Wayward Wind (29 page)

They spoke briefly.

Louis wheeled his horse and headed for the shed, and Cooper stood on the porch for a moment. He had not been in a blacker
frame of mind since the day his mother had named the man who sired him. Hate pushed and shoved at his mind, threatening to
block reason. He gazed for a long moment toward the mountain and forced himself to recall Lorna’s face, hoping to calm himself
and remove the murderous rage that had swept over him before he went back into the house.

He paused in the doorway and looked at his mother, who had risen from the table and stood behind her chair, her hands fastened
to the back of it, quietly waiting for the bad news that could only bring the shy ranch hand racing to the house.

“Louis found Arnie.” He watched his mother’s hands fly to her cheeks and added quickly, “He’s not dead, but he’s sure torn
up.”

“How bad?”

“Louis said he’s beaten to a pulp and has a busted leg.” Griffin got up and reached for the dusty old hat Cooper had given
him when they first arrived at the ranch. “I’d as soon you stay with the women, Griff. Louis and I will fetch him home in
the wagon. You can’t tell about a dirty, low-down bunch of trash that would hire out to do that to a man. They might just
be waiting for me to leave the house and come pay Ma a visit. If they come, shoot the sonsofbitches and talk later. Ma can
help you, she’s a damn good shot.”

“I’ll keep a eye out,” Griff said, and quietly left the house.

“Adam did just what he said he’d do…” Sylvia’s voice grew weaker, then ceased altogether.

“Damn his rotten soul!”

“Where’s Arnie?”

“Up near the red bluffs where the creek makes a horseshoe turn, Louis says. He saw buzzards circling and thought a mare had
dropped a foal or been brought down by a cat. It was a dead horse, all right. They’d shot Arnie’s horse right between the
eyes.”

“Oh, no! Arnie set a store by that horse.”

“It’s a damn sorry man who’d shoot a horse like that.”

“Can you get a wagon in there?” Composed now, Sylvia was back to practical thinking.

“Not all the way, but Louis figures close enough so that we can carry him to it.”

“I’ll have things ready here.”

Cooper went to her and gripped her shoulder. “Arnie’s a tough bird. He’ll make it.”

“It was mean and wicked of Adam to do that to Arnie. I hate it that he’s sufferin’ on my account. He’s a good man—”

“Buck up, Ma. It might just be worth it to Arnie to have you take care of him,” Cooper said and pinched her chin.

“Oh, hush your teasin’, Cooper, and go get him. They might come back,” she said with a worried frown.

“I’ve been thinking of that and I’m glad Griff will be here with you and Bonnie.”

“Take a lantern, son.”

“I will. I hope we can find him in the dark. There’s no moon tonight, is there?” he added as an afterthought before he went
out.

Bonnie had moved back into the shadows, away from the light of the lamp that sat amid the uneaten supper. She didn’t understand
the underlying meaning of the words that passed between mother and son, but realized the importance of them. Shying away from
the leashed violence she sensed in Cooper, she waited until he left the room before she moved to clear away the scarcely touched
meal.

The evening wore on. After getting the bed in Cooper’s room ready for Arnie and laying out bandages, salves, and everything
she considered would be useful, Sylvia took the lantern and went down to the shed to look for a smooth straight plank they
could use to set a broken bone. She had no idea if the plank would be needed, but she had to be moving, doing something, or
else anxiety would mangle her nerves.

To a woman at home, not knowing if her man was dead or near death, the waiting hours were long and torturous. When she ran
out of things to do, Sylvia leaned against the peeled pine post that supported the porch roof and strained her eyes toward
the mountains, watching and waiting for a moving speck to appear out of the darkness and listening for the faintest sound
of the creaking wagon or the jingle of harnesses. She was grateful for Bonnie’s quiet presence and for Griffin who patrolled
the perimeter of the ranch yard.

It was after midnight when Griffin’s voice came to Sylvia from out of the darkness. “They’re acomin’, ma’am. I’ll be agoin’
out to open the gates.”

“I don’t hear anything,” she said and turned her ear toward the trail. She couldn’t hear a thing, not even the young nester’s
footsteps on the hard-packed ground as he hurried away.

“I don’t hear anythin’ either,” Bonnie said. “But if Griff says they’re acomin’, they’re acomin’. He’s the beatin’est man
ya ever did see fer gettin’ ’round in the dark. Ya want me to light the lantern fer ya ’n build up the fire ’n get the kettle
to boilin’?”

