Fresh

I'm getting a fresh start in this New Year by contributing a challenge. Yay me! 

In case anyone is wondering, this is a one-off. It's not part of a longer story, nor do I intend to expand it. I already have too many other stories I ought to finish.
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“Sometimes I don’t understand you.”

Wheat Carlson turned around to face his partner.

“What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying, sometimes I just don’t understand you.”

Carlson slowed his horse to let his diminutive partner catch up.

“What kind of tomfoolery are you talking now?”

Kyle Murtree straightened up in his saddle. Somehow it made him almost eye level with his taller companion.

“You still ain’t told me why we got all this or what we’re doing with it way out here in the middle of nowhere.” Murtree gestured to the mule whose reins he held. The animal was weighted down with packages and gear. 

“Do you got to know everything?”

“I’m your partner. By rights I ought to know everything.”

Carlson snorted. His thick mustache quivered.

“You’ll know soon enough.” A new thought occurred to him. “Think of it like it’s a surprise. You like surprises, don’t you?”

Murtree considered. “No, don’t think I do.”

“You do so. You like birthday surprises. Remember how much fun we had in Durango on your birthday last year? The little man brightened. A brown-toothed smile crossed his dirty face. 

“Yeah, sure do. That was some birthday surprise.” The smile faded. “It ain’t my birthday today. Or did you forget?”

“’Course not. How could I ever forget my partner’s birthday? I was just saying . . . “ his words trailed off.

“What?”

Carlson turned forward again. “Never you mind. Just be patient, alright? I got my reasons. Partners are supposed to trust each other. You ain’t saying you don’t trust me, are you?”

“Nope.” He sighed. “I just wish you’d tell me where we’re going with all this food and supplies.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

Murtree looked around at the desolate landscape. The land might’ve been fertile once, but no longer. The signs of drought were everywhere. Native grasses were baked brown. The few trees drooped under the weight of their dying leaves. The tumbleweeds that crossed the trail ahead kicked up dust.

“Can’t be any ‘there’ in this kind of country. I sure feel sorry for anyone trying to make a go of a ranch around here. They’d be bust by now, or close to.”

Carlson only grunted. 

“Hold up a minute. I need a drink.”

Both horses stopped. Murtree took a long drink from his canteen.

“You want some?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

“Well, looky that.”

Carlson looked around. “Lookit what?”

“There’s a mile post with a sign on it.” He squinted. “What’s it say, Wheat?”

“It says, Welcome to the Lucky 13 Ranch.”

“Looks like more’n that. What else does it say?”

“It says, For Sale by owner.”

“Lucky 13? Must be some kind of joke, right?”

Wheat ignored the question. “Give me that canteen, will you? Or you expecting me to dry up like one of them tumbleweeds?”

“’Course not. We’s partners, ain’t we?”

“You got that right.” Carlson took a drink, then wiped his mouth with his hand. Passing the canteen back, he gave Murtree a hard look.

“You know, I said you didn’t have to come with me. I coulda done this errand all by my lonesome.”

“Uh-uh. Bad things happen when we split up. You need me to watch your back.”

Carlson gave his partner a rare warm smile. “I s’pose you’re right. And I do appreciate it, Kyle. I surely do.”

“Well, then. Let’s get going. I cain’t wait to see this surprise you got for me.”

Only about ten minutes later, the men crested a gentle hill and saw buildings and a corral below. They paused, hands crossed on their pommels, and took a good look at the place.

“Is that where we’re going, Wheat?”

“Yep. The Lucky 13 ranch.”

“I sure don’t see anything lucky about it. Them buildings look like the next strong wind might knock them down.”

“We’re bringing them some luck. C’mon.” Carlson gently urged his horse forward, and Murtree followed on the path that led to a small cabin. They were at the hitching post when the cabin’s front door slammed open and a young man came out and shouted at them.

“I don’t believe my eyes! I never thought I’d see you here again!”

Carlson jumped down from his horse and almost ran up to the young men. They pulled each other into a bear hug and pounded each other’s backs.

“How you doing, boy?”

