was spring instead of winter. At least he knew where he was. But where this had been one of his original destinations, Mike no longer cared how the frogs stayed alive underneath the solidity of silver and white. Although maybe that was his answer. They weren't so solid at all. The bogs were shallow, cracking and sputtering water with his steps. With every slosh onto his boots, the swamp became slicker, and then he was no longer running. Sliding, his arms performed a perpetual flail to try to stop his fall. Nothing could. One foot jutting up, the remaining boot gave one last swish against the ice, dumping Mike hard on his backside.

He gave the tender area a rub. "I guess I deserved that spanking. But I wished it'd come from Slim or Jess instead."

Another gunshot pierced through the snowy air. It wasn't alone this time. Now it came with a voice and Mike thought his heart leapt out of his chest. It at least jumped into his throat, for he had to swallow something back down where it belonged. He had hoped that he had been running away from danger, but he was wrong. Mike was closer, probably too close, probably right underneath him. If he called out, the man with the rifle should be able to hear him.

If only it was Slim or Jess! He knew it could still be. They had to be looking for him, but that voice didn't sound like it came out of Jess' gravel or Slim's steady tone. Stuffing a finger in his ear, Mike gave it a wiggle. The way the wind was whistling an ache deep inside of his head, the sound could have been distorted worse than if both ears were wearing his fingertips.

It still could have been Slim or Jess. But it could have also been someone that Mike wouldn't want to meet.

Looking up, he craned his neck in every direction. If Mike could catch a glimpse of an arm, a hat, even the rifle itself, he should have his answer. Being too far down, Mike shook his head. He would have to get closer to the man, closer to the gun.

Grabbing a stout rock, he pulled himself out of the slush and onto solid ground. Raising his arm for another sure grip, Mike climbed higher. Crawling when he couldn't take a step, Mike pushed, stretched and rolled his body until there was something other than his own pant to hear. And then he suddenly held his rapid air still. Was that someone else's breaths he was hearing? He crept closer, fearing, yet unable to reject all hope as he tried to reach a position to where the sound had sight.

Mike wasn't going to make it. The next rock too high, he jumped for its edge. With the sharp crag biting into his side, he wouldn't make a second attempt. Since the ground above him no longer had anything to offer, Mike dropped his gaze. Mike's gasp reeled him backward. How could he be that far off the ground? As he was going up, Mike didn't think he had climbed that high, but the swamp was a dizzy distance below him. And if he didn't stop looking at it, his head might roll all the way down to where he began. Forcing his eyes away from the bog, Mike looked up, higher this time, maybe all the way into heaven. He had to have help.

If only it was Slim or Jess!

"Slim?" Mike whispered, the sound so soft that the wind instantly carried it away. He would have to try louder, yet still the noise through his lips couldn't grow past a whisper. "Jess?"

He didn't startle easy. How could he? With shouts and shots coming from more than one posse in the last few years, dead men falling by his hand, past and present, even a woman's shrillest scream didn't make him flinch. He was either going to have to retrain his body or blame the jump of his muscles on the cold. Hearing the whisper nearly knocked him down to his trembling knees.

Stretching his neck over a ledge, Singer discovered that he didn't need to beg for anyone's mercy. It was rather nice to stretch his mouth into a smile.

It wasn't an angel coming to call, but while believing in wings and halos wasn't something that fit inside of Singer's character, he would need to possess some of that glow religious folks talked about. What was below him was everything he needed, and he wasn't going to scare it away with the black cloud and horns that really grew from his hide.

Lowering his gun, Singer turned his voice into a bowl of syrup. "Hey, boy. Up here."

He spun, sliding in reverse so that his rump was hit a second time. There was another hit, even harder, and this was delivered straight to his core. "You're not Slim or Jess."

"Nope."

Mike scrambled, trying to step backward, trying to find an escape, but the rocky slab wouldn't allow another step, only his surrender. "Who are you?"

"My name's Singer," he said, reaching out a hand. "I'm your friend."

"How can you be my friend? I don't know you."

"That's easy to fix. Just tell me who you are and it'll be like we've known each other forever."

He knew that didn't sound right, but giving his name to the man couldn't hurt him. Could it? "Mike Williams."

"That's a right fine name. A lot better than mine. Sylvester. You ever hear of a body named Sylvester before?"

Mike shook his head. "It's not that bad."

"Say it together."

"Sylvester Singer," Mike answered, unable to stop his mouth from twitching.

"See, we're friends already! Now, who's this Slim and Jess you were hoping to meet?"

"My guardians."

"So you don't have a pa?"

Mike shook his head.

"No ma?"

He repeated the silent reply.

"These guardians, they live around here?"

