The Rough Rider (35 page)

Aaron nodded. “Right! We’ll have to send them word. Write a note to your folks, and I’ll do the same for mine.”

“But. . . what will we say?”

“Just say we’re all right but that we have to be gone for a few days. When we get there, we can write if we need to. Be sure you write Deborah a note. And be
sure
you tell them not to tell a soul about the notes.”

“I . . . I wish we didn’t have to do this, Aaron!”

“So do I—but right now we’ve got to think of Jeb.” A strange look crossed his features, and he added, “I didn’t know how much I’d come to think of Jeb—not until now!”

Gail reached up and touched his cheek, whispering, “You’re so sweet, Aaron! No other man would do this!”

For a moment they stood there in the shadows, and Aaron was conscious of the pressure of her hand. He took it, held it, and smiled as he said, “I’m not all that sweet, I guess. Come on, we’ve got to hurry!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Love Is More Than a Kiss!”

“We’d better get settled in,” said Aaron as he set down the bags he was carrying. Glancing around the murky interior, he said, “I’ll try to rig up something to make a bedroom for you, Gail. Why don’t you see if you can throw some kind of supper together. Jeb, go find some wood and start a fire in that cookstove, then you can bring the rest of the stuff in.”

The cabin had only the one large room, and though it was fairly spacious, there was no privacy. Aaron went outside into a toolshed that leaned in a precarious fashion and began to rummage around. Finding some wire and an old canvas tarp that was torn in several places, he grunted with satisfaction. After scrounging around, he came up with some nails, a rusty hammer, and a pair of pliers he found in a wooden box. Picking up his findings, he went back inside the cabin. Jeb was blowing on a pile of small sticks inside the stove, and Gail was emptying sacks and cans, stacking them in boxes that had been nailed to the wall for shelves.

Measuring the cabin with his eye, Aaron moved to the end away from the stove and table. He drove a nail firmly into one of the weathered uprights, then did the same on another across the room. He looped one end of the rusty wire over the nail, bent the nail so that it held fast—then stretched the wire across the room and fastened it, pulling the wire as tightly as possible before cinching it. He clipped six-inch pieces of the wire from the roll, then shoved them through one side of the canvas about a foot apart. When he’d finished this, he
held one end of the canvas up, looped the ties over the taut wire, and twisted the two ends. When the entire canvas was hanging limply from the wire, he grunted with satisfaction and turned to find Gail smiling at him.

“You’re quite resourceful.” She came to look behind the hanging, and then said, “Thank you, Aaron. This is better than anything we had in Cuba.”

“For a fact.” Picking up the tools, he carried them back outside to the toolshed. He saw that some wood had been cut and hauled, but was not split. He’d spotted a double-bitted ax in the shed, and soon he was splitting the logs. Darkness was falling fast, and when Jeb stepped outside, Aaron said, “Take some of these chunks inside, will you, Jeb?”

“You sure do know how to split wood.” Jeb was watching with admiration, and he asked, “Can I try it, Mr. Winslow?”

“Why not?” Aaron gave the boy a few pointers, then stood by as Jeb took a few swings at the wood. He was awkward at first, but Aaron said, “You’ve got a good swing. All you need is a little practice.” He watched the boy for a while, then the smell of cooking meat came to him. “That’ll be enough. Let’s wash up.”

The two entered the cabin, and Aaron saw three tin plates set out on the table, along with cups and forks. “I was just about to call you,” Gail said. “It’s nothing fancy, just bacon and eggs tonight.”

“Smells mighty good to me,” said Aaron as he sat down and Jeb settled himself across the table. Gail walked over from the cookstove and set a platter of scrambled eggs and another one of crisp bacon on the table, then poured three cups of coffee. When she seated herself, she glanced at Aaron, asking, “Shall I ask the blessing?” When he nodded shortly, she spoke a few words of thanks, then looked up and said, “I’m starved!”

“Me too!” Jeb began to eat hungrily, and twice refilled his plate.

“The way you’re shoveling that down,” Aaron grinned,
“we’ll either have to start raising chickens and hogs or go to the store every day.”

“Tomorrow I’ll make biscuits,” Gail promised. She was eating with enjoyment, and when they were through, she said, “I’m not usually so hungry. I ate like a starving wolf!”

“It’s the outdoors,” Aaron commented. Leaning back in his chair, he teetered dangerously, then added, “Don’t know why, but being out in the fresh air gives you an appetite. When I was growing up and Dad took Lewis and me hunting, I had to take so much grub along that he got disgusted with me.” He got up and started to take his plate.

