The Bad Bet

by Lubrican

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Chapter Three

When the wagon stopped AJ and Frank Jr. climbed out again. AJ walked to the head of the team and looked up and down the creek. Like many he'd seen before there was only a rivulet of flowing water in the middle of a wide mostly flat bed, caused by a hundred years of flash floods. He walked out onto the flat beside the small stream. It wasn't terribly soft, but the wagon would leave ruts in it. Still, he thought it could be done. He'd have to scout things out upstream, to make sure they could get back out of the creek bed.

He told the woman to stay put and then scouted at a trot. The heels of his boots sank in deeper in some places than others, but he still thought the wagon could make it. The trees thinned a bit upstream and he found a place where, if the oxen could be urged to a trot, the wagon might be pulled back up onto the prairie.

On his way back to the wagon AJ reflected on how it all depended on time. It would take them half a day to get the wagon upstream and wipe out the tracks. They might get caught by a posse while doing it. But if they just went ahead, that same posse would find them just as easily.

By the time he got back to the three family members, standing forlornly by the wagon, he had decided that it was better to go down fighting than just lie down and give up.

They were all drenched with sweat when the wagon creaked over the last hillock onto flat ground. Frank Jr., being the lightest, stayed on the seat and handled the reins while the other three gripped wheel spokes and strained, helping wheels to turn in sand as the oxen also strained to pull the heavy load, their hooves churning soft ground.

All three sank to sit on crushed prairie grass, panting, drops of salty liquid dripping from their noses and chins. The women looked like they had gone in swimming fully dressed. AJ's eyes picked out bumps on Arabella's bosom that he knew were nipples under the thin dress, but he was too tired to think about it.

Frank Jr., of course, was filled with excitement, and full of energy as he jumped down from the wagon seat.

AJ groaned and stood, telling Frank Jr. to follow him. He took his bowie knife from the scabbard on his right hip and hacked off two leafy tree limbs, handing one of them to the boy. Then he showed him how to scuff up the wheel ruts with his feet and sweep the bough across them to soften their look.

By the time they'd reached the road, Frank wasn't so cheery any more. He had blisters on his hands from handling the limb, and was just as hot and dusty as all the others.

AJ looked at the results of their efforts from the road and sighed. It was a hasty job. Anybody who looked twice would know what had happened, but it was the best they could do. His last act was to walk to the same side of the creek as the wagon was now on, wiping out their boot prints. Then he and Frank Jr. picked their way carefully through the trees for a few dozen yards.

They abandoned their branches and then walked tiredly back to the wagon.

Jeremiah Stone dismounted at the small wooden structure, obviously newly built, that had a painted sign above the door that simply said "JAIL." He went inside, stomping his boots and making ineffectual swipes at the dust on his pants legs. The office was empty of humanity, as were the two cells built into the back wall. They appeared to have been built out of flat iron, probably used wagon tires, riveted together by the blacksmith who supplied them. There were a few posters on one wall, and a rifle rack. The desk had originally been some kind of shipping crate that had been altered to serve its current use.

He returned to the street and looked around. Abilene was booming. The stink of cows permeated the air, and their lowing could be heard in the distance, where Stone knew the rail head was. People were hustling this way and that on the main street, a few dozen yards from the new jail, which had been built on the current edge of town.

It took him half an hour to find Sheriff Dan Cross, who appeared to be jawing with the storekeeper of the Manelly Dry Goods Emporium. After introductions were made, Stone followed Cross back to the jail. On the way he learned that the bodies had, indeed, been buried. Cross produced photographs. The missing toe in one of them convinced Stone that the notorious Fisby brothers' days of mayhem were, in fact, a thing of the past.

He got the story of the incident then. During the narrative, Stone learned that three witnesses had said that one of the three Fisbys had drawn first, though they didn't agree on which one. The only thing everybody agreed on was that the Fisbys had indeed been cheating, and that the cowboy was the fastest gun any of them had ever seen, with deadly aim to boot. That was evident to both lawmen, even without witnesses. One man had taken down three very bad men, firing a total of four shots. And while he was doing it, all three had drawn their guns. That the mystery man had fired four times, while the men who drew first only got off two made it clear the winner was very fast indeed.

Cross related that he had found the trail boss the cowboy had come up the trail with, but had gotten only "AJ" as the hero's name. The description the trail boss gave matched that of the witnesses, including the cross draw holster rig. That wasn't all that common.