Mike gave a point, or at least he thought he was pointing toward the house. "The Sherman ranch."

"Nice place, I'm sure. But I have a nice place, too." He stretched his arm farther, giving his fingers a wiggle. "Want to see it?"

"I can't."

"Why not, you hurt or something?"

He could answer that with a nod. With the way his hind quarters stung and how the cold was biting as if it had actual teeth was a good argument for calling out an injury, but that would be more lie than truth. Mike wasn't hurt. He was afraid, and cold. Oh, how cold he was.

"I just can't."

"Your feet aren't frozen to the ground."

He looked down. Weren't they? They were so stiff, he might not be able to lift his boots, might not even be able to make his legs move ever again. The rest of his body didn't feel any better. As the tremors that came with cold and fear were still rocking him inside and out, Mike knew he wasn't a slab of ice yet.

"Well, boy, what's the answer?"

"No, but I'm so cold. I can't stop shaking."

"Come with me and you can warm up by my fire."

If there was any light left behind the storm cloud, it flickered in Mike's eyes. "You've got a fire?"

"Uh-huh. In a cave, just around that boulder over there. And there's potatoes warming up along the rocks. But they're not just for eating. You can put a hot tater in your pocket. I'll even let you put one down your boot. Doesn't that sound fine?"

"I… I guess so."

"Then come on, there's nothing to be scared of. I'll take good care of you."

"Well, maybe just for a little while. Until Slim and Jess come to get me."

"That'll be just right. Come now, boy. That's it. Take Uncle Sylvester's hand. Gotcha!"

It was strange to have an extra shiver run down his spine when the man put his arm around Mike's shoulders, pulling him close in a near hug. He could feel the warmth that came from Singer's layers. He was built up thicker than if he was a sheep before shearing time, but Mike didn't want to press into that fluff, he wanted to pull away from it. Maybe he should have. Turning the corner, Mike's mouth fell into an open circle when he didn't see the promised cave, the inviting warmth. There was nothing but rocks and snow. And Singer.

"I thought you said you had a fire. Where's the potatoes?"

"Later."

The desire to flee made him turn, but Singer's hand was quick to grab his wrist, keeping him locked in place. "Let me go."

"I can't do that, Mike, not when I need you."

"No. I really should go home."

"It's too dangerous out there. Look at the snow, feel the wind. It'll kill you, boy, so quick you'll never know when it happens."

"But Jess and Slim are out there. I know they're out there!"

"I'm sure they are. Nobody would be dumb enough to let a kid wander alone in a snowstorm."

"They ain't dumb!"

Singer snapped a finger out of his fist to wag it in front of Mike's nose. "I'm going to bank on that, boy. They'll be right smart enough to know what's best for them, for you, and for me."

Mike didn't think he could shiver any harder. He was wrong. The trembles went all the way through to his soul. "What do you mean?"

"You'll find out when we meet up with them."

"Do you know where they are?"

Singer craned his neck around a boulder. "I've got an idea."

"Then take me to them."

"Now that would be a foolish thing to do. I'd rather wait for them to find me first. And let's do that someplace with a little more security. Let's get my horse and put a few miles in before all this white stuff turns invisible with nighttime."

"No. I wanna go home."

"You can't. You're staying with me until we're outta the territory."

"I wanna go home!"

Singer's hand pinched into the trembling chin. "Boy, I can stifle you if I've a mind. Got that?"

Nodding, Mike felt a jerk on his arm and not wanting another threat barked in his face, he fell into step behind Singer. Almost immediately he looked down at his feet. They were working, although Mike wasn't sure how. There was too much tingling down there to feel the slap of his soles against the snow, but this didn't add more rounds of head-to-toe shivers. Something encouraging was in this view. They were leaving tracks and a horse would leave even more distinct prints. Slim and Jess would know where they were going.

Suddenly Mike's gaze darted up. He hadn't forgotten that it was still snowing, but seeing what was flying past his nose, he had to watch how much white was filling the sky. Everything up there would have to come down, and now that the flakes weren't little anymore, but a heavier fluff, they would crash to the earth's surface with the kind of punch Mike wanted Jess' fist to deliver into Singer's jaw. If the snowfall was all, it would still be too much. The wind was making each snowflake swirl in its drop from cloud to ground. It was also blowing everything already on the surface, covering everything in white, filling even the tiniest crevice. Mike's head lowered again, but now under the weight of discouragement. The storm would steal their tracks away in minutes.

Slim and Jess wouldn't know where they were going at all.

A tear sliding down his cheek, Mike tried to sniff the next one away. He never expected the hand that came to his face, gently swiping them away.

"Don't cry, Mike," Singer said, lifting Mike into the saddle.

"How would you feel, being taken away from your home?"

