Outcast (8 page)

Both horses stood silently by the creek watching him, the sun glinting so from their backs they seemed made of a rare metal. Standish whistled, and Sally turned toward him, walking at first and then breaking into a trot.

Hortenzia poised, not yet decided whether to come or to run. Standish shook the bucket, and the oats whispered promises to the mare. She followed Sally. The three of them walked to the barn caught in the moment. Standish spoke to them in a soft soothing voice, until he realized he was intruding on something special. Both horses went into their stalls, and Standish carried their oats to them, leaving each a bucket of water.

Arch wasn't so bad. He was just a child, and a young one at that. Living as he did in the isolation of this place, he likely hadn't had time to learn the rules of being a good neighbor. Certainly, the boy wasn't selfish. Always he thought of his mother. Always he carried bounty home to her.

A flash of white disappeared into the trees ahead of him. Probably a deer flashing its warning:
Be careful, a two-legged stalks this place
.

Now he would eat, maybe just beans and some of that bread and huckleberry jelly Arch's mother made. That wasn't salmon loaf, but it was no less special. After dinner he would climb into the largest tub the Last Chance Emporium stocked. He would soak off the dirt let his mind wander back to the meadow.

Standish stepped through the door to the cabin. The tub had been dragged out by the table, a puddle of water on the floor beside it. His teeth ground together and he roared. a terrible cry rooted in the caves of his ancestors. That little son of a bitch had taken Standish's bath in the biggest tub in stock at the Last Chance Emporium.

The roar echoed through the trees, driving the flash of white Standish had thought was a deer faster through the trees toward home. Arch hadn't had a chance to dress. He didn't want to dress anyway, Standish coming up on him unexpected like that.

CHAPTER 4

Ed Miller fidgeted. His boss, Samuel Bodmer, was standing at the window behind his desk, staring at the streets below. Miller glanced at the clock for the third time in five minutes.

“Boss.…”

Bodmer turned. “He's out there, you know. I thought I saw him this morning, just a shadow by the theater building, but by the time I got my telescope, he was gone. He's watching me, Ed. He's been watching me.”

Miller nodded. He dropped his attention to a blank piece of paper on the desk, shifting it back and forth. His words came tentatively, like a question without a question mark. “Maybe, we should let him go.”

Bodmer jerked. “No!”

“We've been chasing him for three, close to four years now, and we're no.…”

Bodmer stomped to the desk, thrusting his face within inches of Miller's, “No!”

Miller's voice wafted soft as a spring breeze. “Boss, could you sit down for just a minute.”

Rancor sloughed off Bodmer, and he dropped into his chair. “Sorry, it's just.…”

Miller nodded. “I know.”

“No,” Bodmer was shaking his head. “You don't know. You couldn't know. You haven't been in hell watching a demon prowl through the camp, murdering your friends. You haven't seen him, tearing raw meat from men you have known and eating it, blood dripping from his mouth.”

Bodmer was no longer in his office; he was back in that mining camp, listening to a howling winter wind and the screams of men dying under the demon's knife.

Miller intruded as deftly as a surgeon into Bodmer's thoughts. “Boss, he was never charged with that.”

Bodmer bristled. “I know that. How could you think I don't know that? By the time, they got back up that mountain, the predators—the other predators—had torn at the bodies. There was nothing left, but cracked bones. They knew I was right. I was the only man to survive that time in hell with that demon, but.…”

“But they couldn't prove anything.”

Bodmer looked stricken. “No, they couldn't prove anything.”

“So they didn't file charges.”

“No, but there isn't a man who knows that story who wouldn't shoot him at first sight or leave him hanging for the magpies to pick at.”

“Without charges, that's murder, boss.”

Bodmer sighed. “If we're caught, I will take full responsibility. They can hang me if they choose, but I cannot let him go free. What if he comes on a family, an isolated ranch family, and.…”

A tear trickled down Bodmer's face. “I couldn't take that, Ed. I just couldn't take that.”

