Read Online The Road to Reckoning by Robert Lautner - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Lautner
Ads: Link
forgotten about you,’ he said over his shoulder, and I smiled because he could not see it.
TEN
The road climbed, the wind took up our coats, and the clouds fell about the hills, and I understood why Henry Stands wore a greatcoat in April. I did not recognize any of this country although this would have been the way I had come. I ached for conversation and for rest. My rear had become raw bone and I wondered when Bloom Town would show and reconcile me.
Eventually mister Stands raised his hand and turned off the trail. Without ask or tell I dismounted and went off for wood and stones. The unfortunate was that although I had my sofkee I had no means to cook it and I did not know how to word this comfortably with a man who hardly talked; anyhow, mister Stands did not like my wood.
‘This is dead. And you are a deadhead traveling free as you are. It will smoke and blind us both all night. Did your father not have an ax to cut?’
‘We did just fine with fallen wood.’
He harrumphed, as he would, but made up the fire anyways. ‘Go downhill until you find water.’ He handed me his canteen after filling up his boiler, which was not much bigger than a can, and I missed my Dutch pot. I was thinking of my hunger, and that small boiler would have to cook twice to feed us both. I took our canteens and wandered down and down until I found a stream, which was full of leaf trash that sucked into the canteens more than the water and I picked them out constantly, which they seemed to find game as they did it again and again.
It was getting to twilight when I came back. I had fallen once and now had a little finger that I had landed on that hurt like I had broken my hand, but I would not tell it. Mister Stands had made his camp with the horses tethered and had boiled tea. He had a mug at least but I did not expect him to have another. He handed it to me to share and I took it with my shirt cuff pulled over my hand for it was boiling and he chuckled at this. It was strong as ever I had it and went all around me like a blanket and I forgot about the walk to the stream and back. I went to hand it over and said thanks.
‘You drink it. I will have rum. Fill it up again and we will empty the boiler for your Indian meal.’
I was happy to do so. If he would eat my sofkee I would no longer be his deadhead. We would be partners.
He had laid out his oilcloth with bedroll on top and sat on a log in a faded red capote shirt and braces and replaced his hat with a wool cap. He laid his belt with its guns and pockets beside him, his knife and ax on his blanket. He now looked like a riverman instead of the marauder previous. He had a great belly and broad limbs that looked like they could carry anything he cared to. I had never seen a bigger man, not one of older age anyways. He looked larger with his coat off. The length of it slimmed him down.
‘Do you take rum?’ he asked. He pulled the cork and offered it to me first. I gathered this is what he took as society.
‘I do not.’
‘For your tea. It will keep you warm.’
I accepted because these were the kindest words he had yet said. I tasted my new tea and did not regret it and he saw and nodded approval. He had dragged us two logs to sit on but I had no bed. I would sleep in my coat, I figured, or if that did not suit I could be a standee across the horses’ rope. You had to pay for that privilege at a hostler if you could not afford a bed.
The tea gone, I filled the boiler again to make the sofkee and mister Stands filled a pipe. This was the first time I had seen anyone smoke. In the woods we were sheltered from the wind and as the lid on the boiler flapped with the heat I decided I would know more about Henry Stands.
‘What is an Indiana ranger, sir?’
He rolled a little. ‘You do not know?’
‘It is something to do with the war?’
‘The war! Ha!’ He snorted and slugged his rum. ‘There is a reluctance to call it what it was now our politic men side with the
TEN
The road climbed, the wind took up our coats, and the clouds fell about the hills, and I understood why Henry Stands wore a greatcoat in April. I did not recognize any of this country although this would have been the way I had come. I ached for conversation and for rest. My rear had become raw bone and I wondered when Bloom Town would show and reconcile me.
Eventually mister Stands raised his hand and turned off the trail. Without ask or tell I dismounted and went off for wood and stones. The unfortunate was that although I had my sofkee I had no means to cook it and I did not know how to word this comfortably with a man who hardly talked; anyhow, mister Stands did not like my wood.
‘This is dead. And you are a deadhead traveling free as you are. It will smoke and blind us both all night. Did your father not have an ax to cut?’
‘We did just fine with fallen wood.’
He harrumphed, as he would, but made up the fire anyways. ‘Go downhill until you find water.’ He handed me his canteen after filling up his boiler, which was not much bigger than a can, and I missed my Dutch pot. I was thinking of my hunger, and that small boiler would have to cook twice to feed us both. I took our canteens and wandered down and down until I found a stream, which was full of leaf trash that sucked into the canteens more than the water and I picked them out constantly, which they seemed to find game as they did it again and again.
It was getting to twilight when I came back. I had fallen once and now had a little finger that I had landed on that hurt like I had broken my hand, but I would not tell it. Mister Stands had made his camp with the horses tethered and had boiled tea. He had a mug at least but I did not expect him to have another. He handed it to me to share and I took it with my shirt cuff pulled over my hand for it was boiling and he chuckled at this. It was strong as ever I had it and went all around me like a blanket and I forgot about the walk to the stream and back. I went to hand it over and said thanks.
‘You drink it. I will have rum. Fill it up again and we will empty the boiler for your Indian meal.’
I was happy to do so. If he would eat my sofkee I would no longer be his deadhead. We would be partners.
He had laid out his oilcloth with bedroll on top and sat on a log in a faded red capote shirt and braces and replaced his hat with a wool cap. He laid his belt with its guns and pockets beside him, his knife and ax on his blanket. He now looked like a riverman instead of the marauder previous. He had a great belly and broad limbs that looked like they could carry anything he cared to. I had never seen a bigger man, not one of older age anyways. He looked larger with his coat off. The length of it slimmed him down.
‘Do you take rum?’ he asked. He pulled the cork and offered it to me first. I gathered this is what he took as society.
‘I do not.’
‘For your tea. It will keep you warm.’
I accepted because these were the kindest words he had yet said. I tasted my new tea and did not regret it and he saw and nodded approval. He had dragged us two logs to sit on but I had no bed. I would sleep in my coat, I figured, or if that did not suit I could be a standee across the horses’ rope. You had to pay for that privilege at a hostler if you could not afford a bed.
The tea gone, I filled the boiler again to make the sofkee and mister Stands filled a pipe. This was the first time I had seen anyone smoke. In the woods we were sheltered from the wind and as the lid on the boiler flapped with the heat I decided I would know more about Henry Stands.
‘What is an Indiana ranger, sir?’
He rolled a little. ‘You do not know?’
‘It is something to do with the war?’
‘The war! Ha!’ He snorted and slugged his rum. ‘There is a reluctance to call it what it was now our politic men side with the
Similar Books
