No Man’s Land -- Chapter 4
by Timothy Fogg

With the hard work of digging the graves behind us, we had cleaned up and were now gathered in a somber group to say goodbye to people we had never even known. I had heard the women saying it was a shame they couldn't hold a proper wake. I understood their sentiments - back home a little settlement like mine would all come together to tell stories, pray, and like as not break out a bottle of moon. Then the stories would become rowdy, but much more funny. Of course, at this point the women would steer the men outside, and there would actually be two wakes, one somber and the other often as not hilarious.

The best homespun, the 'Sunday Go To Meetin' clothes would be worn, and if it was in the summer it would be one of the few times the children would be wearing shoes. Otherwise most of them went barefoot except when it snowed or they went to school. The people were poor, but some of the old time ideas of right and proper had stayed with them, even though many were generations from Europe.

Naturally the deceased would probably be dressed better than he ever was when alive. The chore of cleaning and dressing the body fell upon the wife and oldest children. Undertakers had taken over the onerous chore in the cities and towns, especially since the War Between the States, but these were country people and miles too poor for such truck.

Frankly, I was just as glad to have a burial just like we were doing now. Plant 'em and get it over with. It made sense to me.

The gathered people asked me to read the Lord's Prayer, and I was glad to do so. The Bible I read from had a family tree of two hundred years written inside the cover. I cradled the book with awe. The history it had been through was hard to grasp.

When the simple ceremony was over, everyone took a handful of soil and tossed it into the graves. Everyone except Adam Cross, who made a strange noise in his throat and then bolted in the direction of the horses. A minute later we heard the beat of hooves heading to the main trail.

"Stay here," I told the boy's father, "I know the area, and I'll bring him back."

Adam had planned on having a good head start. It had only taken him a second to throw all the tack into a big pile that he stirred up to make a big knot. I knew from past experience that my mount did not take to being ridden bareback, so I had to untangle the mess to retrieve my reins and saddle. By the time I hit the trail the dust had settled.

I didn't waste time following his trail. There was no question that he had ridden to seek vengeance. Instead of going down to the main trail, I pushed my mount cross-country on the straight leg of the triangle. It was a good idea, but a couple of rough spots made us slow down to a walk. By the time we hit the trail, the boy had passed but was visible a half a mile ahead.

Adam must have heard my hoof beats echoing from a rock face, for he turned in his saddle to look back, and that is what saved his life. For when his face turned to me, his pony seemed to buckle in slow motion and fly end over end. As the boy flew off I heard the thud of the bullet and then the report.

I thought Adam and his horse were both goners. I spurred my mount to full speed, and we galloped up to the site stopped in back of a large rock. Bullets chipped off pieces of rock as I did, and I doffed my hat to peek around the side and empty my Peacemaker at the puffs of smoke that signified the shooter's whereabouts. I didn't believe I had connected with him, but the rifle went silent.

The pony was in plain sight and obviously expired. Adam was partially obscured by the dead horse, and I could just see his legs. Visions of carrying his lifeless body back to his father were not appealing, but even as the dismal sight was blurring my mind, I saw his legs move, and he started to get up.

"Adam, stay down," I hollered. "I think the guy is still up there."

The boy was too wound up to play possum. He jumped up but immediately fell back clutching his leg. No shot was thrown at him, but I was still hesitant to run over there. There was no helping it, though, for the boy needed assistance. Taking advantage of what little cover there was I ran for him. Just as I reached my objective a shot rang out that threw sand on my foot, and I scooped up Adam and made a running dive into the questionable shelter of some rather small rocks.

The boy was rubbing his leg, but there was no blood, so I slit the pant leg in the seam and found a very bad bruise. At least the bone was not broken. There were a lot of cowboys hobbling around because of poorly set bones.

The direction of that shot made me think that the sniper had been changing his position to get around in back of me. Try as I might I could see no sign of the man's position. I took a good rest and held my revolver with both hands in case I did get a sighting. I was never that good at this, but I had seen men that could hit a fair sized target at hundreds of yards. In theory you just had to hold up the right amount of front sight and you could find the range. At this range I would be lucky to get close enough to scare him. I was skilled in the fast draw, not long range precision.