The man pushed Carlson back. “I’m doing better, seeing’s as you’re here. I can’t believe it!” He looked over Carlson’s shoulder, where Kyle sat on his horse, observing the reunion.

“Who’s your friend?”
“This here’s my partner, Kyle Murtree. He’s helping me bring a few items for you and Martha.”

The man seemed to notice the mule for the first time. A series of expressions crossed his face, from surprise to gratitude to embarrassment. 

“Did you bring that for us, Soren?” Carlson only grinned, like a proud papa. “You know I can’t accept that. Things bought with stolen money, money stolen from dirt farmers like us. . . “ He looked at the ground, unable to meet Carlson’s face.

“You got nothing to worry about, Eric. Them’s all from poker winnings. Kyle here, he was with me when I found me some miners who don’t know nothing about cards. Tell him, Kyle.”

“That’s right. Wheat cleaned out some miners when we was in Silverton. He played fair and square, and he took home the whole pot, and he didn’t spend any of it on the usual. It’s the God-honest truth.”

“Kyle, this here is Eric. Him and his wife Martha, they own this ranch. Where is Martha, anyway? She ain’t hiding from me, is she?”

“Not from you, just from strangers. Nobody comes out here. I sent her down to the root cellar to be safe, while I figured out who was visiting. I’ll go get her.” He went back into the cabin.

Kyle got down from his horse. “He seems like a right nice feller. How’d you meet up with him?”

“Just you wait a minute.” He tied his horse’s reins to the rail. Kyle did the same with his horse and the mule.

Eric returned, holding the hand of a thin young woman wearing a faded calico dress and a soiled apron.

“Martha, you remember my big brother Soren, don’t you?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. She did not smile.

“The brother from the Devil’s Hole Gang. Yes, I remember.” 

Wheat and Kyle removed their hats. 

“You’re looking fine, Martha. This here’s my partner, Kyle Murtree. Kyle, say hello to Mrs. Carlson.”

Kyle’s wide eyes went from Martha to Wheat to Eric and back to Martha again before he found his voice. “How do, Mrs. Carlson. I’m right pleased to meet you. Sorry I ain’t more presentable. Wheat didn’t tell me we was meeting a lady.”

A pleading look from Eric prompted Martha to remember her manners.

“It’s a pleasure, I’m sure. Won’t you two come in out of this hot sun?”

“Thankee, Martha, we sure will. It’s like a furnace out here.”

Inside the cabin, the three men sat down at a wooden table. 

“I just made coffee,” she said. “I expect you’d like to wet your whistles.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Carlson,” Kyle said. “That’s right neighborly of you.”

Martha set out four coffee cups and poured the coffee. Kyle jumped up and pulled out a chair for her.
“No sugar,” she said, settling into the chair Kyle held for her. “We ran out a while back.” Wheat looked directly at Eric, who averted his eyes.

“You get used to black coffee,” Eric said. “We found out we didn’t really need sugar after all.” Wheat looked at his cup with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm before taking a reluctant sip. Kyle didn’t hesitate.

“That sure hits the spot, Mrs. Carlson. I cain’t imagine how you make plain old coffee taste so good.”

“What nice manners you have, Mr. Murtree,” she said. “Did your mother teach you?”

Kyle nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma’am, she shore did. We was a big family, and she said the only way we’d ever get along is being polite to each other.”

“Did you know, Eric comes from a big family, too – 13 children. And yes, before you ask, that’s how the ranch got its name.”

“I was wonderin’ about that.”

“Your mother would be proud of you, I think.”

“Yeah, he’s a real prince. So how are things, Eric?” Wheat asked. “Give me the truth. Don’t sugarcoat nothing.”

Eric sighed. “As you can see, Mr. Murtree, my family members weren’t taught to be polite like yours were. My big brother doesn’t like to beat around the bush.” 

“Family got to be straight with each other, too,” Kyle said. “Who else can you trust with the truth?”

“I’d like to tell you everything’s fine,” Eric said, “but you can tell they aren’t just by looking around. We’re in our third year of drought.” He reached for Martha’s hand. “All the old-timers say it’s the worst they’ve ever seen. When we do get rain, we get a flash flood that washes away what’s left of the topsoil, and it’s back to drought.” 

