Willis and he ain’t changed one bit. He’s the same hombre who damn near beat you to death. You remember that? And he’s the one who lied to the judge and said I was drunk when I stabbed Hobie Gilbert during a fistfight, and Jorn Murphy told the judge the same damn story. You knew I fought Gilbert, but I wasn’t drunk. Old Hobie whipped me good, and I had his marks on my face to prove it when they jailed me, but I didn’t stab him. Lester Willis did it on Murphy’s orders. And you expected me to ask him about a horse?
“The jury bought what they both told them, so the judge had to send me to prison. If I hadn’t been a good boy and earned some good behavior time, I’d still be there yet. I’m damn glad you didn’t bust in and start blabbing or we’d both be dead now. That fellow with Lester, I gotta tell you, Ed, I really believe, that man is a shooter.” Jeff pulled on his second boot, stood, and stomped his feet to get his toes settled. He strapped on his gun belt, put on his vest, and picked up Winnie.
“Hell, I know all that. I’m remembering all that, Jeff. I always knew you never killed that feller like they said. I could’ve spoke up for you, but it wouldn’t done no good. Nobody has much use for anything I say around Jasper, you know that. Say, Jeff, have I got time for a fast minute or two in that creek?” asked Ed.
“No, we need to go. We’ve wasted enough time. Besides, you shouldn’t have taken so long behind those bushes.” Muttering to himself, Ed stepped up on his big gelding.
Chapter Seven
Jeff mounted behind Ed, and they crossed the creek and headed west. They rode awhile; Jeff was enjoying the feel of damp clothes washed clean by the creek and now drying on his back instead of a prison clothesline. Ed’s gelding was a good horse, a tall roan with an easy walking gait. Jeff was watching as far ahead as his eyes could see. He took out his spyglass. He’d had it since early in the war. It had been lying there on the grass late one afternoon after he and his friends had fought a battle. The other side had finally had enough and had run away. The spyglass had been his ever since.
It’d most likely been lost by some officer, he reckoned. Spyglasses weren’t usually owned by plain old soldiers. His sergeant had ordered Jeff to give it to him and Jeff told him, no, sir, he’d found it and it was his. And Jeff had used that spyglass often, spying on bluecoats. He looked through the glass again now, watching far off. He could barely see. It looked like…Yeah, he could barely see long ways, a man, and it looked like Lester. He was walking beside his horse. Jeff smiled. He wanted the advantage. And this time, old son, this time, the luck is on my side.
“Damn, it’s hot, Jeff, there ain’t no dang shade nowhere. We must’ve come ten miles already. This is the most I ever walked a horse in my life,” Ed complained.
“At least it ain’t been you that’s done all the walking like your horse has, Ed,” Jeff said. “Besides, a little walk is good for us, helps us get to know one another again, don’t you think? You stay on your horse and ride him by yourself, I’ll get off.”
Jeff slid off, laughing at him, and shook his head, as he and Ed’s horse kept on walking.
Chapter Eight
Jeff had met Ed after he had come west after the war the same time as Murphy. Ed was living in an old Army one-man tent at the edge of Jasper, the town a few miles west of Jeff’s cow ranch, and he noticed Ed limping around at times when he made the trip to town. He guessed Ed was older and he had a bad leg left over from the war. An Army surgeon had fixed it up after some Yankee had put a minié ball through the calf of his right leg and it’d left Ed with a limp. He’d offer to watch after Jeff’s horse, guard his wagon, or help him load supplies whenever Jeff came to town in his wagon. One day Ed was hungry and asked Jeff if he would spare fifty cents to buy some breakfast.
Jeff flipped the man one dollar, which Ed caught in the air. “Man, it’s almost one o’clock now,” said Jeff.
“I know, sir, but you see, breakfast is cheaper than dinner or supper. I just reckoned I’d better have me a breakfast instead of the other,” replied Ed.
“When did you eat last, my friend?” asked Jeff.
“Oh, a couple of days ago,” said Ed.
“Come on, I’ll buy us some dinner.”
“Uh, you want your money back?”
“Keep it for me.” After dinner, Jeff asked, “You want a steady job?”
“Doing what?”
“Working for me and doing what I say.”
“Does that job include room and board?”
Jeff laughed and told Ed, “Yeah, the job includes room and board.”
“Mister, you just hired yourself a hand—for life, if you want him. Right now, I’d even work for found,” Ed said, as he jumped up onto the wagon seat beside Jeff.
“That’s what I had in mind,” replied Jeff.
“Whoa, what’s that you say?” asked Ed.
“Relax, I’m just teasing you,” replied Jeff, chuckling at Ed.
“I’ll drive ’em, boss. Where are we off to?” Ed asked, slapping the reins on the backs of the wagon’s two red mules.
“Head ’em east, my friend,” Jeff told him as he settled back in the seat of his Dodge Brothers spring wagon. “I’ll tell when it’s time to stop.”
Chapter Nine
That was when Jeff Nelson and Ed White began becoming good friends, some five years back. Ed was a good man; he’d proven to be loyal, predictable, and very methodical. He was a little slow sometimes on certain things, but he was handy and knew lots of practical things that came with being observant, watching what went on around him and picking up easy, simple ways to make things work. Ed was just a good old boy. He had stayed on at the ranch even after Jeff went to jail, and he’d helped Sally with all the ranching chores until Murphy sent his men there to beat Ed badly and run him off. It’d taken Ed a few days to recover from the beating. When Ed could finally sit a horse, he’d ridden back to the ranch intending to help Sally with her chores because he knew that’s what Jeff was expecting from him. Sally made him leave for good because she knew Murphy would have him killed the next time he caught him there.
Then, afterward, Sally wasn’t there anymore, and there was no ranch. So Ed just hung around Jasper while Jeff was in jail, picking up odd jobs, living off the café’s trash can leavings, and keeping the stable cleaned out so he could sleep in the loft. Then out of the blue, Jeff had sent him some money and a letter in the mail by way of the banker saying for him to buy two horses and come meet him at the prison gate and he could have his job back. Ed had hurried and was waiting at the jail when the prison people had let Jeff walked out the gate. Ed’s eyes got teary when he saw his boss coming toward him. Now they rode west and kept riding and walking, mostly walking; they mustn’t lose Ed’s horse, not in this country. The wagon road grew wider. Long ago many wagons had crossed through here, all headed west, into the sun, looking for land. Some found land to keep forever—for their own graves. Others had found land to own, to farm on or grow beef on and grow their children on, before they passed on.
A man was lucky to find a good woman, in this country. Well, Jeff had found
