William Johnstone - Bounty Hunter

“Grampaw says it looks like that bullet hole in your back is healin’ up better now,” Emily went on. “I was sure upset with him when I came in and found that he’d been cuttin’ on you, but I reckon he did the right thing.”

“What’s your grandfather’s name?” Luke hadn’t heard her call him anything except Grampaw.

“Linus Peabody,” she told him.

“A fine name. I’m in his debt ... and yours.”

She shook her head. “You don’t owe me nothin’.”

“You saved my life. I would have died out there if it wasn’t for you.”

“It’s my Christian duty to help folks in need.”

“I wish more people felt like you about that,” Luke said. “If they did, we might not have had this war.”

“Grampaw says we didn’t need to have it anyway. We never had no slaves and didn’t want any. He tried to talk my pa and my brothers into not goin’ off and fightin’, but they said it was their duty because the Yankees had no right to invade us.”

“They were right about that. I just wish it had never come to that point.”

Emily sighed. “Wishin’ don’t do folks a lot of good, Mr. Jensen . . . I mean, Luke. If it did, there’s a whole heap of things in the world that’d be different.”

She was certainly right about that, Luke thought.

Because if wishing did any good, his legs would work again, and so far . . . they didn’t.

It really hasn’t been very long yet since my injury, he reminded himself several times that day . . . and the next and the next and the day after that.

By the time a week had passed, Luke’s appetite had returned and so had some of his strength. He was able to sit up in the rocking chair with a pillow to cushion his wounded back, as long as Peabody and Emily helped him get there from the bunk.

But he still had no feeling in his legs, and when he sat there and stared at them and willed them to move, nothing happened. The legs remained limp and lifeless.

“I wish I could help you with the chores,” Luke said at supper one evening. “You folks saved my life, you’re feeding me, and I can’t do a blasted thing to repay you.”

“Nobody’s asked you to repay nothin’,” Peabody said.

“I know that, but I want to, anyway.”

“Maybe the time will come that you can. You can’t never tell.”

Another couple days passed. Luke continued to get stronger. Peabody built him a bunk of his own, so he and Emily could return to their own beds. He checked the wound in Luke’s back and changed the dressing on it, then proclaimed, “Looks like that hole’s just about healed up, son. I got to admit, I didn’t think it’d happen that way, but you must be durned near as strong as a mule . . . and stubborn as one, too.”

Emily said, “Grampaw!”

But Luke threw back his head and laughed, which was something he hadn’t done much of for a long time. “My pa used to say the same thing about me. The stubborn part, anyway. But the real reason I’m not dead is because you and Emily took such good care of me, Mr. Peabody.”

“The gal wouldn’t have it no other way,” the old-timer said, which brought another blush to Emily’s face.

Peabody went out to work in the fields, leaving Emily to finish cleaning up after breakfast before she joined him. With just the two of them to take care of the place, they both worked from dawn to dusk most days. They had gotten behind on the chores during the time they’d had to take turns looking after Luke, and knowing that added to his feeling he owed them more than he could ever repay.

A short time after leaving, Peabody hurried back into the cabin just as Emily was finishing up with the dishes. Luke saw instantly that the old-timer was upset about something.

Peabody didn’t keep them in the dark about it. “Yankees comin’.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Emily said. “How many?”

“Just a dozen or so . . . but that’s plenty if they’re lookin’ for trouble.” Peabody frowned at Luke. “You’re sure they ain’t huntin’ you?”

“I don’t see how they could be.”

An old single-shot rifle Peabody used for hunting game hung on hooks attached to the wall. He took it down and checked its load.

“You don’t want to start trouble,” Luke warned him. “Not if there are a dozen of them.”

“Don’t plan on startin’ it. But if they force me to it, I’ll fight.”

Luke thought swiftly. “How close are they?”

“About a quarter mile, I’d say.”

“Put the rocker on the porch and help me into it. I’ll hold the rifle in my lap, under a blanket.”

“They’d be able to see it anyway,” Emily said. “I have a better idea.” She opened a cabinet and took out the Griswold and Gunnison revolver Luke had brought with him from Richmond.

He didn’t know what had happened to his rifle, but the sight of the revolver lifted his spirits a little. Only for a moment, though. He recalled how wet the gun had gotten. “The charges in that are bound to be ruined.”

“They were,” Emily agreed, “until I cleaned it up and reloaded it.”

“Where’d you get ammunition for that gun?”

“Bought it at the tradin’ post the other day. I thought we might need it sometime.”

Luke hoped that time hadn’t come. Even with the revolver, he wouldn’t be any match for a dozen Yankee cavalrymen, especially stuck in a rocking chair with useless legs.

But being armed was always better than being defenseless, so he held out his hand for the gun and slipped it into the pocket of the overalls he was wearing. It was a good thing Linus Peabody was a fairly big man. His clothes fit Luke without being too tight.

Peabody dragged the rocking chair onto the cabin’s front porch, then he and Emily helped Luke get seated in it. She hurried back into the cabin to grab the blanket from the bunk, which she draped over the lower half of Luke’s body.

It was the first time he’d been outside since the day of the storm. The air was warm and smelled good. It was a beautiful spring day.

At least, it would have been if it hadn’t been marred by the sight of those Yankee troopers riding toward the cabin.

Peabody came out onto the porch holding the rifle. He said to Emily, “Get back inside, gal. And don’t come out no matter what happens.”

“You know damn good and well I ain’t gonna do that, Grampaw.”

“Blast it. For once in your life, do what I tell you!”

Emily looked angry and upset, but she said, “I’ll be right inside,” and moved back through the door.

Luke put his right hand under the blanket, slipping the revolver out of his pocket and gripping it tightly as he watched the Yankees ride closer. He had to fight down the impulse to yank out the gun and start blazing away at the enemy.

Or are they the enemy anymore? he suddenly asked himself. They were laughing and talking among themselves as they approached the cabin. They certainly didn’t seem to be looking for trouble.

The officer in charge of the patrol, a lieutenant judging by his insignia, heeled his horse into a trot and rode ahead of the others. He came up to the cabin with the others trailing behind him and reined in. With a friendly nod, he touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Good morning, gentlemen. Does one of you own this farm?”

“I do.” Peabody’s voice was flat and hard.

“Then I’d like to ask your permission to water our horses.”

Peabody took one hand off the rifle and jerked a thumb toward the north. “River’s about half a mile that way. Plenty of water there.”

“Oh,” the lieutenant said. “I didn’t know that. I’m not that familiar with the area. We’re obliged to you for the information. We’ll just water our horses at the river.”