Part 22 (1/2)

Laramie rapped loudly on the ranch house door and was admitted by the owner himself. The young man felt awkward and self-conscious as he stepped inside.

”Russell,” the boss welcomed him and stepped aside for him to enter. ”Foreman says he's pleased with yer work. Know how to git the task donea”without gripin' none. Been meanin' to have a chat.”

Laramie removed his dust-covered hat.

”Jest came to thank ya for the opportunity of ridin' fer ya,” he began. ”I've appreciated ita”but I have to be movin' on.”

The older man looked puzzled.

”Somethin' happen?” he asked.

”Reckon it did,” replied Laramie in his easy drawl. ”Onlya”not here. Happened a long time ago.”

The man waited.

”Ya see, sir,” went on Laramie, fingering the hat in his hands, ”I been ridin' under false colors. IaI'm wanted by the law.”

The man shrugged careless shoulders. ”Soa”” he said. ”I don't ask no questions.”

”No. No,” agreed Laramie. ”An' I appreciate it.”

”Look,” said the big man and took Laramie's arm to draw him farther into the room and toward a chair. ”Likely ain't a cowpoke on the place thet ain't had a little run-in here or there. Thet doesn't mean the law's gonna catch up.”

Laramie reluctantly took the seat, still twisting his Stetson in his hands.

”Ya heard somethin'? Somebody on yer tail?” the big man went on.

”No. Not thet I know of.”

”Therea”ya see,” said the rancher, looking relieved. ”Likely no need to panic.”

”Oh, I'm not panicky,” said Laramie. ”I jest want it cleared up. You seea”I've been going to the little churcha”straightened out my life. Nowa”if I read my Bible righta”I've got to do what I can to set the past straight. Soa”I've got to go back.”

The big man looked shocked. ”Ya mean yer walkin' right back into the hangman's noose?” he asked incredulously.

Laramie smiled and reached a hand up to the hat brim that wasn't there. He scratched his head instead, feeling the scar that began on his forehead and stretched into the hairline.

”Wellanow I don't know,” he admitted. ”I've no idea what my future holds. If I've got the hangman's noose to faceathen I guessa””

”Don't do it, boy,” the rancher said with great feeling. ”It's a foolhardy thing. You'll never git a fair trial an' ya know it. It's good enough thet ya quit whatever it was ya was doin'. Thet's good enough.” He put a hand up in some alarm. ”Didn't kill a sheriffa”or a marshal, did ya?”

”No,” replied Laramie simply.

The rancher looked relieved. ”Therea”ya see,” he said, ”likely n.o.body will even bother lookin' fer ya.”

”You don't understand,” said Laramie, and he stood to his feet. ”The One who was looking fer mea”the One thet really mattersa”He's already found me. An' He says yer sins will find ya out. He says, ya own up to 'ema”make rest.i.tution, they call ita”if it's possible. I plan to do that. An' I reckon what happensa”well, thet's up to Him.”

The rancher reached up to push back his thinning hair. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, shaking his head.

He took a pace away from Laramie, then turned back to face him. ”I think yer makin' a big mistake, boy,” he said bluntly, then went on carefully. ”Buta”iffen ya ever want to ride fer me agina”well you jest come on by.”

”Thank you,” said Laramie and he stretched out his hand.

”See the foreman. He'll settle yer wage.” The two shook hands.

”I'll do thet, sir,” replied Laramie. ”I plan to leave before sunup.”

All during the long ride back over the country that Laramie had covered with Ariana, he thought and rethought his situation. How could he get into camp without being seen by the sentry from the ledge? Would he be gunned down before he even made it through the chasm in the rock walls? How would his father respond when he came with his apology? If it was accepted, would he expect Laramie to become part of the gang again? No, he couldn't do that. Not even if it meant his death.

Should he go to the law first? No, he might spend the rest of his days in prison. First he had to talk with his father. Had to ask his forgiveness. Had to tell him about the truths he had learned from his mother's Biblea”if indeed it had been his mother's. His father needed to hear.

In the end it was White Eagle whom Laramie first contacted. The young brave seemed excited to see him.

”Thought you die,” he said, thrusting out his hand to shake Laramie's, white-man fas.h.i.+on.

Laramie smiled. ”Thought you would have moved,” he responded. ”It's been a long time.”

”Move village many times. Back again,” said White Eagle.

”What happened after we left?” Laramie had to know.

White Eagle laughed. ”Like ants,” he said. ”Thena”long walk. Mad.” He laughed again, remembering.

”Your father's black, good horse,” he said seriously. ”Carry squaw.”

Laramie spun around. ”Whose squaw? Yours?” he asked.

White Eagle beamed his pleasure. Laramie could tell that his friend was now a family man.

”Naw,” he said, slapping the young p.a.w.nee on the shoulder. ”Ya don't say? Any papoose?”

”Soon,” said White Eagle. His eyes shone.

Laramie nodded, acknowledging the man's good fortune.

”How's everything?” Laramie asked, changing the tone of the conversation.

”Bad year,” said White Eagle seriously. ”Much sick. Little food. Bad year.”

”I'm sorry to hear that,” replied Laramie. ”Anything I can do to help?”

”p.a.w.nee do not need help,” he said simply.

Laramie nodded.

”Still the same chief?”

”Father, Half Moon, die. New chief. Brother, Broken Tooth. Maybe trouble,” said White Eagle.

Laramie let his gaze drift out over the valley that lay beneath them. Miles of timbered hills stretched all the way to vast prairies. But the scene included small farmsteadsa”ranchesa”even a couple of tiny towns. Many more campfires than the Indians' lifted smoke to the sky. What would be happening in the years to come? Could the white settlers and the Indian tribes live in peace?