It seemed to Sylvia a long time before she heard the sound of the approaching wagon. When she did her heart leaped with relief,
then plunged with dread. She reached for the lantern when Bonnie came to the porch with it and stepped out into the yard,
holding it high to guide the wagon to the house. She could see that Louis was driving the team and Cooper’s light colored
hat was bobbing up and down behind the wagon seat. She stood very still, forcing herself to remain calm and accept whatever
the next few moments would bring.

“Cooper? Is he all right?”

“He’s alive, Ma. He passed out while we were getting him to the wagon. Griff, fetch that new door ya made for the bunkhouse
and we’ll carry him in on it. We’ll get him as close to the porch as we can, Ma, but it’ll mean ruining your flowers—”

“Oh, shoot! I don’t care about that. Is he hurt bad?”

“Pretty bad. Maybe you should let me and Griffin—”

“You mean he’s not a pretty sight? Landsakes, Cooper, you know I’m not squeamish.” She lifted the lantern and looked over
the side of the wagon. The light fell on Arnie’s bloody, battered features. She wouldn’t have recognized him except for the
thin, graying hair, the handlebar mustache, and the blue and white striped shirt she’d made for his birthday. He’d been so
proud of it. Now it was riddled with a hundred tears and was soaked with blood. “Oh! Oh, God in heaven—” Her voice rose in
hysteria.

“Ma!” Cooper said anxiously. “You all right, Ma?”

“Yes, son. Yes, I think so. What in heaven’s name did they do to him?”

“The goddamn pissants dragged him!” Cooper spat the words out viciously.

“Dear God! How on earth can men be so cruel to their fellow man?”

Sylvia was grateful that Arnie remained unconscious while the men got him on the bed and cut away his shirt and breeches.
His boots had been torn from his feet when they dragged him and his feet and ankles were covered with blood and dirt. She
inspected the sickening mass of lacerations by the light of every lamp they owned, and wondered whether or not she was equal
to the task of caring for him. She was no stranger to the sickroom. Often she had dressed the wounds of severely injured men,
but never had she beheld such a grisly mutilation of human flesh.

Don’t think about who did this, she told herself, think about what has to be done.

Griffin straightened out the bent leg and swore. “They busted his leg with a rifle butt, I’m athinkin’. The dirty bastards!
’Scuse me, ma’am. See this here bruise, Cooper? It’s what they done, all right. They busted it while he was down. Leastways
it won’t cripple him up like it’d done if’n they’d busted up his thigh bone.” Griffin’s gentle fingers went over Arnie’s body
feeling for more broken bones. “This’n’s all that’s busted. We’d best get it straight ’n tied up good ’n snug afore he comes
to, ’cause it’s agoin’ to hurt like hell.”

When Cooper pulled on Arnie’s leg and Griffin worked the ends of the broken bone together Arnie moaned, then cried out as
the searing pain hauled him up out of the darkness. He fainted again almost immediately, and Griff and Cooper hurried to complete
the work on his leg before he became conscious again.

Sylvia turned her attention to the welter of bloody debris coating Arnie’s back and chest while Griffin cleaned his feet and
ankles. Bonnie kept them supplied with pans of clean warm water. After they cleaned the blood and dirt from his body, they
washed it with vinegar water and liberally smeared the tears in his flesh with ointment.

“I heared tell, ma’am, that a dosin’ of whiskey ’n honey is good for a man what’s lost blood like this’n has,” Griffin said
when they had finished.

“I’ve not heard of that, but I’ll give him some when he comes to.”

“Sugar works the same, but I guess most folks has got more honey ’n sugar. It’s somethin’ ’bout the sweet—”

“Where in the world did you learn so much about doctorin’?”

Griffin carefully screwed the lid back on the ointment jar before he spoke. “When I got out of Yuma, I took up with a ole
man who doctored when he was sober. He’d had schoolin’ at some place across the water. I think he said Edinburgh or somethin’
like that. He’d been in the war, ’n when he got to athinkin’ ’bout all the arms ’n legs he’d cut off, he’d get the willies
’n get roarin’ drunk. He’d do all sorts a crazy thin’s. I stayed with him for a spell ’n helped him out when folks pressed
him to doctor. I’m athinkin’ he was a jim-dandy doctor in his prime.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died.”

“What a waste. Many a good man has drunk himself to death.”

