was like a wall of water came roaring down on the town. An avalanche, only of liquid rather than stone. I saw it coming.” He lifted his hands and covered his face again. They muffled his voice as he went on, “I tried to get the children out of the orphanage, but it was too late. They fled to the upper floor, thinking it would be safer there, but then…then…”
Frowning, Bo and Scratch glanced at each other. Bo leaned closer to the distraught old man and said, “That big brick building on the edge of town…it was an orphanage?”
The man lowered his hands and nodded. “Yes. There were more than thirty children living there.” His voice was hollow with agonizing memories. “I…I was the director. George Ledbetter is my name. The Reverend George Ledbetter, although God has turned His back on me now, and rightfully so.”
“You shouldn’t ought to feel like that,” Scratch said. “Ain’t no way one man can stop a flood.”
“No, but I should have died in there with them,” Ledbetter rasped. “The older children hustled the little ones upstairs, trying to save them, but then…the flood washed out the foundation. The men who built it must not have used the proper materials…oh, dear Lord, the sound as the timbers began to creak and then snap, the rumble as the walls began to collapse…but even over those sounds, even over the terrible noise of wind and water, I could hear the screams from inside.”
The old man began to shake and sob.
Bo let him get some of it out, then said, “You must not have been in the building when the flood hit.”
Ledbetter managed to nod. “I went out to make sure no one had been left outside and then couldn’t get back in. I thought the children would be safe on the second floor, that the water wouldn’t reach that high. I actually thought that I was in more danger than they were, and I did come near to drowning as the water swept me away. I…I had no idea that the building would fall….”
“You couldn’t have known that it would,” Bo told him. “What happened to the rest of the people in town?”
Ledbetter passed a trembling hand over his face. “Many of them were killed. When the waters receded I performed funeral services for what seemed like days on end. The few who survived didn’t want to stay here any longer, and no one could blame them. They left. But I couldn’t. I had to stay.”
“How long ago was that?” Bo asked.
“Six months? Eight?” Ledbetter shook his head. “I don’t really know.”
“And you been here ever since by yourself?” Scratch asked.
“Yes…but I’m not really alone. The children are here too.”
Bo and Scratch looked at each other again, then Bo said, “I thought you said all the children were killed when the orphanage collapsed?”
Ledbetter nodded. “They were. But they are still here nonetheless. They come to me and torment me with their sad eyes and their drowned faces. I see them, pale and lifeless, accusing me with their pathetic gazes. Their spirits will never leave me alone, because I deserted them in their hour of need. They will never know rest, and neither will I.”
“You’re talkin’ about ghosts,” Scratch said.
Ledbetter waved a shaking, bony hand at their devastated surroundings. “What better place for them?” he asked, unknowingly echoing what Bo had said earlier.
Neither of the drifters had an answer for the old man’s question. Bo said, “Drink some more coffee, Reverend, and then have some more of these beans. You need to get your strength back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Creel. This is more than I’ve talked for quite some time. My throat is rather dry.”
Ledbetter slurped down more coffee, and Bo helped him put away a good serving of beans. By then Scratch had fried up the last of their bacon, and the reverend ate some of it ravenously too. Then he leaned his head against the wall of the building and moaned. He closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep almost immediately.
Bo and Scratch moved off far enough so that their low-voiced conversation wouldn’t be overheard in case Ledbetter was really still awake. “What in tarnation are we gonna do with the old pelican?” Scratch asked.
“We can’t leave him here,” Bo declared. “He’ll starve to death if we do.”
“But he don’t want to go. He could’ve left with the other folks who lived through the flood, if there was anywhere else he wanted to go.”
“That’s only because he feels guilty about what happened to the children in the orphanage.”
“You can sling him on a horse and tote him away from here,” Scratch said, “but that won’t make him feel any less guilty.”
“I know,” Bo admitted. “But I can’t just ride away and leave him here to die, either.” He glanced at the sky. “It’s too late in the day to decide anything. We’ll camp here tonight and try to figure it out in the morning.”
Scratch nodded. “Bueno.”
Ledbetter was still asleep, snoring softly. Bo and Scratch tended to their horses, unsaddling the animals and giving them a good rubdown. The settlement’s public well, at the far end of the street, had water in it and the crank that lowered and raised a bucket still worked, so Scratch filled a trough that hadn’t washed away in the flood and Bo gave the horses a little of the grain they had left.
Taking Ledbetter along with them meant that they would have to stretch their meager provisions even further, but as Scratch had pointed out, jackrabbits were abundant in this part of the country. Surely they would come to a settlement sooner or later.
Dusk didn’t amount to much around here. Once the sun dipped below the western horizon, full darkness came quickly, along with a wind that whipped around the ruined buildings. But during that brief half-light, something stirred inside Bo, a warning prickle that maybe something wasn’t quite right.
He and Scratch hunkered beside the fire, sipping coffee and eating the last of the beans and bacon that Ledbetter had left. Bo set his plate aside and came to his feet. “I think I’m going to take a look around town,” he said.
Scratch glanced up at him. “Something wrong?”
“Probably not,” Bo said with a shake of his head. “I just want to make sure we’re really alone here.”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about ghosts.”
“Of course not. But we’re close enough to the border that there could be a few Apaches skulking around.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Scratch reached for his Winchester, which lay on the ground beside him. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, stay here and keep an eye on the horses and the old man,” Bo said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Taking his rifle with him, he walked along the street. Thick shadows had begun to gather around the wrecked buildings. Movement seen from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He swung his rifle in that direction, then relaxed as he spotted a coyote slinking off into the dusk. Bo chuckled at this uncharacteristic display of nerves on his
