Another Fire, page 15
The next day Tim saddled two horses. “Gotta bring the herd in to drench them, check they’re all okay. You ride?”
“Some.” He wasn’t going to boast, although his dad had always said he had the makings of a good rider. He swung aboard the stocky gelding, found that its neck reined well, and while it didn’t usually exert itself, when cued, it had a fair turn of speed. To his surprise, they weren’t bringing in horses but a herd of around thirty goats. They were large animals, the biggest goats he’d ever seen, and Tim noticed his surprise.
“Crossbreeds. Chap years back bought in a dozen Boer goats, South African animals. Not as hardy as they should be, wrong climate for them. He was spending too much on the vet and decided to get out of them, so I bought the lot, crossed them with Nubians I had from a friend. It’s taken a few years, but I’ve ended up with a multi-purpose goat, grows fast, ends up big, good taste to the meat, and gives a fair amount of milk.”
“How do you milk them?”
“By hand. We keep about seven or eight does in milk and more in kid, rest are bucks, or wethers, and those does that aren’t the best, we have them growing on for meat. Big advantage to the milk is that people aren’t allergic to it the way some are to cow’s milk.”
“What’s it taste like?”
Tim Crispin laughed. “Some love it; some can’t stand it. Personal taste, I guess. I like it myself, and so does Annie. Allie’s being raised on it.”
The goats were ambling towards the distant buildings, and Jason relaxed in the saddle. It was good to be riding again, good to be out in the sun, good to be able to forget all the things that had happened. Maybe when he made it to the ranch, he should suggest to his father that they come back and buy a few of Tim’s goats. And if his horses were as good – well, there could be a chance there too. He was starting to doze on the smooth-paced gelding when Stormy growled quietly. Jason knew that sound and came alert between one breath and the next.
Chapter Fourteen
He spoke softly, not in a whisper, the hiss could carry, but in a low voice. “Tim, something out there, Stormy says so.”
Tim said nothing but turned his head so that he could see the dog out of the corner of an eye. “Human?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Okay, you armed?”
“Yes.”
Jason wasn’t going to particularize, but he had the hand-gun in his back holster under the vest. It was a .38 revolver, but once he found some of the hollow-point ammunition in an empty house – whose original owner had been a gun devotee – he’d taken all he could find and loaded that in preference. There was a snarl that didn’t come from the dog, and a large black form came out of the brush. It was right behind Tim’s horse. A paw shot out and hit the animal’s haunch, leaving long red streaks, and the horse emitted a shrill scream of pain and fright before it bucked.
Tim catapulted off over one shoulder, and the horse fled, taking the rifle. Jason’s animal was backing and sidling, the smell of blood upsetting it, and Tim, dazed, tried to get to his feet. The black figure roared and reached for the man. Jason acted without thinking. He dropped lightly from his mount, letting it go free. His hand flickered, came out holding the .38, and dropping into stance, he fired. In a roll like thunder, he emptied the gun; a hand dived into a pocket and came out with loose bullets which he thumbed into the gun to reload while watching the black form.
Tim Crispin had made it to his feet and looked at the boy. “Son, I don’t think you’ll need those right now. That bear just isn’t going anywhere.”
Jason finished reloading anyhow. His father had told him that an empty gun made a good club if you needed one, but that wasn’t why they were made. With his weapon ready, he shuffled a step closer at a time. The thing on the ground stayed motionless, and without looking up from it, he asked.
“How sure are you it’s dead?”
“Pretty sure. Hold on.” Tim retired to find a long stick and poked the heap of fur. There was no sound, no movement, and he poked again, and again, with no reaction. “Looks as if it’s done. Good shooting.”
The words were laconic, but the tone was one of deep approval. Jason flushed and then laughed, quoting, ”Man does what a man’s gotta do.”
“And you done it,” Tim chuckled. “Wonder what made him look for trouble. Bears around here are usually quiet enough unless they’re real hungry, or…”
Jason had turned the animal over and pulled back an arm. He looked up. “Or wounded,” he said quietly. “Look at this.”
