Bringing Ezra Back (12 page)

I didn't want to die. But I'd come so far to rescue Ezra. I
had
to take him home with me, or everything I'd done had been for nothing.

I couldn't move or speak, just stood with my hands in the air.

Trask let out a loud, impatient sigh. “I'm gonna take the Injun now. Stay where you are.”

He moved toward us. Beside me, Ezra stood still as a stone. Trask approached close enough so his sour smell filled my nostrils. “Back to work, chief,” he said, grabbing Ezra roughly by the arm and pushing him in the direction of the wagon camp.

Ezra stumbled and nearly fell. Without knowing I was going to do it, I reached out to steady him. With my other hand, I pushed Trask away.

Then I felt the sharp jab of a rifle butt in my side, and fell to the ground in pain.

*   *   *

The night sky seemed to twirl in circles. Dizzily I rolled over, got to my knees, leaned forward, and heaved until my stomach was empty and my mouth was dry. I knelt, gasping, while the world stopped spinning. When the pain in my side allowed me to, I got to my feet.

I shook my head to clear it, and looked around. There was no sign of Trask or Ezra. I listened for the shuffle of their footsteps, but heard nothing except the sound of my own breath, ragged in my throat.

I started in the direction of the wagon camp. I had no plan in my mind, and no thought of what I'd do when I got there. It was simply the only thing I could think to do, though I don't reckon I was really thinking. All I knew was that, right then, the idea of heading back home without Ezra seemed impossible. I wasn't going to crawl back under that cart, either. So I walked.

I did it the way Pa had taught me when we were hunting. I walked a bit, stopped still to listen hard, then walked a little more. I knew Trask couldn't move very fast, not with Ezra beside him, shackled. I'd had the breath knocked out of me, but I hadn't been lying on the ground very long. I believed I'd soon catch up to Trask.

After I'd walked a while and stopped to listen several more times, I heard rustling in the leaves ahead, then a muffled voice, saying something angry and impatient. Trask.

I crept along behind them, thankful for the nearly full moon, being careful not to make a sound. Recalling the knife hanging at my side, I drew it and held it ready. Ready for what, I didn't know.

I was drawing close when I stepped on a branch that snapped under my foot with a sharp crack. Trask, Ezra, and I all froze. Then Trask whirled around, his rifle once again aimed my way. When he saw me, his shoulders slumped and he swore softly.

I'd looked down the muzzle of that rifle more times than I cared for. It seemed Trask was forever pointing it at me. I reckoned I was about to find out if he'd really shoot it. I was scared, but for some reason I also felt strangely calm. I wasn't leaving without Ezra, so it was up to Trask.

The thing was, a little part of my mind kept remembering Beckwith and all his talk of reading folks like books. Thinking back on what I'd seen of Trask, I read him as a liar and a crook. I read him as greedy, and lazy. He was a showman and a faker. But I didn't take him for a cold-blooded killer, like Weasel.

I'd looked deep into Weasel's eyes, and I would never forget what I'd seen there. I should say it was what I
hadn't
seen that chilled me to my bones. There was nothing in those eyes of any human feeling.

But where Weasel was through and through what Beckwith would call a wolf, it struck me that Trask was like most ordinary folks: part wolf and part sheep. That's how I figured him, anyway. Most likely it was foolhardy of me to think so. This business of reading folks was new to me, and there was a good chance I was going about it wrong. But, I told myself, I'd read Miss Mary right when she'd said she would help me.

I was thinking, too, about times when I'd watched the menfolk playing cards at Whitefield's store in town. Now, after spending time with Beckwith, I understood how they were all trying to read faces to find out how good the other players' cards might be. They put up a lot of bluff and bluster to fool one another. Maybe Trask was doing just that. Maybe I could play the game, too.

“The thing is, Mr. Trask,” I said, “I came a long ways to get my friend, and I aim to take him back with me.”

Trask stared at me with an odd expression, almost like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. But he hadn't shot me yet, so I kept on talking.

“I reckon you can find yourself another act pretty quick, somebody like Little Miss Mary, who knows what's what. Looks to me like keeping Ezra caged and shackled is more trouble than it's worth.”

