Outcast (5 page)

He needed to put them someplace cool.… They wouldn't last long after the sun warmed up the cabin. Maybe he could rig something in the creek. That water was cold enough to put a rime of frost on.… The shell of one of the eggs cracked, and a tiny yellow bill poked out. Chicks. The boy, or more likely his mother, had given him six chickens.

Standish smiled. His mouth toyed with the promise of fried chicken later in the summer, but eggs would be the real bonanza the chicks offered. Fresh eggs. He would have to find a cool place to keep fresh eggs after all. Then as he watched, another beak emerged from the shell.

The chicks would need a box close to the stove. They couldn't survive in the barn, not yet, anyway. Standish ranged through the stacks of food, and found a wooden box large enough to hold six chicks. He stacked the cans against the wall and carried the box to the stove. One little chick had broken free of his birthplace. It stood on the now not so clean towel, weaving a bit on its legs. As Standish watched, another chick emerged, and another yellow beak.

Good thing he had come in when he did. He picked up the two chicks and put them in the box, marveling at the touch of their soft down and fierce warmth. He needed to sprinkle some rolled oats across the bottom of the box. Wouldn't be long before they would be ready to eat. Maybe he should sprinkle some hay in the box and spread the towel across the top. That would keep them warm enough, each of them generating heat. Standish smiled he was well on his way to raising a fine flock of egg layers.

He turned toward the door and found the boy standing there. His red hair, backlit by the sun, was on fire.

“Fair?” he asked.

“Fair.”

The boy turned to leave, and Standish realized that he wanted the boy to stay.

“What's your name?”

“Archibald,” the boy said.

“That's a lot of name to carry around.”

Ma calls me Arch. She says we'll work up to the whole name a little at a time.”

Standish smiled, and the boy's eyes dropped to the floor. “I was.… The word caught in his throat. “I know I don't look like much, but I'm a hard worker. I really am, and I'd work for.…”

The boy turned away from Standish, staring at the door. Standish could see the boy's shoulders rise as he took deep breaths, steeling himself to continue. “You wouldn't have to pay me. I'd work all day for…for a can of those peaches.”

“Take one.”

Arch's back stiffened. “Said I would work for a can of peaches. If you don't need any help, I'll just go home.”

“Take a can of peaches.”

“Nope,” the boy said, stepping out of the cabin.

“Wait.”

Arch turned.

“Fact is I could use some help, specially since I have these chicks to take care of.”

“Don't make pets of them.”

“Why?”

“Makes it harder to eat 'em.”

Standish nodded. He looked at the boy staring defiantly from the cabin step. Childhood, at least most of childhood, had been scrubbed from him some time ago. Montana makes short work of childhood.

“You ever do any surveying?”

“I can learn. Ma says I learn real fast.”

“I'll bet you do. This isn't real surveying. We just need to pick a place for a root cellar, make sure that we build it square.”

“Put the door on the south side,” Arch said. “That's the way our cellar sits. Keeps the entrance open in the winter.”

Standish nodded. “Makes good sense.”

“That's the way my…dad did it.”

Standish leaned back on the back two legs of his chair. “How about you work with me today, and we'll decide how to pay you later.”

“Can of peaches,” the boy said.

“Could be that you would get two cans of peaches.”

“Could be I'd get none.”

Standish cocked his head. “Could be. Could be that we'll work until you earn a can of peaches, and then we'll decide what your pay will be for the rest of the day.”

It was Arch's turn to cock his head. “Could be,” he said.

“First things first,” Standish said. “We have to get these chicks into a box.”

“Can't put them in until they're all hatched,” Arch said.

“Why?”

“Because the stronger ones will kill the new chicks.”

“That's kind of the way it is with chickens, isn't it?” Standish said.

Arch nodded.

“So will you watch the chicks until they hatch?”

“Not much to do.”

“If we can turn those chicks into egg layers, they'll be worth a can of peaches.”