Swinging up behind him, Singer put his arm around Mike's waist. "It's not like it'll be forever."

"It feels like it."

"No one's lived forever, Mike."

"God has. Maybe Santa Claus, too."

He smirked so high he had to chuckle. "You believe in them?"

"Of course."

"Well, I guess that's not a bad thing for a kid your age to believe in. But I'll add one more name in, and considering all things, it's probably the most important one. Believe in me, boy."

Mike shook his head. "I'll stick with believing in Slim and Jess."

He would have let the chuckle grow into a wild guffaw if a gust of wind didn't pick the exact moment to slam ice and snow into his mouth. Tucking his scarf around his chin and up to his nose, Singer adjusted Mike's layers to match. There would be no more talking until shelter could be taken. Maybe even none after that. It was only going to get colder, more brutal when the hidden sunshine tucked every golden beam away for the night. Singer gave a pat to his saddlebags. At least enduring this kind of torture would be worth it.

Mike knew his head was starting to loll forward. He hated feeling sleepy when it was still daylight, but maybe he should allow it this once. After all, it was getting dark. Suddenly his lashes flew wide. Sleep's soft tease had been replaced by a hard slap to both cheeks.

"Don't fall asleep, Mike. At least not here."

"We're gonna camp?"

"As soon as I find a place."

He hoped that Singer would find that place soon. Night came fast in December and held on for a long, long time. And Mike wouldn't be spending any of it at home. This night that was coming fast and that would hold on for a long, long time would have to be endured in the snow and every brutal element that went with it, especially if Singer didn't find that place, wherever it would be.

Was it really only last night that he had crept away from the covers? The wind urging him on, Mike had stared into its beauty, desiring to feel the cold in a way he had never known before. He had taken that step, waiting for the moment to come when no one was watching. It wasn't what he expected. This wasn't the kind of excitement he had been yearning for. The cold wasn't fun. It was full of fear and fury. And Mike had a feeling the worst was yet to come.

The horse pulled to a stop, Singer gave Mike a nudge. "This looks like a good place to wait for light to come again. It's not much of a cave, more like a divot in the hillside, but we'll call it a cave, and home, just for tonight."

Mike couldn't nod an agreement, but he was also too cold to shake his head. "Can we have a fire?"

"As long as there's fuel."

"P…please," he stuttered. "I got… gotta get w…warm."

"All right, boy. I'll make sure there's a fire. Get down and crawl in the back of the cave."

Mike ran inside the rocky shelter, smacking into the corner as if he could break the wall and crawl inside of the earth. Feeling no pain, Mike struck the slab a second time. This time he felt the jarring of his frame, but considering every inch of him was numb, no cry needed to be pulled through his mouth. Likely he couldn't have shouted if he had broken skin or worse, cracked a bone. His teeth couldn't stop clacking together long enough to make any other noise except for its rattle. If only he could get away from the cold. If only he could get away from Singer. While he wished, hoped and prayed for an opportunity to escape, he knew there would be no getting away from either.

At least he was out of the relentless snowfall. Or was he? Feeling something wet hit his nose, Mike looked up. His anxious breath didn't have to be held for long. There was no hole in the rocks allowing the flakes to flutter through. What he felt was coming from his body, sliding off his hat and plopping onto the rough floor.

Brushing off his arms, Mike slapped the snow that clung to his hat and wiggled his legs to the kind of dance that wouldn't have been necessary if an outhouse was close by. He didn't really have to go, he was just cold, so very cold, and he wanted every bit of the dreaded snow gone. Through the frantic beating against his coat, a simple sound stilled him, making his eyes grow wide.

Hearing a second strike of a match, Mike stepped closer to the little flicker. He thought he would never smile again, but there each corner of his mouth was, stretching up as the tip of the match hit the fuel. The moment it came to life, Mike knelt along its edge and dangled his fingers over the glow. The fire hungry for more, it leapt toward his hands, making them clap together to rub over the warmth.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" Singer asked, waiting for the single nod of the boy's head. "I don't think I would've got it started if there weren't any leftovers from whoever was here last."

"Where are we, anyway?"

"Somewhere south of Laramie."

"South?"

"That's what I said."

"You said you were gonna take me outta the territory. Colorado ain't far away, is it?"

"Nope. But if I'm figuring on what you're thinking on, I won't be leaving you on Denver's front door."

"Then where?"

"Wherever I feel it's safe," Singer answered, checking how much steam was coming from the pot he dropped on the edge of the coals. "You're probably too young to drink coffee, but sip some anyway. Don't wrinkle your nose. It's not so hot that it'll scorch your tongue."

"It ain't that. Do you really think I should drink that stuff?"

"I'm certainly not giving you a swig of whiskey, so take a drink and let it thaw you inside-out."