They looked. A long, shallow wound showed all along the bear’s flank just under the arm. It would have given the animal a bright flash of pain any time that side or arm moved, and bears tend to the short-tempered.
Tim was calculating. “He must have been either just starting to stand up or sit down. He was at an angle anyways. Wouldn’t kill him, it’d heal up in time, but it’d sting, keep him feeling it every time he moved. He was probably after a goat, and we got in the way, not surprised he took a crack at me. Wonder what happened to whoever did it?”
“Stormy can track a bit.”
Tim looked up. “Right, put her on this ‘un’s backtrail, and let’s see.” It took time and considerable squirming through the brush, but they came to a spot where there was a single shell casing. There was also a lot of blood, and their gazes met.
“Ran into one another by accident, I’d say,” Tim muttered. “Looks as if they were close too. From the blood that bear got in a swipe, then they went in opposite directions. Which way would you run?” He was moving, orienting himself the way the shooter might have stood when he shot, and Jason considered before pointing.
“That way.”
Tim started walking, and spoke softly. “Gun out, son, this here’s a man that shoots first when he’s surprised.”
Jason nodded, drew his gun, and moved cautiously forward while Tim moved out to flank him. They heard nothing and finally broke clear of the brush into a small clearing. It was a complete circle, except for a narrow opening on the far side. Standing by that was a motorcycle with a small three-wheeled trailer of the type that was being sold with them of late. Sprawled half under that was a man.
“Hold up and watch for me,” Tim ordered, and Jason obeyed, understanding the command. If the man attacked, he’d die before he could reach Tim; but the man didn’t move as he was gently pulled from under the trailer. They saw his face then and both men shuddered. He had little of that remaining. Something had torn off the jaw, obliterated most of the face below the eyes, and there was only a red ruin left. The whole of a heavy woolen jacket was saturated with blood, ex-plaining why there’d been no blood trail, and Jason felt sick.
Tim looked at the body as he stood up. “Wouldn’t have thought he’d have made it this far, not like that. Must have been real determined. Wonder why?”
Jason, who was looking over the trailer, spoke, his voice constricted. “I can tell you that.” He thrust both hands into the stacked contents and lifted them free. In his arms lay a blue-clad toddler, looking up sleepily and without apparent fear. The boy would have been a year or so old. He was well-dressed, clearly cared for, and, like Allie, fair-haired and blue-eyed
Tim nodded. “Yeah. He was trying to get back to the kid, went under the trailer, so if the bear came after him, he had a chance to shoot it before it got either of them.” He sighed. “I loved my daughter, but I wouldn’t have minded a son as well. Guess I got one.”
“What about Annie?” Jason asked
Tim glanced at him and grinned. “She’d jump faster’n me to take the kid. Now,” he turned around, looking at the sun. “From here, the road should be that way. Can you ride one of these things?” Jason nodded. “Okay, then let’s all get aboard and head home.”
Jason pointed mutely to the body.
“Leave him. We can come back tomorrow and bury him and take the bearskin as well. Right now, I’d like to get out of here in case that bear had a friend or someone else heard the fussing and comes around.”
That, thought Jason, was good sense, and he allowed Tim to tuck the baby back in the bedding. While Jason climbed onto the motorcycle, Tim climbed on behind him, and Jason turned the key, hoping it worked. It did, and they rode slowly for home, arriving just as Annie was about to start looking to see what had become of them.
“Horses came home without you,” she snapped. “Pat’s got gouges all down one haunch, and Mike’s stepped on a rein and torn the stitching. You go off on two horses, and come back on a motorbike. What in the world were you doing?”
Tim mutely removed the child from his bedding and passed him to Annie. “Saving this.” He hugged her while she held the child and crooned. “You always said you wouldn’t have minded a son too. Now it looks like you got one.”
****
The goats were all well, and when they walked to the bear carcass the next day, one kid was bouncing on top of it, playing king of the castle with the other. The men laughed and gently shooed the small creatures away before skinning the bear. Jason looked over the skin once it came free.