“How’re you making it then?”

“We’re not. How’s that for telling the truth to your family, Kyle? We’re not making it. We’re on slim rations, us and the horses. Only two of them left. We had to sell the sheep at a loss. No grazing around here anymore. Martha does wonders with what little we have, but I don’t know how much longer even she can keep making silk purses out of sow’s ears.”

“You don’t got to worry for now, at least. That mule’s loaded with supplies. It’s all for you.”

Martha and Eric both sat up straighter and opened their mouths to speak. Wheat held up one hand.
“Don’t you say nothing. You’re taking it all, and that’s the end of it. We’re family, and family got to watch out for family. You’d do the same for me, if you was in my place and I was in yours.”

“It’s too much, Soren. We can’t accept it. We can’t pay you back.”

“Who said anything about paying me back? Our mam always told me to take care of the little ones. She’d come back to haunt me if I didn’t help you out in lean times. Besides, this drought can’t last forever.”

Martha and Eric exchanged glances. “It doesn’t have to last forever,” he said. “We’re just about cleaned out. If we could sell . . . we’re about to be foreclosed by the bank.”

“We seen the for sale sign out yonder on the road,” Kyle said.

Eric nodded. “We’ll never get back what we spent to buy this place, but at least, we’d like to have some money so we could start again somewhere else. A fresh start. The way things are now, we’re stuck. We can’t sell, and we don’t have enough money to go.”

“Take a look around,” Martha said. “The shelves and the cupboards are empty. Not even sugar, as you’ve seen. We’ve sold everything we can sell, trying to pay the mortgage, and we’re still too far behind to ever catch up.”

“We’re gonna fill them shelves and cupboards for you,” Wheat said. “We brung plenty of supplies. What that mule’s carrying ought to get you through at least a couple more months. Ain’t that right, Kyle?”

“Wheat’s right – I mean, Soren’s right,” Kyle said. He ignored the look Wheat gave him. “We brung ever’thing anybody might need – we got flour and sugar and coffee and salt and all sorts of canned goods. Wheat bought a big salt ham that was hanging over at the butcher shop, and a whole lot more. We even got bolts of fabric. Them shelves and cupboards, they’re gonna be full up now.”

“And cash, too.” Wheat added. “I figured the bank was after you. There’s enough to catch you up, and then some.”

Martha burst into tears. Stunned, Wheat and Kyle sat still, shock on their faces. Eric got up to hug her, but she pushed him away and ran outside, still sobbing. Eric stood next to his chair, dismay written across his face.

“I better go after her,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess you better,” Wheat told him. Eric ran outside to follow Martha, slamming the door behind him. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden quiet. Finally, Kyle spoke.

“Soren?”

Wheat’s tanned face couldn’t disguise his blush. “Yeah.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“Swedish. Our folks come here from Sweden.” He pointed an insistent finger at Kyle. “Don’t you never tell no one that name.”

Kyle shrugged. “Makes no nevermind to me. You want some more coffee?”

“Damn it!” Wheat slammed his fist on the table so hard, the coffee cups shook. “No, I don’t want no more damn coffee!”

“Well, if you ain’t thirsty no more, how’s about we get that mule unpacked and settle the animals? They’s plumb wore out, same as us. We can get our bedrolls set up in the barn, too. And after that, we can get dinner started. Everything looks better on a full stomach, that’s what I say.”

Wheat released a deep sigh.

“Alright, Kyle. Alright.”

0000000

“That looks like a good spot.”

“Ain’t no good spot when you’re sleeping in a barn.”

Kyle lay his bedroll down on a layer of straw. “We done slept in a lot worse. Seems mighty fine to me. ‘Sides, it’s only for one night, right? We got to return that mule you rented back to the livery.”

“Right. Can’t have no one think we’s horse thieves.” Wheat lay his bedroll down across from Kyle’s. 

“Just make sure you don’t snore too much.”

“If I do, you’ll wake me up, same’s you always do.” 

“Damn right I will.”
 