“I’ll do that,” Gail said quickly. “You and Jeb can chop the wood, and I’ll do the cooking and dishwashing.”

“Sounds fair enough to me,” grinned Aaron. He waited until she’d washed the dishes and cleaned up, then said, “Let’s walk supper off. There’s a nice little pond about a quarter of a mile from here.”

The three of them left the cabin and strolled along under the bright light of the full moon. “Harvest moon,” Aaron commented, admiring the fullness of the silver disk. “Best time of the year for hunting, too.” He led the way down the narrow path that was worn smooth, followed by Gail and Jeb. Enormous trees rose on each side, forming thick walls, and the path made a serpentine track through the woods. Finally he stopped and stepped aside. “There it is.”

Gail stepped to the bank and took a deep breath. “It’s so beautiful!” she whispered. The pond was not large, no more than three acres or so, but it was spring fed. The moon was reflected in the waters, and a small breeze ruffled the surface so that the gleaming image quivered like quicksilver.

“There’s a path around it,” Aaron said. “Made by Indians a long time ago, I guess. Come along.”

Gail and Jeb walked along the bank, struck silent by the beauty of the pond. Suddenly, a shadow passed over them and Gail gave a small cry of alarm. Looking up she saw a large
bird outlined against the sky. As she watched, it wheeled and floated over the pond, disappearing into the night.

“What was
that?
” Jeb whispered.

“Great horned owl. A big one.”

“Are they dangerous?” Gail asked timidly.

“Only to mice and small game.”

“I’ve never seen a bird that big!” exclaimed Jeb.

“Last time I was here,” Aaron remarked, “I saw quite a few bald eagles. Now those fellows are something to see! You haven’t lived until you see one of them swoop down out of the sky and catch up a fish with their talons.” He caught the look of amazement on the boy’s face and asked quietly, “You’ve never been in the woods, Jeb?”

“No, not ever.”

“Well, you’ll see some fine things. I always enjoy the woods.”

They moved around the small pond, finally coming back to the path. As they stood for one last look, Gail said, “It’s so
quiet,
Aaron! It’s so quiet it . . . it hurts my ears!” Even as she spoke, a large fish broke the surface of the water with a tremendous splash, almost at their feet. Both Gail and Jeb started, but Aaron laughed.

“That was a bass. A big one.”

“Can we catch him, Mr. Winslow?”

“Not now. We’ll try and get him early in the morning. And you can call me Aaron.
Mister
sounds kind of formal out here in the woods.”

They turned back on the path through the woods and returned to the cabin. Gail bustled around with the blankets for a time making a bed of sorts. Aaron heated up the coffee, speaking idly with Jeb—who was bursting with a thousand questions about fishing and hunting. Finally Gail came and sat down with them. She held a black book in her hand and gave Aaron a shy look. “Will it be all right if I read some of the Bible out loud before I go to bed?”

“I ain’t sleepy!” Jeb protested, but when Gail had read two
chapters from Psalms, she saw that his head was drooping. Closing the Bible, she said firmly, “All right, into bed with you.”

“Aw, sis—!”

“No arguments.”

Jeb protested, but after a stern look from Gail, he slipped into the blankets. “Can we go fishing in the morning, Aaron?”

“If you can get up at dawn,” said Aaron as he sipped his coffee.

“I’ll get up! If I don’t, just jerk me out of this bunk!”

Gail made one more surveillance of the stock of groceries they’d brought along, then turned to say, “I’m tired. Good-night, Aaron.”

“Good-night.”

For a long time after Gail moved behind the canvas, Aaron sat at the table thinking. One of the psalms Gail had read was the twenty-second psalm—his mother’s favorite. As he sat leaning on the table, an old memory stirred, a fragment of his childhood. His mother had read the psalm to him and Lewis, and he’d seen tears in her eyes. “Why are you crying, Ma?” he’d asked her. In the quietness of the cabin, he seemed to hear her reply: “Because this is about the time my Savior died for my sins,” she’d whispered.

“A long time ago . . .” Aaron whispered. He sat there quietly, thinking of that time, wondering where a man’s youth went—where was the young boy that had been? Finally he rose, took off his boots, then fell into the cot and dropped instantly into a deep sleep.

****

“Aw, Aaron, you promised we’d go fishing!” Jeb rubbed his eyes and rose up to give the man a reproachful look. His hair was wild, and he shoved his fingers through it as he came out of the bunk.