The cup up to his lips, Mike cringed before he even put a drop on his tongue. Once sampled, Mike's face scrunched even tighter. He hated the taste, but the heat was its own kind of craving. Pouring it all down his throat, Mike held the empty cup over the flames and tapped its rim with his finger.

"One cup is enough for a kid of your size. Come on. Time for sleep."

"Where?"

Nestling into the undersides of his saddle, Singer patted his front. "Right here."

"You're gonna hold me, like a baby?"

"You want to be warm, don't you?" Waiting for Mike's nod, Singer stretched out his hand. "Then come here. You'll help keep me warm, too."

At first Mike didn't think it was even his arm reaching toward Singer's, but then he felt the grip go into his palm. When he was pulled to Singer's side, Mike knew he really had taken that final step. He barely let one shoulder perform a shrug. It wasn't because he trusted the man. He only wanted to be warm, and it was this desire that didn't make Mike wriggle out of Singer's clasp when one arm folded over his back and then the other.

Lowering his head so that his cheek pressed into the fluffy collar, Mike closed his eyes. One blink wasn't going to cut it. What he would like to cut was his thoughts. They were running so fast the rest of his body hadn't caught up yet. But they were about to crash into his middle so hard the coffee gurgled and spit its displeasure.

He was wrapped up in an outlaw's arms and not just for this night. Mike wouldn't be let go. But for how long?

Until he was out of the territory, Singer had said. But he also said that Colorado wasn't far enough. Could he really land as far away as Mexico? He shivered, making the arms wrap tighter around his body. It should have made Mike sicker to admit it, but there was comfort in this warmth. The twist in his stomach disappearing even further, Mike pressed deeper into the heat. Allowing sleep to place its own comforting hold around him, Mike fell into the kind of darkness where everything wrong could be replaced with everything right.

Stirring, Mike pushed away from the chest that had been his pillow, but he couldn't be free from the man when there was still a tight grip around his body. "Let me up."

"You awake or just dreaming out loud?"

Wiping away the last visions of home, Mike blinked into the brighter light. "How long's it been morning?"

Singer gave Mike's shoulder a pat. "A couple of hours. You ready to get up?"

"I guess so," Mike answered, standing, wiping more sleep from his eyes so he could see beyond the cave's opening. Maybe he didn't want to. "It's still snowing."

"Yeah. It's going to be a bigger heap than I expected."

"You knew it was coming?"

"Of course. Didn't everybody?"

"I guess I didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be here," said Mike, raising his sleeve to his nose. "I wanna go home."

"Aw, there's no need for blubbering for what you had back there. I'm not too bad of a companion, Mike. I'll treat you right enough."

Afraid to discover the real answer inside of Singer's eyes, Mike looked down. "Will you?"

"Why not?"

His hands going into a ball, Mike figured if he was wearing one of Daisy's aprons, it would be twisting into a worried knot. "What're you gonna do with me when you don't need me anymore?"

"I guess I haven't thought that far yet."

Now he looked up, searching the man's brown eyes, but they told him nothing. "Will you kill me?"

"I said I haven't thought that far yet."

Mike had. Switching his gaze to the gun that Singer wore, the other seated against his horse's side, he was thinking so far ahead that Mike could already see the hole dug, just right for his size. He had heard Slim and Jess talk about enough outlaws to know how most of them did their business. Singer wouldn't keep him forever. He would kill him. But maybe the outlaw would never get a chance. The storm would have its own say for how long Mike had left. It was still snowing.

"Come on, Mike. Get back on the horse."

Mike sighed as he hit the saddle. When he was last in this position, he had feared for the night to take over. As it turned out, the dark hours hadn't been so bad. Tucked in Singer's arms with a fire close by, the night had been mercifully hidden by sleep. The daylight wasn't going to have the same comfort, even if Singer would be holding him just as tight. Every mile would take him farther away from home, would take him closer to his death.

It would, if another mile was going to be traveled.

His heart must have sensed the added presence, for Mike twisted in the leather seat when the thrum hit against his chest. Having fear as a close companion for so long, Mike immediately knew the difference. There was hope in that feeling, or maybe it could be spoken as it really was. He felt love's sure emotion fighting through the storm, racing across the distance to reach him.

Looking down below him, Mike saw horse and rider moving through the snow. He didn't have to squint through the snowflakes to put a name to his rescuer. There was no mistake in who was coming. Along with the hope, the love, Mike felt the grit, the tenacity that emanated from the man that was coming.

He remembered the warning of his tongue getting tied, but Mike didn't care if more than a bandana was shoved between his teeth. He had to part his mouth, he had to shout until all the world could hear his cry.

"Jess!"