“That was a fair size, should make a good rug.”
Tim nodded. “Yes, they stretch when they’re tanned, too, so once it’s down, it’ll look more like a grizzly-size skin. I’ll take it to the barn and hang it on the far wall to work on. After that, we can have something to eat, then go look at whatever’s in the trailer we brought home with the baby.”
Jason went over the motorbike and trailer contents a few hours later with Tim. To Annie’s delight, they found the child’s birth certificate, which named him Geoffrey John McDonald, son of Angus McDonald, and Maree Griffith of Los Angeles. It gave his date of birth, showing him to be now thirteen months old, and another certificate listed his mother as having died four months later of a cerebral hemorrhage. The certificates were together in a small lacquer box, along with a small amount of jewelry, none expensive but all in good taste. And there were several photos. Annie picked those out and looked at the smiling faces, then at the handwriting on the back.
“His mom, dad, and grandparents on each side.” Jason wondered what they’d call him, and after a moment, inquired. Annie considered it. “Geoff Crispin,” she said decisively. “We’ll tell him the truth when he’s old enough. He deserves to know his father died protecting him.”
“Besides,” Tim said thoughtfully. “You know the sort of thing that can happen. Him and Allie aren’t blood relatives. You grow up with someone, mostly you aren’t interested, you see them as family, but it can happen, and I don’t want them thinking we’d be upset if it did.”
Jason said nothing but nodded. His mom had told him a story once about a boy in her class at school who’d fallen in love with someone like that. Not kin, but the family saw it that way, and once they found out about it, the kids were tossed out, and the family wouldn’t have anything to do with them. Annie saw a remembering look on his face and asked. Haltingly he told the story, and she nodded.
“Exactly. They lost two children they loved, and for what? It was legal, and so far as I’m concerned, it was moral too. The law in many places lets first cousins marry, so what’s wrong with two children who aren’t any relation to each other? No, if later on, it happens that way, we’ll be happy they love someone we already know and love too.”
Tim grinned. “And if it should happen, it’d save us worrying about how we’d split this place.” He looked at Annie, and they laughed.
Geoff turned out to be a good child, placid, happy, and apparently very pleased to have another child of around his age with whom to play. Meanwhile, Jason was out with Tim every day, working on the land, learning to milk a goat, digging post holes for a new fence, and twice going hunting.
“There’s deer around. You don’t see them unless you look, and I only shoot yearlings. That way, none of the meat’s wasted, an’ there’s no orphan fawns.”
“What about rabbits?”
“None much on this place, but there’s a good few down by the stream a couple of miles away. Why?”
“Stormy likes them, and there’s no waste there either.”
Tim chuckled. “Up to you, son. But if you bring back more than the dogs can eat, I’m sure Mother will know what to do with them. By the way, you aren’t tied down here. If you want to take that motorcycle and look a bit further out, you’re welcome.”
Jason did – finding a house thirty miles to the east where the front lawn was alive with rabbits. He was lining up the .22 when something tiny and tabby scrambled across the property with a raccoon after it. Jason shot involuntarily, and the raccoon dropped. The kitten sat down and wailed. A slight pathetic sound. Jason walked towards it, making reassuring sounds, and the kitten watched. He reached it, scooped it up, and after a hiss or two, it settled against him, and he smiled. Where it had come from, he had no idea, but he could guess who’d love it.
In that he was right, Annie cuddled the kitten, fed it, and it slept in her lap, small stomach bulging, and throat vibrating with a faint contented purr. She looked earnestly at Jason. “It isn’t feral. Maybe you should go back there and look around.”
“I could. If there’s nothing Tim wants me for tomorrow?”
“I don’t. You go and see what else is there. And if there’s anything we could use and nobody around, bring whatever you find back here. No owner, it’s not stealing.”
A conclusion Jason had long since come to, but he was cautious when he reached the house. It might be his belief, but it wasn’t necessarily the belief of anyone living here.
