The chill of the morning was slippin' away with the slow climbin' sun as he looked west, the tin cup of fresh coffee still warmin' his cold hands. It been a long nite in the light fallin' rain n then the damp it left behind. What were his were strung out, hung in some low hanging branches er spread over the picket line where Acorn finished what grass he could get to. The chestnut gelding with his black mane n matchin' tail were gettin' restless. Like his rider, long easy travelin' n late startin' mornin's weren't part of their lives fer a very long time.
He'd first tended his ten-year-old horse 'fore gathering some pine needles an inch er two so below the long-needled pine trees the wet hadn't got to. Startin' a small fire took a little more time and a lot of needle n gathered kindling 'fore he got anything going good enuff to boil some coffee to finally chase the inside chill away.
"I know you wanna git Acorn. We got to get me some dry clothes first n a dry blanket fer you under your saddle."
The horse bobbed his head some, his coal black mane ripplin' from head to powerful shoulders. He know'd it didn't understand much more than his name but chose to believe otherwise. Acorn had covered a lot of miles under 'im n hurried 'im away to safety when so many others hadn't made it. His mind drifted a bit, most like it always did, back to the war. It were a morning like this he'd killed his last man in that gawd forsaken war...
*
Stitch steadied both their horses, keeping a tite rein on 'em n a low cooing to have 'em stay quiet. Gabriel Bishop, some thirty feet away and laying on top of the rise that hid 'em, picked his spot. Right twixt the shiny brass buttons and six inches below the twinkling on each side of the colonels shoulders some three hundred yards away. The old.53 caliber Hawkins rifle spoke loud and clear a hair before the man was drove off his near white mount, leavin' a hole the size of a ten-dollar gold piece near center of his chest and then exploding out of his back. He didn't linger to see the startled horse rear up as the like dressed men on both sides of 'em tried to control their own mounts: Didn't watch as the long line of men following some ten feet behind scattered like wind-blown leaves.
Some twenty hurried strides down the low hill to where Acorn were being held and both men beat a hasty retreat as the air behind 'em were filled with the sounds of rifle fire n a single bugle chasing the remnants of where the black powder smoke had come from. Both men rode low, the Hawkins long gun held next to the galloping gelding; the younger of the two men checking behind as he followed his partner n friend.
It were Gabriel that finally slowed, turning north some to ease their way t'wards some distant woods to pick their way to safety. The sound of gunfire had stoppet some time ago with a few last shots fired at whatever. Stitch stayed several feet behind the marksman as he slipped the Hawkins into the long, buckskin sheath letting his horse guide 'em closer to the cool forest.
He knew Gabriel well. There'd be no talk of what had just happened. There never were. They'd ride til the fadin' light wouldn't let 'em ride any more. It'd be jerked beef n the last of the stale biscuits when night fell. They'd tend their horses then settle fer the night and be up n moving soon as the new days light would let 'em. It'd be late mornin' before Gabe said anything. It were always the same.
"Stitch, tell me somethin' I wanna hear."
The younger man would be ready, just like he'd learnt after their first assassination sum twelve times before. The younger man startet with his tale...
"It were at the Fourth of Juely celebration Gabriel. Hot it was, the women with their paste board fans slow chasin' the heat away from their faces. The men were sharin' a drink far away from the church, avoidin' the looks of sum of their hard starin' wives. Kids would be runnin' here n there, most playin' tag while others chased butterflies n such. The older girls would be cleanin' up after a fine meal of a slow roasted hog and boiled greens, maybe some watermelon would've been picked n shared with the sugared bread. Good times it were Gabe. The young men of marryin' age, my own self included, wood ma'be offer to help their favored gal with the pickin' up n sharin' a hushed word er two. Course the older women would keep an eye on everythin', just makin' sure you know..."
"Yes Sir, I do."
Stitch chuckled a bit. It were a good sign, Gabriel talkin' 'is thoughts as early as he were this time.