He was listening. That was good. I'd watched Orrin Beckwith when he was trying to make a sale, and he never stopped talking as long as a body was listening. So I went on. “You know he'll die soon if he stays. He's not far from dyin' now. Then what have you got?”

In the bright moonlight, I saw Trask's eyes narrow.

“You've got the worth out of him. You'd be better off to get shed of him now, before he gets too sick to earn his keep.”

Trask looked from me to Ezra, like he was sizing up just how much longer Ezra might last.

I played my final card. “I got four dollars in gold to pay you right now if you let him go,” I said. It hadn't entered my head to make such an offer before, I reckon because paying money for a human being was a peculiar piece of business. It was being desperate that made me think of it at all.

“I could shoot you, take the Injun
and
the money,” Trask growled. “What's to stop me?”

My heart sank. If I'd read him wrong, there was no good answer to his question. We stood, our eyes locked, for what seemed like a very long time.

Then Trask heaved a loud sigh and swore again. He shoved Ezra so hard he fell, and said, “He'll likely croak before you get four dollars' use out of him, and it'll be on your head, not mine.”

I didn't make any answer to that. Quick, I took off my boot and dug out the rest of Mama's gold piece. I walked over and, without a word, handed Trask the money.

With difficulty, I pulled Ezra to his feet. Putting one arm around his waist to hold him up, I began leading him away. I felt Trask's eyes on my back as Ezra and I made our way slowly through the trees. I imagined Trask weighing the gold in one hand and the rifle in the other, making his final decision.

Then I heard the sound of his footsteps as he turned at last and walked away.

16

EZRA AND I HID
out all the next day. I couldn't believe Trask had given up for good. I about wore myself out, jumping at every splash of a frog, every chirp from a bird or chatter from a squirrel. But come evening, there'd been no sign of Trask.

Warily, I drew Ezra out for water and a walk. We returned to the cart, where I slept badly. In the morning, I took my knife to the band on Ezra's left leg. I was afraid that, however gentle I tried to be, I was going to hurt him when I put force on the metal. So I tucked the edge of the quilt Molly had given me between the band and Ezra's ankle.

I explained to him what I was about to do, and how I hoped not to hurt him, but I couldn't tell if he even heard me. Then, slowly and real carefully, I worked the blade between the two ends of the band at the point where they overlapped each other.

“I'm going to take my time, Ezra, so the knife doesn't slip. If I hurt you, you let me know and I'll stop, all right? Now I'm going to wiggle the knife a little, like this.” I wiggled it as I spoke. “I'm going to keep doing it until I get it in there a ways—like that! Now I'll wiggle a little more … See? It's going in a bit farther every time.”

Holding my hand steady, I kept at it until I got the blade wedged far enough between the two overlapping parts that I could see the tip come out the other side, and I began to use the knife to pry the bands apart. It was working, and I was feeling really excited when suddenly the tip of the blade snapped off. Ezra's ankle jerked away from my grasp and I dropped the knife.

I looked quickly at Ezra's face to see if I'd hurt him, but if he
had
grimaced, I'd missed it. His expression was blank. I picked up the knife to examine it. About a half inch of the tip was gone. It was the sharpest, narrowest part, which meant I was going to have a harder time starting on the second shackle. If I ever got to the second one. I couldn't think about that.

I'd managed to pry the bands apart about a quarter of an inch. As I'd hoped, the metal of the blade was harder than the copper. It had snapped only because I'd twisted it too much right at its thin tip.

I held the knife sideways so I was using the thicker part of the blade to separate the bands enough to almost fit my thumb between them. Sweat was pouring down my face by the time I finished. After a careful look around, I left our shelter and searched out a thin, flat stone. I used the edge to pry the bands farther still, until, finally, the copper gave way and the band slid off.

Through it all, Ezra never moved again, or made a sound. Having the shackle on or off appeared to be all the same to him. But, tired as I was, I was pleased at what I'd done, even though the chain still hung from the band on Ezra's other leg.

I felt bad making him practice walking that night, dragging the chain behind him, but it was a lot easier for him now that his one leg was free. I fell asleep with the first feelings of hope I'd had since leaving the show.