Instead of people, he found a note pinned to the back door and read it.
Josie,
Willie’s sick, but not the virus, we don’t think. We’re going to the hospital in San Diego. When you get here, don’t worry, we should be back in a day or two. Help yourself. Please look after Miss Chat; she’s just had kittens in the shed, her cat food’s there on a shelf along with a can opener. See you when we get home,
Karen.
So the kitten he’d rescued had been domestic as Annie had thought. All right, the shed. Let’s see about the rest of the family there. He opened the door slowly and saw at once that any precautions were wasted. The raccoon had come here first. Miss Chat – he thought it must be her – lay dead, two bloodstained kittens with her. She was a big cat, and her tabby pattern was lines of spots rather than stripes. She’d died fighting, and Jason felt a wash of sadness.
“You were a warrior, girl. I’ll bury you all together; you deserve it.” He went to pick up the body, and something stirred. He stepped back hastily; you got snakes in sheds, but no. A live kit stared up at him from where it had nestled against its mother’s body, and a small pink mouth opened in a demanding cry. Jason scooped up the baby, and like its predecessor, it huddled trustingly against him, then wailed again.
“Hungry?” Let’s see, cat food on the shelf, the note said.”
It was there, along with the promised can opener, and in seconds, the kitten was eating. Jason hunted around, found a sack, and dumped all the cat food in that. It had a “use by” date of almost three years in the future still and would be good insurance if Tim and Annie ran short of meat. A further thought occurred to him, and he went looking. The shed door had been shut, but one kitten had got out, so there must be a gap somewhere. He found it in a corner, where a board rotted at the bottom would allow the exit of a small kitten, and he blocked that off. Leaving the kitten, he went to the house to reconnoiter, finding a cat carrier, and, in a cupboard, bags of cat biscuits.
“Useful.” There was a soft fluffy folded blanket on top of it, and he tucked that into the carrier; clearly, they belonged together. He went out to collect the kitten, which settled into the carrier and fell asleep. Jason inserted a finger through the wire and stroked it, eliciting a small rusty purr. “Yes, you sleep, not long, and I’ll have you back with the other bit of family you’ve got left, but I want to look around here first, and I’ll bury your mom and the others.”
He did that first. It felt right. But with them gone, he looked through the shed, noting several good-quality tools, a hand lathe, and a large box. He read the print on that and felt a wide smile stretching his face. A wind generator, an expensive brand, unused, probably only just acquired, then “Willie’ got sick, and no one got around to putting it up. With it was a four-pack of the storage batteries. He put both boxes to one side, added the lathe, tools, and containers of nails and screws. Then he moved on to the house.
The owners had been comfortable from the look of things, he concluded as he wandered the rooms. Luckily, he and Tim had emptied the motorbike trailer, he could take the pick of items, and if for some reason he couldn’t return, well, he’d had the cream. He went back to the bike, ran it to the shed, loaded his selection, and parked it by the back door. Over the next few hours, he was busy choosing, packing, and pausing at intervals to pet the kitten, who watched the activity wide-eyed.
He came back to the main bedroom at last. There was a photo there, two middle-aged people, arms around each other. Willie and Karen, he assumed. There was a jewelry box in the dresser's top drawer, and he loaded that without looking inside. In the bedside cabinet on what, from some of the stuff on it, had been the man’s side, he found a handgun and a box of matching ammunition and added them to his gleanings. He grinned wryly, speaking to those who’d lived here. “A pity what killed you wasn’t something you could shoot.” He found a gun-cleaning kit in the dresser and took that too.
He surveyed the wardrobe and selected a wool coat he knew to be expensive and looked unworn. There was underwear in unopened packets, both male and female, and he took them, as well as packages of socks. They were unlikely to be for sale any time soon. He added a few good clothing items, finished putting them in the trailer, and then, with a suitable niche created for the cat carrier, he added that last of all and ran a rope through the top and fastened it to either side of the trailer.
