The horse looked familiar, like a chestnut mare that Josiah had saved the life of in the spring—named after Captain Fikes’s lover, Suzanne del Toro—Fat Susie. Surely, it couldn’t be the same horse. The Widow Fikes had ordered that horse killed—and Josiah had thought for certain it was safe in the livery. Perhaps Pedro had rescued it.
Josiah shook his head and walked back inside the house. Lyle barely paid him any mind, until Josiah set the package down on the table and started to unwrap it. To his great surprise, there was more than a shirt in the package—there was a fully equipped, formal suit: frock coat, pants, shirt, suspenders, tie, and even a pair of shoes.
A note inside instructed Josiah to stop by the tailors in the afternoon to make sure the garments fit properly.
“What that, Papa?” Lyle asked.
“Trouble,” Josiah answered. “Nothing but trouble.”
CHAPTER 25
Josiah found Scrap in the livery a half a block from his house.
Scrap was cleaning out Missy’s stall, arranging a clean coating of straw on the floor. He looked up as Josiah stopped at the gate, said nothing, and went back to finessing the straw with a pitchfork.
“I expected to find you still sleeping on the floor,” Josiah said. There was a hearty tone in his voice.
Scrap’s skin was as white as his eyes—if you could see the white in them, since the color was obscured by a series of hard red streaks—and his jaw was set hard. It was obvious that Scrap Elliot was in the midst of one heck of a hangover, and it was all Josiah could do not to bust up laughing.
Lyle stood by Josiah’s side, holding his hand, kicking at the straw, unaware of what was going on, not caring.
“Had things to do,” Scrap said. He set the pitchfork in the corner of the stall, but didn’t hook it up against anything, and it fell to the floor with a soft thud. Scrap grimaced, as if the little sound had hurt his head.
Josiah couldn’t restrain himself any longer and started laughing.
“What in tarnation is so funny, Wolfe? Can’t you see I ain’t in the best of shape. I got me a ferocious achin’ in the head.”
“That’s what’s so funny.” Lyle looked up at Josiah and then laughed, too. Josiah looked down at Lyle, put his index finger to his lips and said, “Shoosh. Mr. Scrap isn’t feeling well,” then started laughing again.
Scrap grabbed a brush and clenched it so hard his fingers turned red. His face was red now, too. The hangover had quickly been replaced by anger or embarrassment, Josiah wasn’t sure which.
“Ain’t funny, Wolfe,” Scrap said.
“Okay, okay, you’re right.”
Missy snorted loudly, kicked back her right leg a bit, and Lyle thought that was funny, too, so he kept laughing.
The sound of his son’s laughter was honey to Josiah’s ears, and he smiled broadly. It had been a long stretch of one bad day after the next recently, and there hadn’t been a stitch of laughter to be found anywhere this side of Comanche, Texas.
Josiah looked over to the next stall and saw that Lady Mead had already been tended to. Beyond the palomino mare was Josiah’s Appaloosa, Clipper.
The sight of the horse filled Josiah’s heart and took his memory back a few days—back to the attack of the Indians at the San Saba River. It seemed less an attack than a trap, and Red Overmeyer had paid dearly for Josiah’s failure to see the trap—with his life. Suddenly, Josiah’s mood changed, and he gripped Lyle’s hand a little harder, getting his son’s attention. “Okay, no more laughing.”
“How come, Papa?” Lyle asked.
“It’s just time.” Josiah nodded, and Lyle copied his movement, nodding back with a big smile on his face.
“Thanks for taking care of the horses,” Josiah said to Scrap in his normal tone, squaring his shoulders.
“That palomino is a fine horse. Needs some steady care, but she could be a beauty,” Scrap said.
“She’s been left to her own devices for a little while.”
“What are you gonna do with her?” Scrap asked, relaxing, taking the brush to Missy’s back.
“Take her back when I can. I’ll be glad to be on my saddle the next time, but I’ll kind of hate to part with the mare. She could be a good horse.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
“What? Not keeping her?”
“Taking her back to Comanche?”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Josiah said.
Scrap shrugged, kept brushing, and didn’t respond any further. He seemed easily lost in the task, glad that Josiah was not laughing at him any longer.
The stalls were just inside two tall doors that were standing wide open. Bright sunlight beamed into the livery, making all of the straw look like gold strands lying on top of the hard dirt floor. From where Josiah was standing, he could see clear blue skies, a reprieve from the dreariness of typical gray November skies. It looked to be a fine day, warm enough for just a long-sleeved shirt and no jacket.
The railroad was about thirty yards to the north of the large barn, and a whistle in the distance announced the coming thunder of steel and steam. It was the early train, one of two freights a day. The sound and rumble would be deafening. At least for Josiah.
Lyle started jumping up and down, squealing. He loved trains.
“Settle down there, boy,” Josiah said.
“Train’s a-comin’ ! Train’s a-comin’ !”
“I can hear that. Now, settle down.”
There was another noise that had captured Josiah’s attention. Only this one was closer—still distant—but closer. It sounded like yells, screams, hoots and hollers. He cocked his head, making sure he wasn’t hearing things.
The mob sounded about as far away as Congress Avenue.
“Train!” Lyle said, jumping up and down, pulling on Josiah’s hand toward the door.
“Hush now,” Josiah said, sternly.
Scrap stopped his chores and looked up. “Sounds like a hangin’ comin’ along with that train. Ain’t none that I know of. How about you, Wolfe?”
Josiah shook his head no. “How would I know?” He looked down at Lyle and gave him a gentle tug. “I said stop.”
The tone in Josiah’s voice got Lyle’s attention. He pursed his lips together tight, stiffened, and exhaled. “All right.”
“That’s not what you say, is it?”
Lyle looked up at Josiah curiously. “Yes?”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
No one said anything for a long minute. Josiah nodded his approval, then listened closer, his curiosity growing at the rising noise from a couple of blocks over.
Scrap walked out of the stall and stood next to Josiah. “Little hard on the boy, ain’t you?”
“He’s got to learn manners sooner or later.”
“You mean ones in English?”
Josiah shot Scrap an angry look; his blue eyes blazed hard as the railroad tracks. Scrap looked away and offered no apology for expressing his opinion about Lyle being raised by a Mexican.
Ofelia had never found herself in Scrap’s good graces, and Josiah was certain she never would. Still, there was a point to be made, and Josiah knew it, was seeing it with his own eyes. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
The ground began to rumble under Josiah’s feet as the train grew closer. Lyle could barely contain himself, but it was obvious, with the restrained look on his tiny face, that he was trying with all of his might.
Just then a man went running past the open doors of the livery.
Scrap pushed past Josiah and ran out the door, coming to a stop. “Hey there, fella.”
Josiah and Lyle joined Scrap, as much out of curiosity as dread, as to what Scrap was going to do next.