Cry of the Hawk

The hired men laughed as the ground warmed around them, steam lifting from the moist, rich earth.

“He was out west fighting Injuns for the army—just to get out of prison,” Artus tried to explain.

“I been set free from a hellhole of a Yankee prison—Rock Island. Only joined the army to get out and fight Injuns.”

“There it is!” Hosking roared. “The truth comes from his own damned mouth.”

“Never did once raise my gun at a white man in a Confederate uniform,” Jonah said.

Hosking decided to amble a bit closer, his tall boots splashing across the muddy yard. “Way I figure it—that uniform of yours makes you a turncoat, Hook—folks took you in their hearts when you and your’n come to this valley. So why don’t you be a good boy and get on out of here before we have to fill your Yankee-loving carcass full of buckshot and leave it set for my hogs to grit on?”

“Lot of men died in that prison, Mr. Hosking. I didn’t want to be one of ’em.”

“Good men, I’ll bet they were—’cause they stuck it out. Now, kindest thing I can do for you and your loyal cousin there is to tell you to scat. It’s for him I didn’t open up on you first sight I got of that goddamned uniform.”

“It ain’t fair—what you’re doing,” Hook snarled, taking a step forward before Moser snagged his arm.

“Keep your gun down, Jonah!”

The rifles held by the hired men came up level, then Hosking waved his hand.

“Hold on a minute,” he ordered the pair. “I don’t want no blood on this ground. Been enough already. Lost my oldest boy at Pea Ridge, not far from here.”

“I was there, Mr. Hosking.”

The old man took another step closer, appraising Hook. “You was at Pea Ridge too?”

“I rode on from there with Sterling Price and didn’t give up till I was took prisoner at Corinth in Mississip.”

Hosking appeared to struggle within himself. He spat a stream of brown into the icy-scum puddle at his feet. “Lost both my boys in that war—killed by men wearing the same uniform you got on. I don’t much take to Yankee blue on a man. Nothing’s changed. Like I said, you and Moser best run on now.”

“I can’t go, Mr. Hosking.”

He wagged his head. “I’m telling you—get off my place, bastard traitor!”

“I ain’t no traitor!”

Moser stopped Hook as his cousin lunged for the older, bulkier man. Jerking Jonah around, holding tight to his wool coat, murmuring low to Hook about how foolish it would be with two other guns and them all Yankee-hating and shut-eared anyway. Hook kept twisting, making Moser dance as Jonah kept his eyes on Hosking.

“Let’s just go, Jonah. There’s others’ll help us.”

“I doubt that, Artus,” declared the old man. “You go dragging along that traitor in that Yankee suit with you—I don’t figure a soul in these parts is going to help you none.”

Hook relaxed, his heart still like thunder in his ears. Artus stayed close, but eventually freed his grip on Jonah’s coat.

“Just tell me,” he rasped, weary, afraid, angry. “Tell me what happened to my family.”

Hosking wagged his head. He glanced at the other two, who likewise shrugged. “Don’t know. From the talk going round, it’s been some time since anyone seen life out to your place. Don’t have an idea where your family went.”

“They didn’t go nowhere.” Hook balled his fists again, so filled with despair he would hit anyone just to feel the crunch of his knuckles against their cheek and jaw and nose. “They was took.”

Hosking regarded him a moment, stepping closer as he brought his rifle up. “How you so sure they was took, boy?”

Jonah watched the wariness of the man, moving his hands from the holster where rested the .44-caliber army pistol he had been allowed to keep with him when the army bade him farewell back at Leavenworth, Kansas.

“I’m sure. Just know from the looks of the place.”

“It will give a man the willies just going there, Mr. Hosking,” said one of the hired men with a jerky nod of his shaggy head.

“It will, eh?” Hosking replied.

“Things left there my Gritta would’a took, had she been of a mind to leave on her own. Up to the loft, the children left things belonged to them. Special things a child don’t leave behind if they’re moving out for good.”

“And down at the springhouse,” Moser said as he jumped in, “we found milk and butter gone sour and dried in the churns—left like someone was never intending to leave such victuals behind.”

Hosking licked his lips, his eyes flicking the hillsides on either side of them.

“I did hear of ’em coming through here some time back.”

“Who?” Jonah asked, taking a step forward that caused the old man to snap the rifle up.

“Keep your ground, traitor!”

“I—ain’t—no—traitor,” he growled each word as menacingly as he could. “Tell me who come through here?”

“They was like a army,” the hired hand volunteered.

“Shuddup!” Hosking shouted at his man, his eyes flicking into the hills again.

The old man’s furtive look now meant something to Hook. He recognized it for what it was. “You’re afraid they’ll come back—whoever it was. Ain’t you, Hosking?”

“We got no way of knowing, Hook. Now—for your own sake and your cousin’s hide—just turn around and get!”