Bodmer stood and walked to the window. “He's out there, Ed. I know he is. I see his shadow. I see it all the time, standing out there looking at me.”

Arch waited in the early morning darkness. No lights in the cabin yet. Standish was still asleep. A stomach spasm nearly doubled the boy over. Some of his mother's bread and huckleberry jelly and Standish's bacon would taste really good now. Arch tried to jerk his mind away from food. Wake up, Miles Standish. Wake up and start the fire in the stove. Send a stream of smoke into the sky in supplication to the gods of breakfast. Do this, and I will share the repast with you.

Nothing. No movement. Dread trickled into Arch's mind. Maybe something had happened in the dark hours of last night. Maybe the shadows had come to take Standish as they had taken Klaus. The boy stiffened. Not that! He didn't want to creep into the cabin again to find death there. He didn't want to find Standish tangled in throes of death.

The boy shivered, partly because of the bite in the morning air, and partly because of his recollections of that time. The cabin had been dark, darker than Arch had ever seen.…

Arch jerked his thoughts away from that day, going instead to the other days he had spent in that cabin. Always there had been life there. Bele, sitting stiffly as his formal European background required, smiling as he told Arch about life in Slovenia. Bele's need for companionship and Arch's need to know had melded. Bele had begun to teach the boy, rudimentary and then more difficult math. Rudimentary and then more difficult reading.

The teaching of ratios melded with the teaching of physics, simple physics of the kind that explained what Archimedes had meant when he said, “Give me a lever long enough and a place to stand, and I will move the world.”

Crowbar equals lever. All the force of his eight-year-old frame was compounded by four times, when he pressed one end of a crowbar to pry a rock from the earth. Math, physics and simple learning had brightened the boy's days. Bele had ordered books from the Emporium, and the two had spent evenings together in the cabin, Arch reading and Bele correcting.

But then came the coughing and the pain and the blood-stained handkerchiefs Bele had tried to hide from the boy. Arch had learned to read the pain then, as he had learned to read pages in the books, until that morning.…

Arch stared at the cabin through the dull black of the very early morning, before the sun reached out to touch the horizon, before the world turned from different shades of black to the soft colors of dawn.

No movement. There had to be light for there to be movement in that cabin. But there was no light. Yesterday had been hard work. Arch had gone to bed with his muscles aching. He had lain awake, hoping that something would come out of the darkness to ease the pain and Morpheus had come to take the boy's hand.

Maybe yesterday had been too hard for Standish. Maybe, he had fallen asleep, not to awaken. Maybe if Arch stepped into the cabin, he would find Standish cold and twisted, overcome with the business of dying.

There would be food then, more food than Arch and his mother had known for a long time. Another ham waited in the cooler as well as two more slabs of bacon. Arch had seen them, wondered at how they would taste once introduced to the heat of a stove.

But even the hams and the bacon and the cans of peaches and peas and beans wouldn't fill the hole in Arch's life. Losing Bele had gouged a chunk from the boy's chest, left a pain that he didn't understand. If Standish was lying dead in that cabin, the boy would be in shreds, too weakened to stand.

Arch sighed, and he thought it was the loudest sound he had ever heard, louder than anything in the trees around him…except.

The sound came too low to register, more like a disturbance in the air than a sound. Then it grew in volume. A discernible snuff and then a bass trembling of the air. Only one thing made that kind of sound. A bear, black or grizzly, was behind him. A bear was thinking of him as he was thinking of bacon sizzling in a pan.

Arch wasn't going to lie down like a slab of bacon on a shelf. He was going to save himself. He burst into full speed, not waiting for his body to catch up with his intention, but it wasn't fast enough. The bear had him by the arm. Arch was struggling, twisting, trying to free himself from the beast's grip, as a trapped wolf struggles to free itself from a steel trap. Then another sound, a
wheezing
and then a
snortle
and then a full-fledged laugh.

Miles Standish had him by the arm, and Arch collapsed. Standish dragged him toward the cabin, as he might drag a quilt stuffed with pillows, and all the way to the cabin, Standish carried on a monologue.