Arch leaned back on one leg, balancing that equation. He and his mother had chicks and they had chickens. Didn't have any canned peaches. Right now, he'd trade all the chickens they had for a can of peaches.

“If you say so,” Arch said.

Standish smiled. “You do that while I figure out some way to keep some of the food cool.”

“That don't take much figuring,” Arch said.

“So how would you keep the food cool?”

“I'd put it in the cooler.”

“I'd put it in a cooler if I had a cooler.”

“You have a cooler.”

“No I don't.”

“Okay, you don't.”

One of Standish's eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“You're a tough little nut, aren't you?”

“That's what Ma says.”

“Alright, you win. Where's the cooler?”

“You're standing on it.”

Standish's other eye closed nearly shut. “Don't much like being sassed.”

One eyelid crawled shut on Arch's face. He shook his head then. Standish could tell the boy had little patience for ignorance.

“You got a rope?” the boy asked.

“Of course I've got a rope. How the hell would I take care of my horses without a rope?”

“Horse,” Arch said. “You have one horse. Hortenzia belongs to Klaus.”

Standish was about to snap back, and then he saw cracks appearing on the boy's face.

“You knew Klaus?”

“Best friend.”

Standish nodded. “Rope hanging in the barn.”

The boy didn't move.

“Would you get it?”

“Can of peaches for the first half of the day?”

Standish nodded, and the boy ran off.

Standish shook his head. What in the hell was he getting into?

Arch came back with a pulley and the rope. Must be the pulley to the barn loft, Standish thought. No, it wasn't big enough for that. Arch dropped the rope on the floor at Standish's feet, and stepped over to the table, tugging a chair over.

“Move,” Arch said, pushing on one of Standish's legs.

Standish moved.

Arch picked up the rope and pulley and climbed on a chair. He threaded the rope through the pulley and reached over his head as high as he could to loop the pulley over a hook Standish hadn't noticed. Arch jumped down from the chair, pulling the short end of the rope with him. He tied the rope loosely to the chair, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. He opened the long, gleaming blade and stuck the point into what seemed to be a crack in the floor. The handle of a slide bolt popped up, and Arch slid it to the open position. He pulled on the bolt, and a door about three-feet square hinged up.

Standish leaned over to look in the hole. A metal box stood below, its top flush with the bottom of the flooring. Wire shelves disappeared below in the darkness.

Arch connected the rope to a bar across the top of the metal box and pulled it up with the pulley. There, in the middle of the cabin floor was a metal pantry. Standish could see that the hole was lined in metal, too, the light glinting off the floor.

“Not much to keep it cool,” Standish said. “What did he do, put ice in it?”

Arch pointed to the shelves. “Touch 'em.”

Standish did. They were cold, cold as the water in the creek.

“What the hell?”

“Pipe goes around and around that box,” Arch said, pointing at the metal box in the floor, “and then it comes out over there at the spigot.”

Incredulity spread across Standish's face. “I'll be damned,”

Sharp pain cut Standish's wonder short. “What the hell?” Another sharp pain from his leg. Standish reached down and rubbed his shin. “Why the hell did you kick me?” Arch's leg swung back, and Standish held out his hands. “Wait a minute. Why are you kicking me?”

“Ma won't allow me to swear. Won't allow me around anybody who does. We made a deal. I work half a day for a can of peaches. Then we decide what the rest of the day is worth.”

Standish sat down on the chair Arch had dragged over, and gently massaged the bruise.

“So?”

“Can't work if you go around swearing. You quit or I do.”

Standish shook his head. Then he flinched. Wouldn't be surprised if the kid could read minds. Wouldn't be surprised if the kid was lining up on the black and blue spot on his leg.

“Tell you what. I'll watch my cussing if you'll watch your kicking. You figure, I got a shot coming, you tell me about it, okay?”

Arch shrugged, “Okay.”

“So you'll watch the chicks while I load this up?”

Arch nodded, stepping to the box.