"Well sir, n I ain't braggin', but I had the luck to've caught Emily Sue Schmidts eye. Handsome gal she was: Just past marryin' age, corn silk hair n big doe eyes. My, my, my... That gal's smile stole my heart first time I ever see'd it. She'd have me carryin' n fetchen with just a nod of 'er purty face er a pointin' of her white gloved finger."
The younger man deep sighed.
"Her Pa damn neer shot me when I came callin' the first time. Said I was a no-account n his oldest daughter could do a damn site better 'en me. It were her mama that finally settlet her daddy down. Weren't two months after he finally gave his permishon that we tied the knot. I swear to Gawd Almighty she's the last thing I see at night n my first thought in the mornin'."
"It do seem you mostly smile in the mornin's Jacob."
Stitch returned the smile of the man that was consideret to be one of the best shots in this man's army.
"You just wait n see Gabriel. When this war is dun n over with, we'll both settle near Juniper. It's a fine little town..."
Gabriel had stopped listenin' as he thought 'bout the place he'd been raised so long ago. He knew there were no sense in goin' back. He'd promised to keep a tite eye on Jamie Lynn's two brothers. They'd all growd up together, their families farm no more than a stone's throw and holler apart. They'd both been killed at Wilsons Creek along with three others that left home with 'em to serve their country.
She'd never be able to love 'em again. He knowed that as sure as the sun would rise in the mornin'. It were at Wilsons Creek, Stitch found 'em, left leg so full of shrapnel he'd walk with a limp fer the next year er so. If it weren't for the younger man's sewing skills n taught ways of tendin' wounds, he'd lost that leg n maybe more fer sure...
The rattle of a wagon carried softly through the thinnin' woods they were now travelin'. Gabriel pulled up short, Stitch's words stoppin' jist as quick. The slow-thinkin' younger man eased up next to Gabriel n Acorn. He always watched Gabe close. He'd been killet three times if it weren't for 'is friend.
The clanging of metal agin' wood cut the air again. Both men settled quiet behind a snag that once were the beginnin' of some one's farm. The traveler's words soon slipped through the few trees that hadn't been cut.
'Thank God 'lizabeth, four years n it's finally over.'
Both tense travelers held each other's eyes. It were Stitch that asket first.
"You think maybe Gabe?"
Gabriel looked to the not to far off road. A wagon were bein' pulled by two oxen, the worn canvas cover patched in more in one place. A tall, thin man in wool britches n a calico shirt led the oxen. A faded blue dressed woman sat the wagon, her matchin' bonnet hanging behind her walnut-colored hair.
"The whole town were talkin' 'bout it Henry; Lee surrendin' at Appomattox. We coulda stayed the day, maybe joined in the celebration sum."
The bare footed man never stopped moving, pushin' his flat hat back n passin' his hand over his forehead.
"Ain't right Lizzy, celebratin' with liquor n wa hooin' n such. To many good men died. Got to set an example fer the children. Sides, it's a good day fer travelin'."
The woman eased her bonnet up as she shook her head. Both men watched as the wagon passed, two girls holdin' the hands of a child no more then three twixt 'em close followin'. A wood cage with a pair of chickens swung low under the worn, rockin' wagon.
Stitch was trying to hold his excitement deep inside. Gabriel just weren't sure. If the slow-moving wagon carried the truth, he'd just killed a man the day before fer no good reason.
"We'll set back in the woods a bit, think this thing through Jacob. Maybe pick us off a rabbit or a turkey. If it's true, there'll be more folks travelin' by n such. Maybe we can ask 'em if it's a fact er not. We heard these tales before. No sense in havin' the hurt if it ain't true."
Stitch wanderet a bit fore stripping his saddle off the shaded black mare. They'd picked 'er up after his beloved Star had faltered n broke 'is leg. He watched as Gabriel faded deeper into the woods, the Spencer rifle he'd swapped fer in his hand. He'd tend the horses, set camp, n sort their belongin's. Gabe was most always right ' bout these things...
