J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

“Ah see it.” Boll dismounted.

“Probably can’t ride.” Ed pointed out. He was leaned back in his saddle rolling a smoke. Ryan found it unsettling, but his father had paddled him hard a few years back when he’d mouthed off to Ed about smoking being poison. Ed had just laughed and said he didn’t want to live forever, but Dev hadn’t been happy about Ryan’s lack of respect. Ryan had learned that day that just because his teachers said something was bad, didn’t mean he had the right as a kid to tell adults what to do.

“Probably. Those are military boots.” Boll frowned and walked along the trail, snapping photos with his cell phone at a few places.

“Milspec don’t mean anything.” Eddie told Ryan while they waited. “Could be surplus, and all innocent-like.”

“Yeah.” Ryan didn’t get it himself, but his friend Brian loved old combat boots and camo stuff.

“But it might mean somethin’.” Eddie mused aloud.

“The military might be involved?” Ryan couldn’t quite believe that. His dad was a veteran, and Ryan remembered meeting some of the men Dev had served with. And it seemed like half the men in town, and a few of the women, were vets.

“Naw, not the US military.” Eddie tapped the side of his nose. “But they’s some that don’t like Jefferson.”

“Oh.” Ryan thought this over. Cali would like to have those back those resources his mom had been talking about. He wasn’t sure how that connected with the carpetbaggers, but it certainly had to do with the Brownies. He wanted to be sick as he thought about what they might have done to Pat.

Boll rejoined them. He’d overheard Ed, it seemed. “If we can prove we can take care of ourselves, then we can keep them from claiming we’re lawless and steppin’ in with a military governorship.”

That made sense to Ryan. So what they were doing was bigger than just getting the guys who had hurt Pat. And her family.

Boll got back on the big horse he rode. “I think you’re right, Ed. One less horse than there should be, so that one’s walkin’”

“Slow ’em down.” Ed commented.

“That it will. Helps. They’re likely to have not gone too far.” Boll tipped his hat back a little. “I think we’re headed for camp and watching time. They won’t move until dusk, earliest.”

The three of them rode with more purpose, now that they knew where the men had been. Boll or Eddie had scouted this spot before, Ryan realized. They headed right for it. A little bench under the ridgeline let them tether the horses by a small stream that curved along the side of the hill, undercutting it badly in places. Ryan wouldn’t have liked to be here in spring; it would be a muddy mess. But there was a stand of trees that offered concealment for the men as well as the horses, and they could lay up on the ridgeline and see the western slope into the valley where the Fritz place lay. Ryan recalled there was another group over on the other side, but he couldn’t see any trace of them.

He couldn’t call his mother, and it wasn’t dark yet, so he found himself fussing over rocks and twigs in the camp area, making it neat and clean. Eddie shook his head at him, then faded into the trees. Ryan didn’t follow. Boll ate a sandwich from his own saddlebag. “No fire, kid. Cold dinner tonight. Tomorrow morning if we can we’ll get breakfast from the Flanagan place.”

Ryan nodded. Boll jerked his chin upward. “I’m going to go keep an eye on the trail. Come along.”

Shortly after, Ryan found himself lying on the ground just at the ridgeline. The sun was down, but there was still blue light at the horizon, fading slowly up to the inky black over their heads. A lone star was out, and Ryan wondered if it were a satellite. Boll, lying beside him with binoculars trained on the trail, shifted his weight. Ryan wondered if he were lying on a rock. Ryan had shoved a few out of his way when he slid over the ridgeline, but he’d missed at least one.

“So, kid.” Boll’s voice was low, but light. “Whatcha thinking?”

“I was wondering about your name.” Ryan blurted. He could feel his cheeks heat when he realized he’d said that out loud.

Boll chuckled quietly. “I’m assumin’ you don’t mean Black.”

“Boll?” Ryan really was curious, and it didn’t sound like the Sheriff was mad about it.

“Well, m’given name is Cotton. When I was ‘bout your age, I decided Boll was cooler.”

“Oh.” Ryan digested this. The teasing must have been intense.

“Could be worse.” The Sheriff went on in a musing tone. “M’sister’s name is Silk.”

Ryan silently agreed. It could always be worse. “Um. Why…?” Ryan couldn’t figure out how to politely ask an adult if their parents had been nuts. He heard in his tone, as much as saw, the big man’s grin as it flashed in the dark. Boll shifted his weight again.

“W’al, Mom was a bonafide hippie. Me’n Silk, we were born in a commune.”

Ryan looked toward Boll’s face, but it was dark enough he couldn’t tell if Boll was pulling his leg.

“Keep your eyes peeled, kid.” Boll wriggled back from the edge a bit before getting up. He wouldn’t skyline himself, even as dark as it was.

Ryan kept looking into the darkness. He was listening, now, rather than using his eyes. He could faintly hear Boll’s footsteps crunching away behind him. He could hear a coyote yipping, and an insane number of crickets and stuff chirping. But no hooves on stone. The tracks they had seen were of shod horses, which would make more noise. He remembered reading that Apaches, the greatest guerilla fighters, only rode ponies with bare hooves. But who would have shod an Apache’s horses, anyway?

He heard Boll coming back, and felt a gentle touch on his boot. He slithered back a ways before he felt like he could get up.

“Ed’s taking watch. Turn in and sleep, kid.”

“Yessir.” Ryan yawned, and he could hear Boll chuckling behind him as he headed for his bedroll.

Ryan woke up to Ed shaking his shoulder. He blinked.

“Breakfast.” Eddie announced cheerfully. “You one o’those kids that drinks coffee?”

“Um.” Ryan sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Mom doesn’t like it, but yeah.”

Ed laughed and pointed at the thermos. Ryan rolled out of his sleeping bag and shook out his boots before stomping them on. Ed handed him an enameled mug and a sandwich baggie of jerky. “No fire, smoke can be smelt for miles. My own recipe, that” He pointed at the jerky Ryan was now holding.

“Ouch.” The metal mug transferred heat way too easy, Ryan decided. “Thought breakfast was going to be at Brian’s place?”

“Change of plans. No movement last night. Sending you home for the day.”

“Oh.” Ryan tried not to feel a pang of disappointment. It didn’t work.

“Your mom needs you.”

Well, that felt better. Until it hit him that she’d been virtually alone at the house. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Just…” Ed tapped his nose again. “Needs a kid, she said.”

“A kid?” Ryan echoed, confused.

Ed shrugged. “Anyway, you can ride up to the road and trailer home. Faster. See ya tonight.”

Ryan chewed on the jerky slowly. It wouldn’t have been his choice for breakfast, but it hit the empty spot in his belly nicely.

“This’s really good,” he told Eddie, who grinned. He wasn’t just being nice, either. The dried meat was very tasty, not so spicy he couldn’t taste anything, like some of the homemade stuff he’d tried had been.

It wasn’t more than an hour later he was pulling into his home driveway. Sitting in the passenger seat, he watched the countryside roll by and mused on how short this felt compared to the hours of riding the day before. It was very normal and after the tension of hunting men the day before, he felt like he had mental whiplash.