A Kindred Spirit
Part One

By AKeays

A comforting fire brought warmth, light, and a hot supper, to the two tired men.

Breaking up ice in the creek for the range cattle, had left the fellas wondering if taking on this job for the winter had been such a good idea.

But once done with their work day, tucked up cozy and well-fed, the fifty dollars a month they were earning, each, to tend to the Bar over Diamond Ranch’s cattle, made it all worthwhile.

Heyes, sitting back against the pillows on his bunk, stockinged feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles, looked up from his book and glanced over at his partner.

“Aren’t you bored, laying there doing nothing?”

Kid Curry, startled awake from his doze, sent Hannibal Heyes a frown.

“Bored? I’m warm, I’m well-fed, I have a nice, comfy bunk inside a sturdy, well-stocked cabin. Ain’t no need ta be bored. Besides, we worked hard today, and I’m tired.”

“Yeah.” Heyes closed his book. “It probably is time to call it a night.” He looked at the solid door of their abode as a strong gust of wind battered into it. “Good thing we got done before this blizzard hit. We may be spending all day tomorrow unburying some cattle.”

Curry groaned. “What did ya hav’ta bring that up for?” He brightened and beamed a smile. “Maybe this blizzard will still be blowin’ in the mornin’, and we’ll be cooped up in here for the duration. Now that’s an easy fifty bucks a month if I ever heard of one.”

“Naw,” Heyes burst the bubble. “We’d still have to dig ourselves out to feed the horses. Can’t leave them to starve to death.”

Big sigh from the other bunk. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“And besides,” Heyes set his book on the floor, “we’d both go stir-crazy being stuck in here for a week, let alone the whole winter, and you know it.”

“Hmm, yeah.” Curry pushed himself up and reached for the coffee pot. “Ya wanna another cup? It’s still hot.”

“No, I’m good.”

Curry poured himself a cup and settled back.

“We did kinda luck out with this job,” he said. “We got this nice cabin, miles away from civilization, all the grub we need, and we’re makin’ money instead a spendin’ it. Not a bad deal.”

“Yup.” Heyes stretched then put his hands behind his head. Leaning back, he smiled with contentment. “Don’t have to worry about any lawmen or bounty hunters sneaking up on us, either. I’d say it’s a pretty good bet the only living things we’ll see are of the four-legged variety.”

A pounding on the door caused both men to tense and look toward the barricade.

“Do ya think it was just the wind?” Curry asked.

Another set of uniformed thumps on the wood belied that query.

Both men were instantly on their feet.

Curry snatched his well-oiled Colt Peacemaker from his holster hanging off the headboard, while Heyes padded across the room. His holster was hanging off a peg beside the door, and he slipped the Schofield out as he passed by it.

He stepped to the hinge side of the door more out of habit than anything else. Chances of a bullet making it through the solid structure, even at this close range, were unlikely.

“Who’s out there?” Heyes called loud enough to be heard over the wind. “What’s your business?”

“Name’s Matt Jenkins,” came the muffled reply. “I’m a marshal out of Sheridan County. One of my deputies fell into the creek. We didn’t realize the ice had been broken up. He and his horse are in a bad way. We gotta get ‘em into shelter or they’re gonna freeze to death.”

Heyes sent an incredulous look to Curry, who simply rolled his eyes.

“What do ya think?” Heyes whispered.

“It could be a trap,” Curry said. “How do we know one of ‘em fell into the creek?”

“Yeah, but how do we know he didn’t?” Heyes reasoned. “We did break up the ice out there. It would be a death sentence if we turn them away.”

“But it could be a death sentence for us if we let ‘em in.” Curry pointed out.

Heyes sighed, his brain racing to come up with a solution.

Another set of muffled thumps on the door brought him back to the immediate problem.

“C’mon!” the marshal insisted. “It’s a death sentence to leave us out here.”

Curry groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Yeah, let ‘em in. Even if that fella didn’t fall in the creek, we can’t leave ‘em out there in this storm.”

Heyes pursed his lips, then nodded.

“Okay!” he agreed through the door, “we’ll let you in. But, just in case you aren’t lawmen . . .” Curry snorted. “. . . we’re gonna ask you to surrender your firearms as soon as you cross the threshold.”