Standish had bought mostly canned goods; no need to keep them in a cooler. But there were some things.… The cheese. The big round of cheese he had bought in the Last Chance Emporium. Standish had bought the cheese on impulse. The thought of having cheese was more than he could resist

Standish grabbed either side of the wax-coated round. He lifted, the muscles swelling along his neck. He shuffled toward the shelves, walking carefully to be sure he didn't step into the cooler hole. He slid one edge of the round on a shelf and pushed it on. He took a deep breath and looked up. Arch's face was a study of rapture. He was holding one of the little chicks in his hand, but he seemed to have forgotten it was there.

“Peterson,” Arch said.

Standish waited, but Arch said nothing more. The two stood there for what seemed an interminable time. Standish broke the silence. “Peterson?” he asked.

Arch nodded.

Standish stood and stuck both hands in his back pockets. “So?”

Arch jerked back from the fringes of heaven. A question rippled across his face and settled there.

“So?” Standish repeated.

“So what?” Arch said.

Standish ran the palm of his hand across his cheek, the roughness reminding him he hadn't shaved that day. “So what about Peterson?” he asked.

“Peterson?” Arch asked, running a finger the length of his nose.

“You said Peterson.”

Arch nodded.

“So why did you say it?”

Arch swallowed visibly. “That,” he said, pointing his chin at the cheese, “looks like cheese the Peterson family makes.”

Standish's eyebrows drew into a straight line. “Now that you mention it, I think the shopkeeper said something about it being Peterson cheese.”

Arch swallowed again. “The Petersons make the best cheese ever.”

“You're an expert on cheese?”

“Only know Peterson cheese. Every time we go to the Emporium, Mr. Kennedy gives me a slice of Peterson cheese. Guess I know as much about it as anybody.”

“Might be you could do me a favor.”

“Might be.”

“Maybe you could taste this cheese. See if it's the real thing.”

Arch's jaw was twisting his lips into odd shapes. “Might be I could do that for you.”

“Maybe you could hand me that knife.”

Arch picked up the butcher knife from the table and gave it, handle first to Standish. Standish poised the knife over the round.

“You don't do it that way,” Arch said.

“So how do you do it?”

“Set it up on one edge, so you can cut a wedge out of it. You cut it off one end like that; the cheese is more likely to dry out.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr. Kennedy.”

“The shopkeeper?”

Arch nodded.

“Guess he should know.”

Standish laid the knife on the shelf beside the round and rolled the cheese up on one edge. He cut then to the center of the round and positioned the knife to make the second cut.

Arch interrupted. “I probably won't be able to tell if its Peterson cheese with a little piece like that.”

Standish nodded. “An expert knows what he needs.” He cut a larger wedge from the cheese, the wax curling under the blade of the knife. He lifted the wedge out then and handed it to Arch. Arch took the cheese as though it were the Eucharist. His eyes closed with the first bite, and Standish could almost taste the cheese just by watching the boy's face.

Arch's eyes opened, and he took a deep breath.

“Peterson cheese?”

“Yup, it's Peterson cheese.”

“Good?”

Arch cocked his head. “Take another slice for that.”

Standish grinned. “You take your cheese seriously, don't you?”

Arch nodded.

Standish poised over the round. “This enough?”

“Maybe a little more.” Arch stopped. He scratched his cheek. “My Ma knows cheese. Maybe we should cut her a piece, too.”

“To get a second opinion?”

Arch nodded.

“Maybe I should cut myself a piece, too, just to be sure.”

Arch nodded again.

The two stood in the kitchen savoring the cheese. Then Standish carried the round back to the cooler shelf. He was turning to see what else he had that might fit into the cooler, when Arch tapped his shoulder. The boy was holding a clean dish towel, damp with water from the spigot.

“You put this over the cut,” Arch said. “Can't be too wet, and it can't be too dry. This is just right. It'll keep the cheese from drying out.”

Standish picked up one side of the cheese, and Arch slipped one edge of the towel beneath and then draped the remainder over the top.

“How are the chicks doing?”