“Now that’s all done, all we got to do is rustle up supper.” As if in response, Wheat’s stomach growled loudly.

“You ever know me to turn down a meal?”

“No sirree bob.”

“Let’s get to it, then.” But Wheat didn’t move away. Instead, he walked over to where his horse stood quietly in the stall. The animal knickered gently as he approached and stood still while he stroked the velvety nose a few times, then put his face against the horse’s broad neck. 

“Maybe I should go see about supper. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

Wheat didn’t move. “Maybe you should.”

As he walked out from the barn and along the corral, Kyle noticed the sun was setting. The western sky was brilliantly lit with streaks of red. He paused, resting his arms on the fence and enjoying the view. The heat of the day was fading. A light breeze blew pleasantly, and he heard birds singing in the trees. He looked up and saw a hawk gliding soundlessly above him. Footsteps crunched in the dirt off to his right, and he saw Martha walking from the cabin. She stood next to him, mimicking his stance, her arms resting on the fence.

“It’s a beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Sure is. I mind what my ma used to say. ‘Red sky at night, traveler’s delight.” 

“And, ‘red sky in morning, traveler, take warning.’” She smiled at him. “My mother said the same thing.”

They stood quietly side by side, watching the sun’s slow descent. Kyle looked at her. Her attention seemed fixed on the horizon.

“Ma’m.” She didn’t react. “Ma’am, I’m awful sorry we upset you today. Wheat didn’t mean no harm. You feelin’ any better?”

She gripped her hands together tightly and looked at the ground. 

“I know he meant well, but all he’s done – it’s like putting a bandage on a mortal wound.” She turned to look at him. “I think you understand, Mr. Murtree. All this does is prolong the agony. Eric was ready to walk away, but now he says we can stay here longer. Maybe even wait out the drought.” Suddenly, her eyes were glistening with tears. “He says Soren has given us a fresh start. But I just want to leave.  I want a real fresh start, in a town, with other people around. Not stuck in this godforsaken lonesome place anymore all by ourselves.”

“I sure am sorry, ma’am. I know ol’ Wheat, he weren’t aiming to make things worse for y’all.”

She nodded.

“Have you ever thought about a fresh start for yourself, Mr. Murtree?”

He blinked. “Ma’am?”

“Give up your life of crime. Leave Devil’s Hole. You could become an honest man again, once you get away from the influence of certain bad men.” She looked at the sunset again. Only a few rays of light lit the ranch. The night clouds were moving in.

He looked thoughtful. “I know some pretty good bad men back at Devil’s Hole, Ma’am. They’s my friends. I think I’d miss them real bad if I didn’t see them no more. ‘Sides, there ain’t much else I’m good at. I cain’t hardly read or write good enough to work nowhere except maybe a cattle drive, and the railroads, they’re shipping cattle now. Won’t be no drives to work on afore long. Guess I’m stuck.”

“Are you.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “That makes two of us. I came out to tell you that dinner’s ready.” She went back to the cabin without a backwards glance.  Her unhappiness seemed to linger in the air. Kyle’s shoulders drooped, and he rested his chin on his forearms. The sun sunk below the horizon. He raised his head and looked up at the sky. The first faint stars were twinkling. 

He heard Wheat’s heavy footsteps. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Wheat asked, joining him at the fence. “You’re standing around like a cigar store Indian.”

“I was looking at the stars. Ain’t they pretty? Makes you feel like ever’thing’s right in the world.”

Wheat shook his head. “You know what, Kyle? Sometimes I don’t understand you.”

Challenge: Fresh



 
 
 
Pulling the saddles from their horses, they heaved them on the rail before the stalls. Above rain pounded the roof, dripping in steady streams here and there where the winds of long ago had carried away shingles.
 
“Think we outran them?”
 
Heyes ran a stiff brush down Clay’s hindquarters causing water to stream from the sorrel’s coat.
 
“Well, do you?” Curry asked for a second time, “as he rubbed Buck down.
 
“Not going to place any bets,” Heyes replied, coming through the stall gate. “But, these horses need a break as much as we do.” Walking over to where the Livery Man was leaning against his office door glowering at them, Heyes passed the man a lifeless smile handing him a dollar. “Give them each a good dose of sweet mash.”
 