With a start I realized that I had left my mount out of my line of vision. And instead of ground hitching I had taken a turn of the reins around a bush. Even as the thought occurred to me dust appeared in back of that little hill and our unknown assailant rode off with the one good horse. I was on foot and had a crippled boy on my hands.

First I helped, or mostly dragged, Adam over to a small ravine where we would have better cover. Then I started a small fire, and slipping the cover off my canteen, I heated the whole thing. I hoped I wouldn't be sorry, for there was no water in the immediate vicinity. It didn't matter right now, for there is nothing better than hot water for bathing a wound such as Adam suffered.

After an hour of such treatment, the stiffness was letting up, but he still couldn't put his weight on it. I wrapped the leg tightly in a coat from his saddlebags, and we started back toward his home camp, with his arm over my shoulders, keeping the bad leg from touching the ground. After a hundred yards, I was quite sure I would never be able to walk upright again, but we persevered, and after a struggle we had made a good two hundred. Then it was time for a break.

"I'm sure sorry, Snake. You ought to just leave me. I'll be all right. My Pa should be along unless he's mad that I run off. Come to think of it, he probably is."

"Never mind that. He's your Pa, and he'll be after you. And we're in this boat together. Neither one of us has a horse, so we might as well stick together. "We'll make out okay."

We were just bracing ourselves for another marathon when the sound of approaching horses reached us. Talk about music to the ears. Leading the party was Adam's father. His look was of concern, not anger. He dismounted and embraced his son without saying a word.

"What did I tell you?" I asked Adam when the greeting was over. "He's your Pa."

Noah looked at me without asking what I meant. He seemed to understand.

We lifted Adam to the saddle and he let his leg dangle. His face would grimace in pain but he never made a sound. He was a tough kid, and a few years of experience would make him someone to reckon with.

Slowly we made our way back to Kirbyville. There were not enough horses to go around, so Noah and I walked on either side of Adam. Amos never made any mention of Adam's flight toward vengeance.

"You know, it looks like we're getting a rocky start in the West," said Noah, "But it's no worse that we ever have had it. Adam once had a brother and a sister, but they died of fever when they were less than three. And it seemed no matter how hard I worked I couldn't pull in a good crop. One year it would be drought, and the next year locusts. One time a herd of cattle stampeded through and trampled everything in its path. The ramrod said it was an accident, but I think some of the cowboys thought it was a joke. It was no joke to me to see all my effort going down the drain. Finally his mother died and we pulled up stakes. Did you notice how the men seem to live a lot longer that the women? I sometimes wonder about the injustice of that."

"I think they just plain wear out," I told him. "A man works hard but then he rests. A woman works about twenty hours a day, and if times are rough, which they usually are, she give most of her food to her children. No wonder they die younger."

" I see your point. A lot of farmers in my situation send for mail order brides, but it don't feel right to me, just replacing one woman with another. I decided to quit where I was at, and try something different. You know, I don't even care if I farm again. If I could do something else I would be just as happy. Probably happier."

"This is a land of opportunity, Amos. There's bound to be something."

"I hope so. I really do. I'd like to get the boy started off right. He's all I got now."

When we arrived back in camp, the women all made much of Adam's plight, and while he proclaimed that he didn't need any help, it was plain to see that it pleased him. He had been away from the presence of women for some time now, and the memories came flooding back as they patted him and "oohed" and ahed." I turned and saw his father smiling at the picture.

"Maybe I should find another wife after all," he said.

I had to throw in my two cents worth. "If you do, make it for the right reasons. Adam will be on his own before you know it, but you'll stay married for a long time. Of course, it's easy for me to give advice, seeing as how I've never been married."

"That'll change, one of these days, I reckon."

"Maybe. We'll see." Actually I had never even thought about it. The life of a gunfighter didn't seem to go hand in hand with marriage. The lure of the gunfighter's life was fading a bit now as I saw what the class was like. Who could say what the future held?

I had a whole lifetime to contemplate, but a problem to resolve first. I borrowed a horse and packed what little I had left.

"Where you heading," asked Amos.

"I'm going to get my horse back. And have it out with him."

"Want me to ride along?"

"Nope. Some things a man does better alone. This is one of them."

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