Luck's Wild. G. Russell Peterman

in out of the rain, Brother Dymond."

      "Brother Cravens, we'll just be a minute. I'll not make more work for your Misses by needlessly tracking in mud and water."

      The minister in the doorway nods his thanks as Brother Cravens starts again. "How may I help thee?"

      "Marthie passed away this morning in the early hours. My boy and I have laid her to rest and said our goodbyes. We would take it kindly. If, the next time you're up that way, you would stop and say the Good Words over her grave."

      The minister nods his agreement, "I'll be glad to Hansel."

      Hansel hands him a small folded piece of paper before continuing. "My boy and I are going out to them gold fields to try to get a new start. The bank over in Hartville has got the farm. We owe thirteen dollars to Doctor Lawler for visits and medicine. I owe a dollar and eleven cents to Odie Fisher. We could pay them but we need to keep the few coins we have for the trip. I hoped you would pay those two bills in exchange for that there paper."

      The minister unfolds the paper and reads:

      For one dollar and other considerations I sell to Reverend Elijah Cravens, his wife Ella, kith and kin, all things and critters on my farm other than land, timber, house, barn, and standing fences.

      Hansel Dymond

      April 10, 1857

      When Reverend Cravens looks back up at him Hansel adds, "I've a milk cow, newborn bull calf a week old, a three-year-old boar, four sows due to farrow first half of next month, a rooster, eight laying hens, two setting hens in the barn, a dash of hay, a start on a stack of next winter's wood, a few split rails, a farm wagon, two sets harness, stone-boat, a few tools, and house furnishings and wares. The banker takes over at the end of this month. I thought in return for those things you, or your kith and kin, would pay my bill to Doctor Lawler and Odie Fisher."

      The minister looks at the paper again for a long moment, nods, and reaches into his trouser pocket. His fingers lifted a silver dollar from several coins and a two-bladed Barlow knife in his left hand. Reverend Cravens puts the dollar in Hansel's outstretched left hand returning the other coins to his pocket and their right hands shake on the deal.

      "Thank you, Brother Cravens," Hansel tells him warmly turning away.

      "May, God, bless your journey!"

      "Thank you again, Reverend. So long,” Hansel replies, takes four quick steps, leaps belly-first up on Cain's wet back, wiggles, squirms, and manages to sit on his mount. After reaching forward to gather in the reins, his fingertips touch his hat brim as Hansel reins his mule away and back toward the main road. Collin touches his hat brim and turns Able to follow. At the road, Hansel turns west toward Springfield with Collin following and two hours later the wind dies and rain ceases.

      Three days later after passing through Springfield both mules plod along northwest toward Lamar in Barton County. The Dymonds stop in Golden City for two large bundles of jerky and a small bag of salt. Outside of town Hansel motions Collin up to ride side-by-side as dusk darkens. A mile further Hansel speaks.

      "Son, we'd best be lookin’ for a place to camp for the night. Tomorrow morning we turn north in Lamar toward Westport on the Missouri River."

      "Yah Pa," Collin answers as they top a small rise. Collin points down and to the right toward a small grove of maples, ash, elm, and hickory.

      "Looks good,” replies Hansel turning Cain toward his son’s pointed at grove of trees.

      In the woods, they find a small grassy clearing but no water. They make a dry camp. Collin hobbles the mules so they can graze. Hansel unrolls two string-tied patch-quilts that quickly get slightly damp from the evening dew and recent rains as they sit on them chewing jerky. After a quiet time working on stiff dry jerky, they both wrap up in damp quilts to lie watching the last of a red-streaked sunset.

      As dark settles down like a deep passing shadow Hansel whispers to his son, "Since Golden City, I've had a feeling of eyes watching us."

      "Those two fellows sitting out on that bench in front of the Rainbow Cafe across the street did seem right interested in our mules," Collin tells his father.

      "Mules do fetch a high price," Hansel replies while nodding his agreement to his son’s information. Silence for a minute or two settles around them again. The dark camp is quiet while Hansel thinks about what to do. Finally, Hansel whispers to his boy. "It's better to be safe than sorry. Son, you fetch some branches quiet like."

      With only a slight rustling noise Collin moves through the grove on bare feet bent over collecting limbs and branches. When he brings in one armload, his father sends him after another. Hansel arranges the branches to look like it is a sleeping body, spread his patch quilt over it, and put his hat on one end. The second load is quickly arranged under Collin’s quilt with his hat at same end. Hansel moves both pairs of boots to the other end of the quilts. Both men tiptoe soundlessly back behind a stand of Blackberry barbed reeds and brush to wait. The only sound is three hand-muffled clicks of cocked weapons.

      As a quarter-moon crawls up halfway over the tallest treetops two dark bent over shapes ease slowly and quietly on tiptoes from shadow to shadow through the trees. Twice the dark shapes stop to stare in the dim light toward their quilts. At about thirty feet in a long shadow both shadows raised up into the moonlight to stand straight and tall, walk forward quickly on the balls of their feet, and at less than ten steps each points a pistol at a different quilt. One hat nods and each fire two quick shots. The dark pair moves carefully closer to make sure both travelers are dead. Just before the pair touches the quilts Marthie had works so long and hard on a rifle cracks from the brush and is instantly followed by a shotgun’s double boom of two triggers pulled at once. The one hit with the shotgun’s number nine buckshot double-load flies backward, and the one shot with the muzzle-loaded long-rifle staggers two steps forward before pitching down on his face beside what was suppose to be Collin’s quilt-covered body. For a long quiet minute or more nothing moves, no sound echoes around the clearing, and no racing away horses or moving shadows of companions. In deep silence, time drags on and a full minute seems endless.

      "Reload," his father whispers. Quickly, from the dark shadows tapping noises of pouring powder, grabbing shot, and pushing greased patched-shot down barrels followed by ramrods damping down a new load.

      "Check em!" whispers Hansel.

      "Yah Pa."

      "Careful."

      "Yah Pa," answers Collin as he eases slowly forward bent over with his rifle pointed at the shadows on the ground. His rifle barrel pokes the first body. When no reaction followed, Collin kneels to cup his hand over the nose of the shape on the ground and feels no air moving. He shakes his head no and moves slowly to the next shape to poke and kneel to cup that one's nose too.

      "Both dead, Pa," whispers Collin.

      “Good,” Hansel whispers. "Son, we'll need some light. I'll start a small fire. You sneak around quiet like and find their horses. Make sure this trash came alone."

      "Yah Pa," Collin answers softly. His dark bent over shape slips noisily on bare feet through dark shadows to disappear like a ghost. Years of hunting in the woods to supplement the family larder allows Collin to take a twisting and turning course through trees without making a sound to warn of his coming.

      A few minutes of snapping branches from the woodpile under their quilts and a sharp knife’s dull flash in Hansel’s hand shaving wood slivers into a small pile prepares for a fire. After the knife returns to its sheath, sparks from a flint and small piece of steel fly into a little pinch of gunpowder, and suddenly a small blaze flares. As Hansel feeds larger twigs into his small fire, the sound of walking horses made him turn and look.

      "Only two horses, no other tracks. They came alone."

      "Good! Folks remember horses. Strip all the gear off them. Turn them loose and get our mules."

      By the time the fire is a small blaze pushing a small ring of yellow light outward into the darkness a rig made a thump sound on the ground and the first horse walks