The man squinted at the coin like he did not trust it, then deciding it must be all right; he pocketed it, grunting, “will do.”
 
As they stepped from the shabby barn lightning expanded across the sky illuminating a town that was not in much better shape.
 
Curry’s gaze strayed across the six or eight buildings on to the scattering of shacks, he supposed the dwellers inside referred to as homes. Another flash relit the town, and this time, he spotted a rough sign reading ‘Hotel,’ on a building down and across the ways. Jabbing an arm toward the glowing, shuttered windows, he saw Heyes’ nod in agreement.
 
Inside the slapdash building, they found five men not counting the old, bent barkeep. At the bar’s counter, was one wearing a greasy buckskin shirt with his head resting on his forearms.
 
Choosing the table near the door, the partners settled, gingerly, in the rickety chairs, Heyes, with a bit of a groan.
 
Passing him a lop-sided smile, Curry said, “Does feel good to be sitting still.”
 
“And, without rain running down our backs.”
 
As they spoke, a rasping noise drew their attention, and they looked to find a twisted woman coming toward them dragging her left foot.
 
Unbuttoning their coats, they watched her from the slant of their eyes, trying to appear as if they were not until, at length, she stood directly at their table.
 
When she spoke, her mouth pulled to the side, making her a bit hard to understand. “What would you gents like?”
 
Rolling out his warm, toothy smile, Curry replied, “a bottle of Rye, Ma’am, and some warm food to stick to my insides.”
 
She nodded, jerkily, her large grayish eyes rolling to Heyes.
 
“Sharing his bottle, Ma’am, but I will take some food, also.”
 
She gifted them with a smile that looked painful to give and shuffled toward the bar, her foot scraping along the warped floorboards.
 
The man in the greasy shirt, came alive, rising up from the bar, he stretched showing himself to be a mite smaller than a grizzly. When his close-set eyes landed on Curry and Heyes the corner of his mouth twitched and striding to a table, he growled. “Gimp! You bring me a beer and food first!”
 
The woman angled herself toward him and raising her chin, she precisely said, “After I help these, Gentlemen, I will.”
 
His face twisted, “you serve me first, or you will damn-well regret it.”
 
“Leave her alone.”
 
For a moment, no one moved an inch, it was like Curry’s barked order had set everyone back a notch.
 
Then the big man’s head pivoted, and in a voice filled with shocked awe, he asked, “What did you just say to me???”
 
“I said, leave her be. No reason to speak to a lady like that, let alone threaten her.”
 
The man smiled. Except it was not the sort to warm a person, more to make the skin on the back of their arms turn cold.
 
Under his breath, Heyes muttered, “we’re outnumbered here.” Knowing even as he spoke, his partner would not heed his words anyway.
 
About then, the big man raised his arms, waving them to include the others in the room. “Do not rightly know who you think you might be speaking up in such a way and all.” He rolled his neck, flexing his bulging shoulders, “but this is not your town. You are not from here, so I will let what you said pass. Although, from here on out, you would do yourself best to stay silent.”
 
Then before either Curry or Heyes saw it happening, the man had hold of the barmaid, shaking her, so her head jerked to and fro. “And, Priss, what the hell has gotten into you lipping off to me like that.”
 
Curry leapt to his feet, his chair pinwheeling off behind him like a tumbleweed on the high plains.
 
At the sound of it, the buckskinned man shoved Priss, to stumble like a drunkard, crashing to the wet, muddy floor. “Stranger, that was your second damn mistake, perhaps you do not realize my name is Jamison Lane.”
 
Curry’s nostrils flared, and he mockingly replied with an ‘I don’t give a damn grin,’ “Tell you what, you mind your manners from here on out, and I won’t include your name when I tell this story along the trail.”
 
Lane bristled like a guard dog whose tail has been tromped on, his hands balling into fists. “You went and gone a bit too far there.”
 