"So we're not talking about murder here," said Stone.

"Not unless you count the farmer, and his murderer is already dead," replied Cross. "For all practical purposes three wanted men were brought down, and one bystander got in the way." He squinted at the Marshal. "So is there really a reward for the Fisbys?"

Stone simply nodded.

"Good luck finding that AJ feller," drawled Cross. "He lit out of here like he was trying to make Mexico in one day."

"Anybody go after him?"

"Why would we? All he did was expose them for what they were and then rid the world of them. It was self defense, pure and simple."

"What about the family?"

"The only person who wanted them was the undertaker, so's he could charge them for the burial," said Cross. "As near as I can tell by what the witnesses said, they don't have no money anyway, other than what the woman snatched off the table after her man was killed. Did I tell you he threw his daughter into the pot?"

"You did," said the Marshal.

"Sometimes I wonder what this world is coming to," sighed Cross.

"Hard times make hard people." Stone shrugged.

"Well, considering that her husband was cheated and killed, I can't fault her for what she did. They lit out too. Same direction as the cowboy ... south." Cross tilted his head sideways and a speculative look came into his eyes. "So what happens to the reward now?"

Stone shrugged again. "I'll put out the word about this AJ fellow. If anybody runs across him, he'll get the money. If not, I guess it will sit there until some judge decides what to do with it. I suspicion it will just stay in the pot and end up being paid out for some other misfit."

Cross sighed.

"Figured it would be something like that."

Within a mile of striking off through thick grass that came up to the seat of the wagon, they rolled onto an area where the grass was flattened in a wide swath for as far as the eye could see. Bella stopped the wagon. They'd all ridden for an hour, recuperating from their half day's labor. Cutting through the prairie grass had been a bumpy, slow process, but the ground looked much smoother ahead.

Frank Jr. watered the oxen again, while AJ looked around.

"This is the Chisholm trail!" he observed. "I just brought a herd of beeves across here."

"So that's why it's all trampled down," said Bella.

"Yes, Ma'am," said AJ. "This trail leads right back down to Texas."

"We're not going to Texas," said Bella.

"Well there's a fair piece of Kansas and all of Oklahoma Territory in between," said AJ. "But the going will be a lot easier if we stay on this trail for a while. There's some pretty country up ahead. It's a lot greener than further south." He looked at the woman. "Where were you headed?"

"Frank had some information about homesteading on the plains," she said. "He didn't tell me much more than that. He seemed to know where we were headed."

"Most of Kansas is still Indian country," said AJ, frowning. "I haven't heard of any land being opened up for settlers west of here."

"As I said, I know only what Frank saw fit to tell me," said the woman. She leaned over and scooped up a handful of dirt, loosened by thousands of hooves. "The soil looks good."

"Don't know much about farming," muttered AJ. He'd never wanted to think about farming once he'd left his parents farm, and he didn't want this woman to know that he had any knowledge of growing things at all. He much preferred the active life of handing cattle.

"Well, I suppose we should go on," said Bella. "Though, to be honest, I don't know what to look for, as far as good land."

She told the children to walk. Now that they'd had a chance to rest it was the team's turn to have less weight to pull. She told AJ to get up on the wagon seat.

"I can walk, Ma'am," he said. He just naturally looked over at his horse, which he'd rather be riding. The animal seemed to be doing fine. Without the weight of a rider, it was putting a little weight on the hoof the shoe had come off of. He'd thought about putting it down, but couldn't bring himself to do it for just a thrown shoe. If it kept following them, they'd eventually find a farrier and the horse would be fine after that. Assuming it didn't go completely lame in the meantime. If that happened, he knew he'd have to kill again.

And, as things had turned out ... he suddenly had no interest in killing anything other than, perhaps, dinner.

"You broke open your wound getting the wagon to this trail," said Arabella. "You'll ride. I've no desire to stop moving again to bury you."

Marshal Stone had to wait as a double column of cavalry rode out before he kneed his horse through the gates of the tall stockade. He didn't glance up at the hand carved sign that said "FORT BENNETT RILEY." There was no sentry on duty at that time of day, though the fort was bustling with activity that far exceeded what had been there the last time Stone had happened by the outpost. Established fifteen years earlier, to protect settlers using the Santa Fe and Oregon trails on their movement westward, the fort looked like it had been there for decades.

