“How can that be? Can’t have no granddaughter without a kid.”
“I had a son. Comanches killed him a year ago.”
“You never told me about no son. You always said you didn’t have no kin.”
“I didn’t know.”
Rudy looked at Jack, his head cocked to one side, obviously waiting for an explanation. Jack was not in the mood to talk about the son he never knew. The appearance of Sierra and the story she brought with her were surreal, and he could not get a handle on it all. It could not be true, yet he had no doubt that it was.
Rudy said, “You ain’t talking, are you?”
Jack sighed. “Sorry, Rudy, not tonight. Not about that. Here is something to chew on overnight. I am going to take back fifty-some horses from Comancheros at Lookout Canyon in the Chihuahuan Desert. Leaving the day after tomorrow. We will need two or three good wagons from the company and a volunteer crew of nine or ten men. I need men who can handle a gun, maybe some of the ex-buffalo soldiers on our payroll. I will offer a hundred-dollar hazardous duty bonus. Jordy, you pick the men and tell them the deal. Keep at it until you’ve got enough takers. Rusty will stay at the ranch, and he and Rudy can run things while we’re gone. I’d like you to come with me, if you’re willing.”
“I had already signed on,” Jordy said.
Rudy said, “I can’t hear so good. But I picked up enough to know you’re about to out-stupid that scarecrow out in Enrique’s garden. You’ve finally dumped what was left in your brain.”
“That could be, but you don’t have to worry yourself. You’ll be sitting here lazing in the breeze on the front porch.”
“Like hell I will. You ain’t leaving me behind. You’ll need somebody that can handle a gun running the chuckwagon. Try to get Bram Potts to come with us and we’ll keep you fed.”
Jack said, “You were with me the last time I visited Lookout Canyon. Do you remember what happened then?”
“I sure as hell do. I’m wondering if you do.”
Chapter Nine
Jack set his library rocker next to the table that offered the best kerosene reading lamp. His wire-rimmed spectacles were propped on his nose, Hawthorne’s House of the Seven Gables rested in his lap, and Thor’s head rested on his stockinged feet. He had been sitting with Thor in the room for better than an hour savoring the quiet companionship of his friends that lined the wall. A nice cool breeze drifted through the open window. A perfect night for a good book, but he had not read a word. The thoughts that rampaged in his mind had torn him from his reading mission.
Rudy had left abruptly an hour earlier, pissed with Jack’s failure to contribute to the conversation. “I’m just sitting here talking to myself,” he had complained.
“Tell me something new,” Jack had replied, lamenting now that he had been so testy with his old friend, who could not help that he was born to snoop and talk.
Jordy had departed earlier when Consuelo informed him that Sierra had vacated the tub room and that Juan had filled the tub for his bath, exhorting the young cowhand that he should take advantage while the water was still warm. Bathing was complicated in the house but more luxurious than most homes on the Texas prairie, which had to settle for an outside barrel, if not a nearby stream. Water had to be heated on the downstairs woodstove and carried to the second-floor tub room off the hallway that led to the bedrooms. The cast iron sink and clawfoot tub were connected to a pipe that drained to a gully that cut through the backyard, and a mirror above the sink afforded added convenience for grooming and shaving.
Jack pulled his timepiece from his pocket. Almost ten-thirty. Past his bedtime, but fat chance of sleeping tonight. There was a light tapping at the door. “Come on in,” he said.
Jordy, wearing an old cotton shirt draped over his baggy white undershorts, stepped in. “Are you okay, Jack?”
Jack set his book aside. “Sit down.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of the lamp table. “Just trying to sort some things out. Not doing much of a job of it.”
Jordy picked up the book. “House of the Seven Gables. My favorite of Hawthorne’s.”
Jack said, “Only one of his I haven’t read. I’ve started it at least three times, but it’s a slow starter, and I seem to get distracted by other books. It’s at the top of my list to read before I cash in.”
“You’ve got some time.”
“A man never knows. I’ll bet my son, John Thomas—J. T. they called him—thought he had years to live when he got up the morning the Comanches hit their place. You know your string’s running out when you get to my age, though. I don’t worry about it. Hell, I might have twenty hours or twenty years, but I’ve had more than most. I haven’t been cheated out of time. Maybe that’s why us old farts don’t worry all that much about the end coming. We’ve had our turns.”
Jordy said, “I’m sorry about your son, Jack. But I’ve got to say I am confused about this and the sudden trip we’re making to the Chihuahuan Desert.”
“You’re entitled to know what’s going on. I have been whipping myself for not telling Rudy. I get so damned impatient with him anymore. He only hears half of what I’m saying and won’t close his mouth long enough for me to repeat it. I’ve had no better friend over the past forty-some years, and he’s always had my back. Saved my life more than once.”
Jordy chuckled. “And told me how he did it at least a dozen times.”
Jack gave a small smile. “Yeah, but the stories grow with the years. He’s changed them so many times, I can’t remember what really happened myself. Anyhow