There was a moment of silence as the visitors likely conversed.

Then, “Okay. But only if you set your guns aside, too.”

Heyes again looked at Curry for his opinion.

Curry shrugged and nodded.

“Fine,” Heyes agreed. He nipped across to the peg and slipped the Schofield back into its holster, knowing full well that the Kid would not surrender his Colt just yet.

Heyes returned to the door and lifted the two x four out of its cradles and set it aside. Flipping the latch, he opened the door.

Two shapes stood on the porch.

Wind and snow bellowed into the room, as Heyes squinted through the weather to try and make out who was there. In the gathering darkness and swirling snow, it could have been two bears standing on their hind legs, their heavy winter coats covered in a thick blanket of white.

Heyes shoved that foolish impression aside, knowing that bears would be in hibernation this time of year.

“How many are you?” he called out over the wind.

“Four!” the voice fought its way out through the layers of the first bear.

Heyes stood back and opened the door further. “Hurry up, before we lose the heat.”

The first snow covered shape shuffled through. He stepped aside to allow room for three more shapes to also came inside. One of the bulky forms was being supported by the other two, and Heyes surmised that this was the man who had fallen into the river.

Heyes closed the door and secured it, then, after a glance at the Kid, he turned to the group gathered at the door.

“Here, let me help you get these coats off,” he offered.

He grabbed the collar of the coat nearest to him and helped the man shrug out of it. He hung that coat on the peg by the door, then returned to help the others.

“These things are heavy,” he commented as he helped one of the other men out of it.

Snow dumped to the floor, followed by melting ice dripping into puddles.

“Yeah, but they kept us warm. Kind of,” one of the deputies answered, as he turned to his barely conscious companion. “We gotta get Bob out of his wet clothes though. Warm coats ain’t doing anything for him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Heyes agreed. “Here, give me your coats, and I’ll hang them up there to dry. Set your firearms on the table.”

Matt looked at the Kid and the gun pointing at them.

“You, too. That was the deal.”

“I’ve already put mine away,” Heyes told him. “He’ll do the same once you fellas are settled.”

The marshal squinted at Heyes. “Do we have a stand-off here?”

Heyes flashed a smile. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

The marshal’s brow twitched as he scrutinized the man standing before him.

Heyes silently cursed himself. Had his dimple given him away yet again? Was it the situation, or sudden recognition, that caused the lawman to hesitate?

“C’mon, Matt,” one of the deputies supporting his friend, complained. “Just do it, will ya? Bob ain’t movin’ no more.”

The marshal’s attention was diverted back to the matter at hand.

“Yeah, yeah, Clint. You’re right. Let’s get Bob settled. We can deal with semantics later.”

“What about the horses?” Clint asked, who, by his own admittance, cared more for animals than he did people. “I noticed the end of a rope tied to the post on the porch. Does that lead to a shelter?”

“Yeah,” Heyes said, as he stepped up to help with the freezing man. “The one furthest from the door leads to the outhouse, the first one goes to the barn. There’s plenty of room in it for your horses. Lots of hay in the loft, too. There are blankets in the chest here, and burlap sacks in the barn. If you dry off that horse who fell in the creek, then tie one of those blankets on him, hopefully he’ll survive the night.”

Clint nodded, recognizing a kindred spirit. “Thanks, mister.”

The deputy opened the chest and grabbed a blanket, then turned back to the door to face the elements one more time.

“There’s only four bunks here,” Heyes informed them. “But there’s a couple of rolled up mattresses in the store room and, like I said, plenty of blankets.”

The marshal nodded as he and his third deputy settled Bob onto Heyes’s bunk.

Heyes was about to protest, but then realized that the freezing man should have the bunk closest to the hearth. The fire did a good job of warming up the cabin, so it wasn’t like he would be uncomfortable on the bunk that was set on the other side of the Kid.

 

***

 

“I’ll get some coffee goin’ for you fellas,” the Kid said. “I bet you could do with a cup. We even got some whiskey in the pantry ta take the chill off.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” the marshal said, as he pulled his deputy’s boots off. “If we can get Bob here to wake up, he could probably do with some of that whiskey, too.”

“Sure.”