*
Gabriel Bishop shook the past from his thinkin'. The sun were up a bit now, the half-filled cup in his hands coolet. He weren't sure how long he'd set there, crouched nekid near the now mostly out fire. These spells had gotten longer since leavin' his partner n friend back near Juniper, a town that weren't much more then a mail stop n tradin' post that called itself a mercantile n a small church that servet most it's time as a one room schoolhouse.
Emily Sue Tucker was a plain woman with a small child leashet to a tree and a swollen belly as she worked the garden outside the worn log cabin. She were dumbfounded when they rode up, Stitch swinging free of his horse n gatherin' her cryin' n babblin' inta his arms. Gabriel jist sat Acorn n watched as their words were everywhere, her's finally settlin' on the fact she thought him long dead but never givin' up hope.
Gabe knew the two needed alone time, turnt Acorn and drifted a bit back the way they'd come. The woods not to far back held promise on what he mite find to bring some of what looked like badly needed food. It was night fall when he returned with a fair-sized rabbit n three squirrels dressed out n hung over the front of Acorns saddle...
*
Gabe shook his head again, walked over to Acorn n slow stroked his shoulder.
"We got to git going don't we boy. I figure the trail to be twelve, maybe fifteen miles due north. You jist give me a few minutes to gather what's ours n we'll be moving on."
What had been rain soaked were a little stiff. Gabe shook out his long johns first, then his socks n britches. His new blue cloth britches were heavy as he climbed ita 'em, his boots still a bit damp. He'd wait on his shirt, wantin' to feel the warmth from the sun. Acorn pawed the ground as he cinched the saddle tite, tied his bedroll n personals wrapped in his slicker to the back of the saddle n hung his haver sack over the saddle's horn.
The fresh cleaned n oiled Spencer rifle were slipped in the leather scabbard and the Army Colt hung snug over his hips as he stepped into the saddle. His prized Hawkin long gun settled where it most always did, across his saddle, unsheathed n steadied by his left hand. This were Indian territory n he'd take no chances as he once agin' head for the Oregon Trail; a decision made by the flip of a twenty-dollar gold piece as he left Jacob n his at their home near Juniper...
It were pretty here, as they neared the vast prairie, it's long grass slow swaying in the light breeze. He thought of the ocean he'd once seen 'cept this ocean were mostly green with spots of gold and now n then a sometimes tree. The air were clean n fresh from the day before rain. He felt free... Well mostly. Acorn felt it to, easing into a gentle trot.
The miles slipped under 'em, stoppin' here n there to fill his new 'Boss of the Plains' Stetson made hat with water for Acorn. They heard little but the wind in the grass n saw less than that. There be no cover for camp that night. Gabe had been wrong about the distance to the trail they sought. No matter though, other than his figuring would have to be sharpened in this wide-open part of the country. They both slept well that night, Acron having his fill of rich grass n Gabriel satisfied with jerky under clear, star filled skies lookin' down at 'im as he slow fell asleep n the dreams that never let 'im...
*
Stitch's wife, Emily Sue, were a fine cook makin' up a stew that fed Stitch n his friend for near two days from the fresh meat Gabriel brought back from his short huntin' trip. He'd hung around a bit, helpin' the man that saved his life n rode with 'im near four years git his farm back to some kind of respectability. Fences were mended n fresh ground turned for plantin'. Gabriel enjoyet the quiet n the sum times chatterin' child of his friend, but felt a deep loneliness that crept up inside when he'd heard the sounds of love makin' drift through the quiet night to the new fixt shed.
Emily Sue's pregnancy were never talked of, least not to Gabriel. The lone marksman figured it were between husband n wife n whatever his friend decidet were more then fine with him: That is until the reunited family come back from church late Sunday. The hurried buckboard rattled hard inta the small farm. Gabriel Bishop was sittin' quiet under a widespread oak finish whittlin' a horse for the child when the dust slow followet the pullet up short buckboard.
"Please Jacob, let it go!"
Gabriel was next to the buckboard 'fore the dust settled 'round it's wheels.
"Gabriel, you gotta talk sense into that man. He's gonna go off n git his self killed!"
Gabriel helpet the cryin' woman off the buck board.