“You've had the drop on me until now, but taking my bath water last night was the last straw. We're going to come to an understanding this morning, Arch. You understand me?”

No sound came from the boy, and Standish walked on, dragging Arch behind him, his tattered shoes scuffing through the grass.

Miles Standish was making a great ado of eating the strips of bacon on his plate. He examined each strip, seeking its uniqueness before taking a bite. The bacon was crisp, and he crunched through it, making as much noise as possible before swallowing and turning his attention to the French toast.

“Maple syrup,” Standish said. “There are those who prefer brown sugar syrup, but, I've always been partial to maple syrup. Could be because I was raised in the East. About everybody out there makes their own maple syrup. Each one has a trick to bring out the flavor. Now, some like dark and some like light, but me, I like medium, just edging a little toward dark.”

Standish turned his attention to Arch. The boy was bent over the tub, scrub brush in hand. He was polishing the inside of the tub for the third time.

“What do you like, Arch? You like the dark or the light?”

The muscles at either side of Arch's face bulged, and a dull red crept up from this collar. The silence was broken only by the
swish, swish, swish
of the brush against the tub.

“C'mon Arch, tell me what you think.”

“Can't.”

“Why not?”

“Ma wouldn't like it if I said what I was thinking.”

“Surely she wouldn't care if you shared your opinion on syrup.”

“Want to share my opinion on you, but I can't find any words that fit what I'd like to say.”

“Well, that's too bad,” Standish said. “I was hoping you'd try some of this maple syrup, and give me your opinion.”

Swish, swish, swish.…
The sound stopped, and Arch looked up. “You want me to try some of that French toast?”

“As a favor to me.”

“Well, I'd like to do a favor for you, but I don't think I can. Only real way to eat French toast is with bacon. The flavor of the bacon kind of sets the tongue for maple syrup. Wouldn't be much good for me to try the French toast without the bacon.”

Arch cocked his head and stared speculatively at Standish. When Standish shook his head, a dull red heat crept over Arch's face.

“Seems to me,” Standish said. “That to really test maple syrup, you need bacon and eggs.”

A grin twitched the corners of Arch's mouth. “Guess I'll have to yield to your experience.”

“Maybe, you'd best sit down and start on the toast.

“Well, if you say so.”

Standish stood and walked over to the tub. “Fine job you did, cleaning my tub.”

But Arch wasn't biting. He was too busy biting bacon and French toast. Standish grinned and stepped to the stove. No time to waste. Arch was eating. The eggs better be ready when he was.

“This is better,” Arch said, leaning back against a rock in the shade of an aspen.

“What's better?”

“Salmon's better on a sandwich that in that salmon loaf you made.”

“I wouldn't know.”

Arch looked up, “Sorry, it was just that.…”

“I know. It was just that you wanted some for your Ma.”

Arch nodded, returning his attention to the sandwich.

“I think salmon sandwiches are better on the bread your Ma makes.”

Arch nodded. “She makes the best bread ever.”

“How are you standing on flour?”

Arch finished the sandwich, scratching at the grass at his feet. “Guess it's pretty much gone.”

“How about you take some home tonight for your pay today?”

Arch bristled. “How do you think you got this bread?”

“From you.”

Arch shook his head violently.

“No. No. No. You got the bread from my Ma in return for the flour you gave her. You want more bread, you give her more flour.”

“So what do you want?”

Arch picked up a long-dead twig. He stripped the bark from it, long brown strips coming off. “Thought about asking you for some more peaches, so Ma could make some peach cobbler. She makes the best peach cobbler I ever ate.”

Arch scratched something into the grass. “But I was figuring that if you gave Ma the peaches, she could make two peach cobblers, one for you and one for us. That fair?”

“More than fair. If your Ma's peach cobbler is as good as her bread, I'll be getting the better part of the deal.”

Arch shook his head in disgust. “That's the way it is with management, always trying to cheat the worker.”

“Arch, who told you all this about labor-management?”

“Klaus.”