The next day I began work on the second shackle. I got a scare when some folks who were traveling by horse and wagon stopped at the creek for water and a rest. A man, a woman, and a boy younger than Molly came right over and sat by our cart, leaning against its side same as I had done when I first saw it.

I barely breathed for the whole time they were talking and eating, not an arm's length away from where Ezra and I sat. I couldn't even have said what it was they talked about, I was that edgy. They were likely harmless, but I didn't relish explaining why I was hiding out with a man who was half-shackled and half-dead. Much as I wanted Ezra to come back to life, I dearly hoped he wouldn't pick that moment to do it.

Some other folks on horseback came by later, but none was Trask, and they didn't bother us any.

The sun had nearly set when I finished getting the second shackle off. It took a lot longer than the first one, being as my knife tip was gone. By the time I finished, the whole blade was near ruined, but I didn't care. I threw those bands and the chain as far as I could into the forest, hoping never to see their like again.

It was good to watch Ezra walk free that night. We went up and down the creek bank until I thought he'd had all he could take.

Never once in that time did Ezra look at me or change his slack, far-off expression. Surely those days I spent hidden under the cart with his ghost were the longest of my life.

By the fourth day, Ezra would take water if I handed him a cup, though I had to put small bits of food in his mouth to get him to eat. I was feeling sure Trask must have moved on. That night, I let go of Ezra's arm as we walked, and I just went along beside him. When he seemed to be keeping up, I stepped out ahead and picked up my pace, slow at first, then a little faster. He came along behind me, which relieved me some, although it made me sad to see him so tame, following me like a puppy dog.

I'd begun talking to him more and more. I couldn't stand the silence, partly. But I also got to thinking about how Mama always rocked us and sang to us when we were sick, along with giving us the medicines and tonics she made from her roots and herbs.

I remembered, too, when Pa was wild with fever that time back in Ezra's we-gi-wa. Molly had done the same for him. Later, he had told us he reckoned her talking soothed him just as much as the white-root poultice and witch hazel Ezra used to wash and heal the wounds on his leg.

So I talked to Ezra whenever I felt it was safe. He never let on that he understood what I was saying, or heard me at all, for that matter. It made
me
feel better, though, even if he took no notice.

We ate the last of our food that night. Before we slept, I set out a couple of my snares. In the morning, I had caught a rabbit. I waded into the creek where a bunch of little fish swam in the shallows, and trapped them in a corner of my blanket. Then I built a fire, our first, right out in the open. I cooked the rabbit and the fish and wrapped them up for later. And Ezra and I left our hiding place and started for home.

17

WE WALKED SOME
that day; rested, walked a little more, rested, and walked again. I headed in a westerly direction, back toward Vestry without going too close to the town, where someone might recognize Ezra and raise a ruckus. When I feared tiring him too much, I stopped and made camp.

“You showed me how to throw your Shawnee hunting stick, remember?” I said as I put a pot on to boil water. I'd found some leaves I knew were good for making a strengthening tea, and some berries to add for sweetness.

“I didn't think that old stick would do me much good, but I threw it at Weasel when he sneaked up on me that night. It hit his rifle and made him shoot his own self in the leg!”

I peered at Ezra over the flames of our fire to see if his face showed anything. Months earlier, when I'd first told him that story, he'd whooped and banged his fist on his knee and laughed so hard tears had rolled down his cheeks. This time he only stared into the fire.

I didn't stop talking, though. I thought I'd try asking questions. Maybe that would make him want to answer. “Where'd you go after you left us, Ezra?” I paused, and when there was no answer, I went on talking. “We wondered and wondered about you, and made up all kinds of stories about what you were doing.”

After a moment of silence, I tried another subject. “I thank you for leaving me your hat, Ezra. You left it in the stone wall outside our cabin, remember? I wear it most all the time. I never got to thank you proper. And Molly gave me this to show you.” I pulled out the bone locket from under my shirt. “She'll want it back soon as we get home. It's her favorite thing in the world, along with Mama's medicine bag and those blue beads you gave her.”