Stone had decided to let the commanding officer know about the Fisbys. Not that the Army spent much time looking for outlaws. That wasn't their job. But on those rare occasions where someone needed help, nobody was too picky about whether those chasing an outlaw wore a badge or just stripes on his sleeves.

He tied his horse to the hitching post outside the headquarters building which was made of limestone blocks. There were other stone buildings scattered around as well. Lt. Colonel George Custer had lived in one of them, before he took the 7th Cavalry out to fight the Cheyenne. At this point in time, Custer was only famous for having gone AWOL to see his wife after that battle, and being tried by court martial for it. He was, in fact, in New York City, halfway through a one year suspension, though Stone wasn’t aware of that. The Marshal entered the headquarters building with his badge clearly visible on his vest and told a Corporal that he'd like a few minutes with the commanding officer, who he knew to be Colonel Frederick Cotton. He'd met the man once before.

He was ushered in immediately and shook hands with the short, stout man, whose face was dark red and lined, a sure sign that he spent much of his time outside this building.

"What brings you to see the Army, Marshal?" asked Cotton.

"I have some news," said Stone.

He relayed the information about the incident giving the description of the mysterious "AJ" and the fact that, if found, he could be notified that he was due a reward.

"His behavior suggests he thinks he is in trouble," said Stone, "so he may be hiding out. It's possible that your men, in their normal duties, might chance upon him."

"Hmmm," mused Cotton. "If he decided to hide out to the west, he may be bones when we find him. The Comanche, among others, are kicking up their heels. We've just mustered the 19th Kansas Cavalry here at Riley, as a matter of fact. The traffic on the Santa Fe trail is starting to slack off, due to the railroad pushing west, but we still have our hands full with those who can't afford the train."

Stone mentioned the settler family then, who survived the dead farmer.

"South out of Abilene, you say?" muttered Cotton. "She may be headed for the Santa Fe. It crosses some miles south of there. And a lone wagon, you say?"

"It appears that way," said Stone.

"Foolish!" barked the Colonel. "These people just don't understand what they're getting into."

"Well," said Stone, "I just thought you should know about something that happened in your area of operations."

"Normally I wouldn't do anything about all this, Marshal, but I have several troops of raw recruits who need time in the saddle to sharpen their skills. I'll send a troop out that way. They can have a look see around while they learn how to find their way around the trackless prairie and toughen up their backsides!" He laughed. "If we find your young hero we'll set him straight. Who knows? Maybe we'll sign him up. After taking on all three Fisby brothers I'm sure a group of howling savages would present no challenge to him." He laughed again.

The men shook hands and Stone left. If he kept a good pace, he'd only have to spend one more night sleeping on the ground before getting back to Topeka.

The oxen pulled steadily. To AJ, used to riding a horse, they seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. Even so, the wagon creaked and jounced, sometimes alarmingly as the wheels rolled over the roots of tufts of prairie grass and stones laid bare by the scouring of thousands of hooves. With nothing else to do but bounce along, Arabella's natural tendency to keeping silent gave way. Curious about the man on the seat beside her, she provided information about her little family, unconsciously urging him to share the details of his past with her.

He did tell her a little about himself, though he was spare with the details, at first.

Eventually he realized she was talking just to be talking, and AJ was convinced that she was just a woman, more or less just like any other. When she mentioned her dead husband, it almost sounded like he wasn't dead, just off somewhere and expected back some day. Some of what she said about their foray off to start a new life was patently ridiculous, though she didn't seem to know that. Take for instance how late in the season they'd started their trip. She was months behind breaking the soil and hadn't even found any soil to break. Had she been a man, AJ would have thought she was posturing about the plan to find land and settle it. It sounded like she thought it would be easy.

"Have you farmed before?" he asked.

"As a girl on my parents' farm," she said. "We lived in town after I married Frank. I was fifteen then, and thought he was a man of means."

"That why you married him?" AJ didn't think of it as a hurtful question.

"My father said I was to marry him," she said simply. "I had been around other men, of course. Frank seemed nicer than the others," she sighed. "At first he said sweet things, and made me feel grown up. I thought living in town would make me a lady."

"You are a lady," he said automatically.

"I never felt like one," she said sadly. "I wasn't married a month before he got drunk and struck me."

AJ was appalled. A man didn't hit a woman. It was just that way. "Did somebody horsewhip him?"

"Land sakes no," she said. "Nobody knew. I didn't tell anyone."

