Lester’s horse was no good to ride without his hind shoe. “On second thought, he’ll do,” Jeff decided. “I can walk him to Murphy’s place. He’s limping, but not too much. He won’t have to carry a man’s weight. He can pack our gear and that’ll help.”
A real easy walking horse is hard to beat, some are like a rocking chair, and that was the kind of horse Ed was riding. Jeff was tempted to mount it behind Ed and doze, but he didn’t. He knew he couldn’t depend on Ed to pay good enough attention. Don’t get smug, old son, and get caught off guard like Lester did. Murphy don’t know he’s dead yet. They’ll think he’s just taking his time with his lame critter. Then again, they might be hurrying to help Lester right now.
Jeff looked toward the west, pulling down his hat brim low, but he didn’t see ’em coming. He couldn’t help but wonder what else Jorn had in store for him. “Be careful, old son. He’s a snake, you know that,” he muttered loud enough for Ed to hear him and know Jeff was talking about Murphy.
“We’ll circle round, and come in behind that barn, and spend time in his loft till after dark, until he’s sleeping. Then we’ll tell him we’ve arrived, won’t we, Winnie?”
“Ed, let’s stop and rest the horses. No use to rush now. We’re doing fine. We have plenty of time until dark.”
Chapter Fourteen
Before sundown, they’d stopped just below the low hill behind Jorn’s place. Jeff didn’t want him to see them coming in. The pinto had his head down; he was tired, and so was Ed’s horse. They could smell the barn nearby. Soon, ponies, soon. Jeff eased up and looked over the ridge. “Lay down over there and take a nap, Ed. We got time.” Later, when Jeff could barely see the barn, he said, “We can move now, Ed.” They walked slowly toward the barn, keeping it between them and Jorn’s house. Behind it now, Ed tied both horses. He opened the barn’s back door, glad it didn’t make a noise, and he and Jeff entered, moving to the ladder between two stalls.
Ed climbed up into the loft and threw down a bale of hay. Jeff lugged it outside and busted it open between the two tired horses. They snuffled thanks to Jeff then stood side by side and ate their supper. Jeff climbed up the ladder to the hayloft and cracked open the hayloft door just enough to peer out. A lamp was burning in the ranch house. No dog was about. That’s good for us, bad mistake for you, Jorn. Jeff would not have enjoyed silencing a dog. Both men settled down in the hay. Ed dozed, emitting a soft, occasionally sputtering snore. Jeff watched the ranch house door and remembered…
Sally had said yes when Jeff asked her to marry him. Jeff was surprised when she said yes so quickly. Her Poppa had married them in his church, and Sally went to live as Jeff’s wife at his ranch. Sally was a born western woman. She could do it all—ride horses all day, herd cattle, help with the branding, help doctor sick cows, help ’em birth calves when needed, and then she’d come into the ranch house at sundown, kick off her boots, and bake the best peach pie Jeff had ever tasted.
Her fried chicken, biscuits, and cream gravy was a wondrous meal. Ed swore Sally was a better cook than his own mama. Ed worshiped Sally. He treated her like she was his queen of the West. Sally was the best thing that ever happened to both Jeff and Ed and the JN Brand. Jeff wished he could turn back the clock. “Damn that man, Jorn Murphy. Damn him to hell,” Jeff muttered.
Ed heard him. He knew Jeff was remembering, and he stayed quiet.
Chapter Fifteen
“Come over here, Private, and let me teach you how to kill a man, quiet like,” the big man said, as Jeff remembered back to the time when he first met Jorn Murphy. They fought in the war together. Their side had been winning battles all that week. He and his pa were fighting in the same regiment. They were sitting side by side on a log; they’d just finished sharing a big watermelon for their supper. Jeff’s dad was now smoking his pipe. The big man, Murphy, was their sergeant when Jeff and his pa just joined up. He motioned to Jeff. “Come over here, boy. Damn it, I want to give you a killing lesson, pay attention now. Here’s how you can kill a feller real quick like. You’re right-handed? Good, now watch close. You slip up behind a man real quiet like so he don’t hear no sound, you see, then you reach around him with your left hand, you pull him to you, quick like, and you slip your right-handed knife blade under his throat at the same time and slice quick. Be sure you pull your knife left to right as you slice his throat. That way, the blood will shoot away from your hand, you understand?
“Here’s another way—you creep up behind a man, walking on the balls of your feet quiet as a cat. You get real close, then you grab him, and quick, you pull him to you real close as you reach around and stab him high up in his gut right under his rib cage. The blade will go right into his heart. You need to hold him close and tight till he quits trembling, then you let him sink down to the ground real quiet like.”
Jeff shivered, he knew he’d never want any part of that kind of killing in this bloody war or any other time.
Thomas Abraham Nelson, Jeff’s pa, had been shot in his head by a rebel’s minié ball two weeks later in a skirmish near Virginia’s east border. His only son had hurriedly been allowed to bury him. Then the Yankee soldiers had quickly moved on, chasing the retreating rebels all the way into North Carolina. Jeff had cried off and on for a month over the loss of his pa. Now he was all alone in this scary world. No family, all gone, just him now. Jeff was barely past seventeen years old.
Jeff Nelson and Jorn Murphy were both alive and fighting until the very last dustup. Then they’d watched the parade and disarmament from the parade ground outside a little white church house where the two mightiest generals from both armies had finally made peace, shook hands, and ended that bloodshed. Jeff disremembered where they were when it happened, but it seemed like maybe Virginia. Afterward, some soldiers went north, some went south. Jeff Nelson and Jornett Murphy decided they’d go west, all the way to Southwest Texas.
Chapter Sixteen
Ed awoke; he was shivering, and he was sweating too. He had been dreaming a big black wolf was chasing him. And Ed was trying to climb a tree, but he couldn’t reach the lowest branch, and the wolf was about to bite him on his butt, and Ed was scared, out of breath, and then he was awake! It was now cooler and dark.
The moon was shining, and the sky was streaked with clouds. Every few minutes it would grow darker, then the clouds would move and then a body could see real plain. Jeff was sitting quietly, looking toward Jorn Murphy’s house, watching and listening. “Go bring our ponies, real quiet like, into the barn, Ed, I’ll stay up here and watch.”
Ed climbed down the ladder; he loosened the saddle cinch on his mount, left him with his head down and dozing, tied fast to the hitch rail back of the barn. He rescued the pinto and placed him in a stall in the barn. The lame pony seemed to thank him as he nuzzled Ed’s hand. Ed quietly promised him a double order of oats for breakfast and the pinto snuffled Ed’s ear. Ed went back outside, untied his gelding, and brought him in to a stall. He unsaddled him and removed the halter and bit. The tired old roan snuffled a “thank you kindly” to Ed, dropped his head, and went back to sleep.
One hour later, in the woodshed, behind Murphy’s house, Jeff found a five-gallon can of coal oil. He poured it on and around the back porch and door and mopped some around the window ledges on both sides of the house. He finished up splashing the coal oil on the front door. He crept back across the yard where Ed stood in the shadows by the barn door. Jeff was watching the front door and both sides of the house.
“Ed, I don’t want you in this, you stay low. I’ll do all the shooting, you hear me?”
“Whatever you say do, Jeff, I’ll do it.” Jeff sent Ed to make a small firebrand, dip in the coal oil can, light it, and walk quietly around Jorn’s house,