“Have I?” Curry’s gaze shifted meaningfully to Priss, who had picked herself up, to stand warily like a scared foal ready to bolt. “I’m not the one showing what a man he is by bruiting around a lady.”
 
Lane threw a look of pure scorn at Priss. “She is nothing but an ignorant cripple and she, sure as hell, is no lady. Hell, she is so twisted, she is not even worth a free ride on Saturday night.” Saying this, he reached to snag hold of Priss again.
 
Excepting while Lane had been keeping track of Curry, he had failed to keep an eye on his partner. Therefore, when he reached for Priss, Heyes slapped his hand away so fast and so unexpected, it spun Lane halfway around.
 
Not hesitating, Lane spun right on around, his hairy fist bunching with the intent of being driven into Heyes’ face. However, as he turned, there was a moment when one foot was off the floor.
 
It was the moment Heyes was watching for and hooking his boot toe under the man’s arch, he tripped, flipping Lane to fall with a thud on his backside.
 
Despite his size, Lane was up and fast, bellowing, “Rory, you keep watch on this first bastard.”
 
Curry’s gaze shifted to the redshirted Rory rising up from another table.
 
Fixing Heyes with a bloodthirsty grin, Lane barreled toward him, head bowed, shoulders up, fists ready for impact. Only, Heyes stepped to the side, flinging his chair into Lane’s path, entangling the big man, so he sprawled out across the chair.
 
Looking down on him, Heyes’ mouth twisted into a sneering smile, “something the matter?”
 
Seeing how fast this was going wrong, and knowing he would have to answer to Lane, Rory decided it was time to make his move. His choice being to reach for the pistol; he wore snug against his belly. Yet, before he had hardly moved, Curry’s Colt was barking, causing blood and pulverized bone to erupt from Rory’s destroyed hand.
 
Fanning the Colt’s barrel across the room, Curry calmly said, “this all has gone just ‘bout far enough.”
 
Lane was edging back, one meaty hand wrapped about a broken chair leg.
 
Curry’s eyes, colder than the night flicked to the man, “Drop it, Lane.”
 
Stepping closer to Priss, Heyes slipped her a handful of bills. “You got someplace else to be?”
 
“I do.” She looked at Lane, still sprawled on the floor. “I am not any of the things you ever called me. My Mama said I was a survivor, a strong survivor.” She clutched tight of the money in her hand, passing Heyes another one of her painful grimace smiles. “I’m going to take the next Coach to a better town. Thank you, Sir.”
 
Heyes covered her as she disappeared into the night, then began scootching toward the door himself. “Partner?”
 
“When you have the horses in front, let go a whistle.”
 
“Will do.”
 
The room stank of sweat, hate, and tension as Curry kept the small-minded men covered. As the minutes drew out, he could feel them calculating moves against him and was grateful when he heard the whistle.
 
When he darted for the door, the men rushed him, but it did not matter for even as his boot hit the stirrup, Buck was running with Heyes unloading his Schofield into the rank room’s, glowing doorway.
 
A good ways from the town with the rain pouring down their backs again, Heyes let go a loud, braying hyena laugh. “Kid, the idea of this whole amnesty scheme is for us to get a fresh start.”
 
“And?”
 
“Perhaps, you and I ought to discuss what each of our concepts of a fresh start might be.”
 
“You working up to lecturing me on how I shouldn’t have stood up for her?”
 
“Not at all. But, I am saying we might want to lay down a few guidelines now that you’re Thaddeus Jones, not Kid Curry.”
 
“What?!”
 
“Just a few words into that fiasco it came to me, I could not simply elaborate to those men the depths of their foolishness for baring their teeth at Kid Curry, ‘cause if I did, there went our chances for amnesty and our fresh start.”
 
Curry stared hard at his partner, just able to make out the rigid tightness in Heyes’ face. “I didn’t consider that either.”
 
“Good to know I wasn’t alone.” Heyes’ voice dropped a bit, “should have learned this lesson after your whole walk-off bit back in Porterville, but it didn’t sink in.” Heyes chuckled bitterly, “it has now.”
 
“This is going to take some getting used to, isn’t it Heyes?”
 
“More than we thought, more than we thought.