"Why on earth not?" he asked, surprised.

"And be the laughing stock of all those women I wanted so much to be like?" It seemed to make perfect sense to her. "I suppose I didn't really know what to do about it. He said he was sorry. He always said he was sorry ... eventually."

"It happened again?!" AJ fidgeted on the board seat as adrenaline surged into his system. He was outraged.

"Many times," she said stolidly. "It wasn't so bad when I was pregnant. He knew people checked on me then, and I couldn't hide the bruises."

"Bruises?" AJ's voice went up a notch. "He should have been dragged through the street behind a horse! You should have left him!"

"And done what?" she asked, quite seriously. "Where would I have gone? How would I have eaten ... fed my children? I'm not at all sure how I'm going to feed them now. He wasn't much, but at least we didn't starve. There were some lean times, to be sure, but we managed. Without him I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Grow food," said AJ. "Plant seeds and eat the crop. People been doing it for centuries."

"But there's the building of shelter, and winter to get through," she said. "I almost think it would be better to find some town and try to find some kind of work."

The only "work" AJ knew of that women did in town had to do with rooms upstairs, above the saloons. Unless they were married to the storekeeper, or something like that. AJ had never paid much attention to what women did when they weren't promenading on the street. He knew his mother worked her fingers to the bone on the farm, but not what took up the time of the average women in town.

"I don't think you're the kind of woman to work in a saloon," he suggested.

"Lord no!" she gasped. "I've taken in washing before. That's how we got much of our food these last few years."

The more he heard of Arabella's life, the more he realized that she wasn't as helpless and stupid as he'd originally thought. He still didn't understand why a woman would allow herself to be abused like that, but at least she had some worries about the same kinds of things that AJ would have worried about, had he been aiming to do what she was.

At one point AJ wondered what HE was going to do. He still had his pay in his pocket, but that would be used up getting a new horse. Even then he'd have to get back to Texas and find another job wrangling beeves. He had no idea if word of his criminal status would spread once his former compatriots got back to Texas, but if it did, he'd be hard pressed to find any work at all. Then there were the Texas Rangers to dodge. They loved nothing more than going after wanted men.

There was always New Mexico. He'd heard some tales about the growth there, after the Mexican American war, and how there was gold out west too. Perhaps he could make his way there and see what could be found.

As they talked Arabella slowly got what there was to get out of him, concerning his own background. He insisted there wasn't much to tell. He'd left home, gotten a job as a cowboy, and here he was.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" she asked.

AJ was shocked that she'd be curious about how he came by the skills that, the way he still thought about it, got her husband killed. But her face held no trace of anger; only curiosity.

"I just like shooting," he said. "I did, anyway. Now I'm not so sure."

"Do all cowboys go around getting in gunfights?" she asked.

Again, AJ thought the woman must be simple minded, or egging him on, but there was only curiosity in her eyes.

"I reckon not," he said. "That was the first gunfight I ever got in, and I hope and pray it's the last."

"That's good," she said, her eyes going to the oxen as if she were evaluating their health. She sounded almost relieved.

"I never thought it would be like that," he said softly. "I mean I had ideas of glory ... but it wasn't like that. There was no glory in what I done."

"They'd have killed you dead," she said. "All three of them were drawing their guns. I saw it myself!"

"I shouldn't have even opened my mouth," said AJ.

Her head swiveled and he knew she was looking at her daughter, who was walking quite close to the wagon, her bonneted head tilted as if she were trying to hear what they were saying.

"You'd have let them take my daughter?"

AJ felt uncomfortable as thoughts of what the men would have done to Becky flooded his mind and his own manhood reacted. He felt ashamed.

"Somebody would have stopped them," he said.

"Who? When you tried, they attempted to kill you. Do you really think other men from town would have foiled the evil plans of men they had to live with in that place?"

AJ remembered how eager faces had leaned in when the cards were turned over and the sodbuster had learned he'd lost. There had been no condemnation on any of those faces. He was quite sure some of the others in the saloon must have known the men were cheating. They weren't very good at it, after all. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the other men in that saloon would have turned and walked away as the girl was dragged up the stairs to be used like a whore.

He saw Becky look directly at them, and then blush and look away as she saw his eyes on her. Her lurching gait, across the broken ground, made her breasts jump and jerk inside her thin dress. He almost groaned as his penis started to stiffen again in his pants. He looked away.

"I don't know," he said helplessly.

