Bounty Hunter

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.”

“That’s a good idea.” Peabody stood stiffly, both hands tight on the rifle again.

The Yankee officer hesitated, then said, “Sir, you have heard the news, haven’t you?”

“What news?”

Luke had a hunch he knew what the answer was going to be even before the lieutenant spoke.

“The war’s over, sir,” the young officer said. “General Lee offered his surrender to General Grant nearly three weeks ago at a place up in Virginia called Appomattox Court House.”

Luke closed his eyes. He’d been right.

And Potter and the others had been right, too, about the Confederacy collapsing. They hadn’t been traitors, after all.

Just murdering, back-shooting rogues.

“The fighting is all over,” the lieutenant went on. “There’s no need for you and your son to worry, sir. We’re all countrymen again.”

Peabody didn’t correct the man about Luke being his son. He just said, “The river’s up yonder.”

The lieutenant nodded. “We’ll be going, then. Good day to both of you, and thank you again.”

The cavalrymen rode around the cabin and headed north. Luke listened to the sound of their hoofbeats fading as Emily came out of the cabin.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she said.

“About the war being over?” He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m not. I knew that was how it was going to turn out. Better to have it end before more good men were killed for no reason.”

“Amen to that,” Peabody said.

Luke took the revolver from under the blanket and handed it to Emily. “I guess you can put that away again.”

“All right.” She hesitated, then said, “Luke . . . what are you gonna do now?”

He looked up at her and realized he had no idea.

CHAPTER 16

Luke balanced himself on the crutches, reached into the bag he held, and slung grain onto the ground for the chickens clustering around him. The fowl went after the stuff with their usual frenzied enthusiasm.

He draped the bag’s strap over his shoulder, got a good grip on the crutch handles so he could turn himself around, and stumped back toward the cabin.

Emily came out onto the porch before he got there. “I was gonna feed the chickens,” she told him with a grin.

“No need,” Luke said. “I took care of it.”

“There’s just no stoppin’ you, is there?”

“Not when it’s something I can do.” He changed course, angling toward the side of the house where the big stump they used for splitting firewood stood. The ax leaned against the stump, handle up.

“What are you fixin’ to do now?” Emily asked.

“You said you needed some wood for the stove,” Luke explained.

“I didn’t say you had to split it!”

“I don’t mind.” He reached the stump and propped the right-hand crutch against it. With only a small amount of awkwardness, he picked up a piece of wood from the pile beside the stump and set it upright in the middle. Then he took hold of the ax and lifted it one-handed.

“You’re gonna miss and cut your leg off one of these days,” Emily warned.

“No great loss,” Luke said.

“Unless you bleed to death!”

Luke swung the ax above his head and brought it down in a precise stroke, splitting the cordwood perfectly down the middle. He used the ax to brush the two pieces off the stump, leaned the ax against it, and picked up another piece of wood to split.

Emily blew out her breath and shook her head in exasperation. “You are the most stubborn man I ever saw, Luke Jensen.”

And that was a good thing, Luke thought, otherwise he’d probably be dead. The wound he had suffered a few months earlier would have killed him.

The late summer sun blazed down, and it didn’t take Luke long to work up a sweat. His damp linsey-woolsey shirt clung to his back. He lifted his arm and sleeved beads of perspiration off his face.

When he’d first started shaving himself again, rather than relying on Emily to do it, he’d been shocked at the gaunt, haggard face looking out at him from the mirror. That man looked at least ten years older than he really was, Luke thought.

Since then his features had begun to fill out some, and he thought he looked more like himself. Most of the time, the strain of what he had gone through painted a rather grim expression on his face. When he laughed, though, he didn’t feel quite as ugly. Still ugly, mind you, he told himself, just not as much.

Recently he had stopped shaving his upper lip and let his mustache grow. It gave him a certain amount of dignity, in his opinion, and Emily didn’t seem to mind. How she thought about things had taken on a lot of importance during the months he had spent on the Peabody farm.

She came down from the porch to gather up the chunks of wood he had split. “Breakfast is ready. Come on inside and eat.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice, and she didn’t have to help him up the steps. He made it just fine with the crutches.

He had carved them himself, putting quite a bit of time and effort into it. He’d wanted the crutches to be as comfortable as possible, since it looked like he’d be using them for quite a while. Some of the feeling had started to come back into his legs, enough that he could get around a little with the help of the crutches, but he was still pretty helpless. He didn’t let himself think too much about how long that might go on. He still held out hope that one day his legs would work again, the way they were supposed to.

Because of that, he’d asked Emily to help him exercise the muscles in them. He knew it wasn’t fair to place