Hedge of Thorns: Shifts
Every coon in the county wandered past my blind complaining about its overnight furry family reunion. I surrender and get up. My striking camp noises wake Bobby, and he’s still the same grouch.
I set off first, and don’t learn his decision until I hear his harmonica behind me. There’ll be no game within a half mile.
I look back. He’s riding one mule, and ponying another as a pack animal. Normal enough. An infected man would be trying to carry one of the mules. By noon, we’re climbing the deer trail. Our passage is going to leave evidence I won’t be able to hide.
“I’d hoped to bag some game. I guess I’ll go out tomorrow,” Bobby says as I open the gate. He stops dead. “Who’s the guy in the kitchen?” He unstraps the pack saddle.
“Sam Humbolt, a dam engineer from Carmel. The klutz fell down the hill behind the cabin, and messed up his knee. Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Come inside.” I holster my pistol, and walk toward the front door, but not before I hear him mutter “burnt biscuits.”
“Mercy?”
“I’m back, Tumble. With my brother Bobby.”
He steps through the door and the two men size each other up, then Bobby extends a hand. “Bob Turpin.”
Tumble shifts the cane on his right to hold both in his left hand. “Sam Humbolt.”
“Glad to meet you. Jill told me about you.”
“Your messages are on their way to Carmel, Tumble. How’s the knee?”
“Better.”
“Oh yeah? Show me.” Bobby always did challenge claims.
Tumble crosses the yard. He seems fairly agile.
Bobby asks, “The route you were hiking, was it busy? How many people passed you going the opposite way?”
Tumble shrugs. “I never saw anyone else, but on the second day in I heard a couple of guys. Figured I’d be safer if I kept my mouth shut.”
“I’ll brew you some tea.”
Tumble has all my drawings spread across the kitchen table. On top of a study of hawthorn flowers, lie five thorns. I hold them to the lamp chimney, and spots of light glow on my palm. He’s succeeded, and I can draw again. The temptation to start now is great.
I move the thorns to my art supply chest, and gather the drawings into a neat stack. After that, I brew willow bark tea for Tumble, and real caffeinated tea for Bobby and me.
The men come in.
“Tomorrow,” Bobby says, “he and I’ll set off for Portland. I’ve got a contact who can take him down the coast.”
“Your drawings, Mercy?”
“You may take them.”
He slides them into the cylinder. “Visit Carmel someday?”
“Maybe.”
Hedge of Thorns:Shifts is an episode of a serialized short story that posts on Fridays.
Find other serialized stories here.
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