"You did a good thing, Mister AJ whatever your last name is," said Arabella. "You saved a sweet girl from something more terrible than any woman should have to face." She shook the reins and clucked at the team. "And I'll not miss being knocked around either," she said firmly. "My husband got himself into that mess. You tried to get him out. I find no fault in you. If your mother was here I'd thank her for going through the pain of birthing you."

AJ was astonished to find that there were tears in his eyes. He wouldn't have characterized her attitude as one of forgiveness, because he didn't think about things like that. But the warmth of her comments affected him deeply. For the first time in a long time, he felt like hugging a woman for reasons other than feeling her femininity against his masculinity. In response he actually scooted further away from her a few inches.

"It's Hobbs, Ma'am," he said.

"What?"

"My name is Aloysius Julian Hobbs."

He expected her to laugh, but she didn't. Instead, she asked "Why do you go only by your initials?"

"Men seem to think it a funny name," he mumbled. "I decided to change it, instead of fighting about it."

"Well I think it's a perfectly fine name," she said. "It sounds gentleman like to me."

"I ain't no gentleman," he snorted.

"Who says?" she came back.

Their eyes met, and AJ saw something in hers that stirred his groin again. It bothered him. On an unconscious level, AJ thought of her as a widow, and it wasn't seemly to have those kinds of thoughts about a widow. And having them about her daughter wasn't seemly either, especially since it was AJ who had made the girl half an orphan.

They rode on in silence for a while. AJ was purely astonished when, after he had curbed his salacious thoughts about the women, he realized there might be a streak of gentleman in him after all.

They came upon the dead horse about an hour later. Conversation had slowly faded as they shared all they felt free to share.

"What's he doing now?" asked Arabella as she saw Frank Jr. running ahead of the slowly moving wagon.

AJ looked up ahead and saw the lump. He assumed it was a dead steer, since cattle died sometimes on a drive. It wasn't until they were closer that he saw it was what was left of a horse.

The carcass had been stripped of most of the meat by carrion eaters of one kind or another. There were a few crows around, but there wasn't much left for them to scavenge, even though the stink of death still clung to the corpse. The white of the bones almost gleamed in the fading sun.

"Get away from that!" called Arabella to Frank Jr., who was walking around the bones curiously.

Something gleamed in the sunlight and AJ sat up straight.

"Hold up," he said to Bella.

She didn't ask any questions, pulling the team to a stop. Instead she ordered Frank Jr. to water the team, which seemed a little skittish, probably because of the smell. Becky, uneasy with death, came to stand close to the wagon.

AJ approached the skeleton and leaned down. The hooves were shod. Pulling his Bowie knife from the scabbard, he lifted a hoof and started trying to pry the shoe off. The hoof came away in his hand, with the lower leg bones still attached.

"What are you doing?" yelled Bella, horrified that AJ was handling the corpse.

"I'm getting a shoe for my horse!" he called back. "Have you got a hammer?"

"There's one back there somewhere," she said. "Are you serious?"

"If I can reshoe my horse, maybe he won't go lame," said AJ, excited now for the first time since he rode out of Abilene.

"But ... " Bella felt her stomach heave as she watched the young man working on the bones.

AJ had to pound on the knife, using it as a chisel. He had to be careful not to break the blade, but he was sure he'd be able to get the shoe free, recovering the nails as well. Bella watched the light begin to fail, but said nothing. Other than the wide swath of churned earth, there was only prairie grass for as far as she could see. They'd have to stop for the night somewhere, and here was as good as anyplace else. She was dirty and tired anyway, and, since they'd left the wagon road, she wasn't as worried about pursuit.

AJ heard her telling the children about her decision and halted his work.

"Not here," he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"This corpse will still draw predators," he said. "We need to move on a mile or so. Maybe there's another stream up ahead. I remember plenty of water on the trip up. A stream would be better than a pond. See if you can find one. You go ahead with the wagon. I'll catch up."

"Why a stream?" she asked.

"This shoe is valuable," he said. "But that doesn't mean I want to smell like this any longer than I have to."

"Oh," said Bella, wondering why she hadn't thought of that. "Of course."

AJ had worked one shoe free, and pocketed the nails. He wanted to get another one, just in case, but couldn't take the time. Then he groaned as he realized he could have just taken the bones with him and worked on them at their camp site. Seizing another leg he wrenched the bones free from the knee joint and began walking.

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