The Kid put a fresh pot of coffee onto the grill to perk, then disappeared into the pantry to retrieve the whiskey. Picking up the rifle that was leaning against a sack of flower, he did a quick check to ensure it was loaded. Then he set it up on the highest shelf where it was out of sight to casual eyes.

He grabbed one of the whiskey bottles and returned to the group. Heyes sent him a look, and he responded with the most subtle of nods.

Heyes then ladled out three more servings of stew from the big, cast-iron pot hanging from its hook over the fire.

“Here you are, fellas. I’m sure you must be hungry after all that.”

The deputy sitting at the table snatched a bowl along with some bread that had also migrated over.

“It’s about time. Damn, I hate bein’ cold.”

The marshal accepted his bowl and bread. “He means ‘thank you, kindly’, Don’t ya, George.”

“Humph,” was all he got out of George as the disgruntled man continued to eat.

The door opened again, bringing with it more cold, swirling snow.

The walking bear quickly closed it, and he shrugged out of his thick coat.

“The horses are settled in,” he announced. “Even Casper is lookin’ content. He’s actually eating some hay, so he can’t be feelin’ too poorly. Oh, stew!”

He hung up his coat, pulled off his boots and settled in at the table.

Heyes slid a bowl and some bread to him. “Here you go, Deputy. We’ve got coffee perking, and there’ll be whiskey to help it down with.”

Clint’s eyes lit up. “Wow. A real banquet. Thank ya’ kindly.”

The marshal sent a pointed look to George, but that man ignored him.

After the three men had eaten their fill, coffee and whiskey made the rounds.

“I hope everyone got enough to eat,” Heyes said, as he laced up his beverage.

“Oh yeah,” Clint leaned back and rubbed his skinny belly. “That was good.”

George didn’t say anything.

“That was plenty,” the marshal said. “Besides, we don’t want to eat up all your stores. We could be stuck here for a while.”

“Naw, there’s plenty,” Heyes assured him. “Besides, my friend here is a pretty good shot and we’ve seen a lot of game around here.”

The marshal’s eyes flicked to the Kid. “Oh yeah? Good shot are ya?”

“I’m fair,” the Kid answered. “I’m sure you fellas could do just as well.”

“Uh huh.” The marshal turned his attention back to Heyes. “We might as well get acquainted,” he said. “Like I told ya, I’m Matt Jenkins. These here are my deputies: George Bradford there, the animal lover is Clint Wylie, and the one who went into the creek is Bob Wilkins.”

“Good to meet you,” Heyes lied. “I’m Joshua . . . Harden, and my friend here is Thaddeus Jones.”

“Howdy,” the Kid nodded to the group while wondering why Heyes had changed his alias.

“What are you fellas doing up here?” Heyes asked. “We figured we’d be all on our lonesome until spring.”

“It’s a long story,” the marshal said as he poured whiskey into his coffee. “We have a base camp a few miles from here, but when this blizzard came on, we started to head back. The visibility was so bad, we lost our track and were coming across the creek without even knowing we were on ice. Until Bob there fell in. It sure was a relief to see the lights of this cabin. We’d a been in real trouble, otherwise.”

“Yeah,” George grumbled as he cast a squinted look at the partners, “As long as this ain’t the cabin we been lookin’ for.”

“You were actually looking for this cabin?” Heyes asked, and he sensed the Kid tensing beside him.

The marshal sent his deputy an irritated look, then shook his head. “There’s some cattle rustlers who have been active in these hills. In the good weather, they move around a lot, always changing their base camp. But they hunker down for the winter. We know they’re around this area, and must have a cabin stocked to see them through.”

“Okay. And you think it’s us?”

“Well, cattle rustling isn’t really your game, is it?”

Heyes frowned. “What does that mean, Marshal?”

“Just that I know what a rustler’s cabin is likely to have on hand. Looking around here, I don’t see anything that would indicate that kind of work.” He flashed a smile at his other deputy. “And Clint here did a thorough search of the barn while he was tending to the horses. He didn’t find anything out there, either. Did you, Clint?”

“Nope,” Clint grinned. “Just the usual stuff for a line cabin. No runnin’ irons or nothin’.”

“That’s good to hear,” Heyes looked the marshal in the eye. “I wouldn’t want you thinking you’d stumbled across a nest of outlaws.”

Marshal Jenkins simply smiled.

TBC