“Thought we’d go hunting instead,” Aaron said. He’d slept until dawn, but when he awoke and saw the boy still deep in
sleep, he decided that the fishing could wait. He was sitting at the table regarding the boy, and said, “Come on now, let’s eat and get out of here.”

An hour later the two were walking through the woods. Aaron carried the single-shot rifle he’d managed to buy at the last stop. He’d given Jeb the shells to stick in his pockets, and now as they moved along, he asked, “Ever shoot a shotgun, Jeb?”

“Never shot no kind of gun at all.”

“Well, maybe you’d better have a little practice.” Aaron handed the boy the gun, saying, “Whatever else you do, don’t shoot me—or yourself.” He looked around and saw a pine tree fifty feet away with a bald spot about the size of a dinner plate. “See how many shot you can put into that bald spot.”

Jeb lifted the rifle, took careful aim, and nervously pulled the trigger. The sharp explosion split the still air, and when he lowered the gun, Jeb yelled, “I hit it, I think!”

“Let’s go see,” Aaron said, grinning at the boy’s excitement.

The two of them made their way to the tree, and sure enough, three of the pellets had made definite holes in the wood. “Good shot,” Aaron remarked. “If that was a bear, you’d have slowed him down a mite.”

Jeb shot a startled glance at Aaron. “Are there
bears
around here?”

“Maybe,” Aaron grinned. “Lots of rabbits and squirrels, for sure. We’d better start with a cottontail. Load up, and we’ll see.”

With Aaron’s instruction, Jeb broke the shotgun down, withdrew the spent shell, and inserted a fresh one. “Do we save the old one, Aaron?” he inquired.

“Nope. Now, you go in front. There’s a small field up ahead, an open spot. It was full of rabbits when I was here before. Just remember, don’t shoot at the rabbit—shoot at where he’s
going to be.
”

Jeb’s thin face was tense with thought. He nodded and
turned to walk down the path. Aaron followed close behind. He saw two rabbits that Jeb missed, but said nothing. Then when they reached the field, he said “Heads up, Jeb—!”

Jeb had seen the rabbit dart out from behind a bush and quickly lifted the gun. He tried to follow the twisting dashes of the frantic rabbit, but when he fired he saw the dirt fly two feet behind the young cottontail.

“Good shot!” Aaron said. “Load up.”

“But—I
missed
him!” said Jeb as he watched the frightened rabbit scamper away.

“You won’t miss the next one,” Aaron promised. “Now you see what I mean about shooting where the rabbit will be? Your shot was good—you just didn’t lead him enough.”

Jeb’s lips tightened with determination, and he moved ahead, his back straight and his eyes searching the ground. Five minutes later, a rabbit leaped up almost under his feet. Jeb raised the gun, but this time he let the rabbit turn, then aiming ahead of the bobbing jack, pulled the trigger. The jolt of the shotgun kicked his shoulder back, but he saw the rabbit knocked down.

“I got ’im, Aaron!”

“Sure did! Give me the gun, and you go get him.”

Aaron watched as the boy literally flew across the open ground, stooped and lifted the limp body with a shrill cry. When he got back, Aaron admired the kill. “Nice big, plump jack,” he nodded. “Make a good stew—or maybe we’ll roast him over an open fire.”

“Gosh, Aaron—!” Jeb’s eyes were wide as saucers, and he was so excited that he could hardly speak. He stroked the soft fur of the rabbit, and then looked up to say, “I ain’t never had such a good time!”

Aaron felt a wave of pity for the boy.
I killed hundred of rabbits when I was his age—and never was grateful for the chance.
Aloud he said, “It’s a thing every boy ought to do, Jeb. I’m glad we’re here.”

The words caused Jeb to look up, and there was adulation
in his blue eyes. For the moment the fear of the future was gone, and Aaron knew suddenly that when he was an old man, he’d be able to call back the memory of this fair-haired boy with awe and pleasure in his eyes holding his first kill. . .

****

Gail awakened from a sound sleep with a start. “Jeb—?” she called, then when no answer came, she rose and pulled her dress on. Stepping from behind the canvas covering, she saw that Jeb and Aaron were gone.
I must have slept like a log,
she thought, then was glad that the two had gone together.

She got busy stirring the fire and made a good breakfast. When it was ready, she took it outside to sit on the steps and eat. The sun was bright, shining through the canopy of the tall trees, but she had no idea of the time. She ate slowly, enjoying the food. She went back for another cup of coffee, bringing her Bible outside, then spent the next half hour reading.