Edge: The Loner

There were murmurs of agreement from the others, which to Jamie sounded even less sincere than the words of the sergeant. He felt numb with shock, wanted the men to turn and ride away so that he could go into the house and give vent to his emotions in private.

“Hey, Frank. Let’s get on with it.” The words had an impatient ring to them, as did further murmurings of agreement with the comment.

“We didn’t only come here to give you the news, boy,” the sergeant said. “Hardly like to bring up another matter, but you’re almost a man now. Probably are a man in everything except years—living out here alone in the wilderness like you do. It’s money, boy.”

For the first time since he had seen the riders as a cloud of dust on the horizon, Jamie experienced real fear. It gripped him like an icy hand, freezing the sweat of the day to his body. There was a Starr rifle and a pair of Colts in the house, with any number of knives. But a boy did not go armed to meet his only brother. Jamie’s hands shook as much from frustration as fear.

“Money,” he said and the word emerged as a hoarse whisper.

The sergeant nodded, spat again and looked his gaze on the boy’s. “Yeah. Joe died in debt, you see. He didn’t play much poker, but when he did there was no stopping him.”

Liar, Jamie wanted to scream at them. Filthy rotten liar.

“Night before he died,” the sergeant continued. “Joe owed me five hundred dollars. Right boys?” He looked behind and was rewarded with a great nodding of heads. “Right. He wanted to play me double or nothing. I didn’t want to, but your brother was certainly a stubborn cuss when he wanted to be.”

Joe never gambled. Ma and Pa taught us both good.

“So we played a hand and Joe was unlucky. Three aces don’t beat a flush, not in poker nor any game I know.” His gaze continued to be locked on Jamie’s, while he discolored teeth were shown in another parody of a smile. “I wasn’t worried none about the debt, boy. See Joe told me he’s been sending money home to you regular like. And you know what your brother’s dying words were, boy?”

Jamie did not mean to shake his head, but he did so, felt compelled by the insistent stare of the sergeant.

“He said to me, go and see my kid brother out in Iowa and he’ll give you the money, Frank. That’s my name. Frank. Frank Forrest. So if you’d just get me the money, boy. A thousand is what Joe died owing me and I’m sure he won’t rest easy in his grave until the debt is cleared.”

Jamie felt stunned, rendered speechless by the soft tones of Sergeant Frank Forrest. But he was finally able to drag his eyes from the other’s face, and he saw the inert form of Patch, a swarm of flies already covering the congealed blood of the dead animal. His anger exploded as a red mist before his eyes and the words poured in a torrent as he limped awkwardly over to his dog.

“There ain’t no money in this place and you’re a lying son-of-a-bitch. Joe never gambled. Every cent he earned went straight into the bank so we could do things with this place. Big things. I don’t even believe Joe’s dead. Get off our land.”

He knelt down beside Patch, turning his face away from the men so they could not see the tears of sadness and anger on his cheeks as he swiped a hand at the flies.

“Hey, Frank,” the rider named Seward called. “You ain’t going to let a kid talk to you like that, are you?”

Another of the men, a stripped corporal with a lighter patch on his sleeve where the chevrons had been, dismounted and looked at Jamie with a steely glint in his eyes as he licked his dry lips.

“Specially a lame kid with only one good leg, Frank,” he urged. “Kid like that shouldn’t talk back to a man.”

“Which leg’s the lame one,” Forrest asked flatly.

“His right one.”

“Stand up, boy,” Forrest demanded, raising his voice a mere shade. “And then turn to face me.”

Jamie wiped the back of his sleeve across his face and he rose and turned around. Defiance was a sheen in his eyes and a firmness in his mouth line. The expression did not alter when he saw Forrest draw an Army issue .44 Colt from its holster, to hang it loosely by his side.

He spat into the dust. “I’ve tried to do this nice and peaceful, boy. A thousand would have been enough. Where do you keep the money?”

“It’s in the bank. I don’t think Joe’s dead.”

“Joe’s dead and he didn’t trust banks. Once more. Where is it?”

Jamie shook his head.

“Walk over here, boy.”