“He died a snake bite.” Griffin’s voice had changed and Sylvia glanced at him. He was staring at Arnie’s bruised and swollen
face as if his mind were a hundred miles away. “Sometimes when he got drunk he’d think he saw snakes. A couple a galoots thought
it’d be funny if’n they was real. They throwed one on a porch where he was alayin’, rantin’ ’n ravin’ ’n thinkin’ there was
crawly things on him. It bit him afore I could kill it.”

The small doses of laudanum Sylvia gave Arnie kept him sleeping for the better part of two days, then she ceased giving him
the drag, knowing the danger of its becoming habit forming. He woke one morning in pain, but his head was clear and by evening
he was able to give Cooper an account of what had happened to him.

“It was pure ole carelessness to let myself get caught up and yanked off my horse like a trussed up steer. This feller hailed
me down to talk and was askin’ me the way to town when a rope settled on me and I was hog-tied afore I knowed it.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“There was no names called, but I know they was Clayhill men. They said tell Mrs. Parnell the next time it’d be my tallywacker.
’Course I ain’t saying nothin’ like that to Sylvia. When I see them birds, they’ll wish they’d finished up the job.”

“How are you feeling?” Cooper asked after a long pause and glanced at Arnie to let him know his mother had come to stand in
the doorway.

“Well, I ain’t feelin’ up to snuff, but I ain’t complainin’, neither.” Arnie turned his head painfully so he could look at
Sylvia, then back to her tall son sprawled in the chair beside the bed. “I’m a feared I crowded ya out of yore bed, Cooper.
Ya coulda took me to the bunkhouse.”

“Ma wouldn’t hear of it. She’s a bossy woman, Arnie. You’d better know right off what you’re in for.”

“I’ll never have me no prettier boss.”

Cooper looked up to see the doorway empty and heard his mother’s steps going rapidly across the kitchen floor. He grinned
at the man lying on the bed. “I trust your intentions are honorable?”

“’Course they are, boy. Your ma ain’t got no doubt about it.”

The two men looked at each other for a moment, then Cooper stuck out his hand. “I’m glad, Arnie. Real glad for you and for
Ma.”

“Ain’t nothin’ settled—”

“I know. You’re more than welcome to come here. This is Ma’s home as much as mine.”

“I had it in mind to build a little place over on Morning Sun.”

“If it suits the two of you, it’s fine with me. Arnie,” Cooper’s eyes sought those of the older man, “do you think you’ll
be up to sitting on the porch in a day or two? I want to go to town, but I’ll wait till you’re up to handling a rifle.”

“Do you think there’ll be a need for it?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to go off till I’m sure you’re fit to take care of things. I’ve not worried about it before
because Ma can handle a rifle as good as a man. Louis is a good man, but he’s got to be told what to do. Volney’s down on
his back. I don’t know if the old man’ll ever get up again.”

“Do you reckon it was the same bunch that did me in that worked on the ole man?”

“No. It’s not the same bunch at all.”

Cooper told Arnie about Clayhill’s men hanging Griffin, about trailing the mare to the cabin on the Blue and the run-in there
with Dunbar. He told of taking Lorna to Light’s Mountain and of his suspicion that Brice Fulton was responsible for Volney’s
injuries.

“I’m athinkin’ that folks is gettin’ meaner all the time,” Arnie said when Cooper had finished. “It’s got to be the times
we’re alivin’ in. Didn’t used to hear a things like this till the war.”

“Folks have always been mean,” Cooper said, remembering his painful childhood at the fort where his mother was a laundress.
“They just show it in different ways.”

“You mean to take the young feller when you go?”

“I was planning on it.”

“He’s a cold-eyed youngun. I seen some like him durin’ the war. They’d got all the softness knocked outta ’em.”

“You’d be surprised about Griff. He’s soft as mush when it comes to women or a hurt animal.”

“Is that right? Well, give me a day to get used to gettin’ around with that forked stick he fixed up for me. Then you go on
off with a easy mind. I can’t run, but I can shoot.”

Lorna had spent a couple of weeks of very hard work, followed by several unprofitable days lolling around the house. The dried
beans were in the basket on the porch waiting to be shucked and cabbages were in the cellar waiting to be shredded and made
into kraut, but she couldn’t get interested in doing any of those things. It had been more than two weeks since Cooper had
ridden away and she had whipped Brice with the bullwhip. She hadn’t heard from either man; not that she’d expected to hear
from Cooper, but she had thought Brice would be back, with Billy and Hollis as backup to seek vengeance.