Part 23 (2/2)
”Thet scar ya gota”” said Sam with a careless wave of his jackknife.
Laramie waited.
”Thet came in an Indian raid. Reason yer pa hated the redskins so.”
Unconsciously Laramie's hand reached to the scar. One finger traced it back into the depth of his hair.
”We'd been out on a raid,” Sam went on, finally seeming to warm to his subject. ”Came upon this wagon train. Jest been ambushed. They'd done a good job of it too. Everybody deada”all over the place. Mena”womenfolka”kidsa”all dead. Scalps gonea”faces slashed. It was an awful sight. Near made a grown man sick to his stomach.
”They'd set the wagons afirea”but the rain stopped some of 'em from burning outright. Well, we didn't much like what we saw. Some of the fellas was pokin' through stuffa”seein' iffen there was anythin' worth takin', an' then I heard thisa”little mew sound. Thought it was a wounded animal of some kind. I looked in this here wagona”an' there ya wasa”yer head split open by a tomahawka”yer clothes soaked in blooda”but still alive.
”Well, I didn't know what to do. I called to yer pa and he come an' took a look. Then hea””
Sam stopped and seemed to choke on the next words.
”Anyway, he picked ya outta there. I asked iffen he'd lost his senses, but he said we couldn't jest leave ya there to die. He told the fellas to see what they could finda”fer yer care, an' Rowdy found thet trunk. It had some things fer a young'un an' we figured thet it'd helpa”so yer pa ordered it brought. Near killed the pack horse gettin' it back to camp. We shoulda jest took the things ya'd need, but we didn't have time to sort through it there on the spot.
”Wella”he brought ya home and patched ya up the best he coulda”an' ya made it.”
Laramie's head was spinning. He could not take in all that the man was saying.
”I told yer pa you'd never make an outlaw,” Sam went on as though in argument. ”Ya jesta”never had the stomach fer ita”ya could see thet from when ya was a kid. I meana”” Sam waved the jackknife in the air. ”Ya was always patching up hurt things and cleanin' things an'a”ya jest weren't made fer it. But he said he'd make ya what he wanted ya to be. Thet ya'd never survive elsewise. Someone would up and shoot ya in the back, or somethin'. He saysa””
”How old was I?” cut in Laramie.
Sam looked startled, then annoyed. ”How should I know? I don't know nothin' 'bout kids. Around two, I s'pose. What differencea”?”
Then Sam stopped and stared at the young man before him. ”Ya don't remember nothin'a”?” he began, straightening up in his chair.
”Nothin',” replied Laramie, a frown creasing his brow.
”Wella”I ain't surprised. Ya was hurt real bad. Ya didn't even start to talk fer a good piece after it. We wondered fer a time iffen ya'd ever git any sense. Shocka”yer pa said. When ya came outta ita”ya seemed bright enough.”
”An' the trunka”?” insisted Laramie, leaning forward.
”Outta the same wagon.”
Laramie managed to lift himself to his feet. ”Is it still here?” he asked hoa.r.s.ely.
”In thet cabina”where the girl was.”
Laramie nodded and left the room in a daze. Inwardly he was being torn in two with separate ident.i.ties. What could he believe? Was Sam right? Was he really not the son of an outlaw? Had his mother really been the sweet-looking woman in the picture? Was he the little boy?
He pushed his way into the cabin, memories of Ariana bending over her open Bible flooding through his mind. He made his way to the trunk and slowly lifted back the lid. The things were still all there. The garments that Ariana had worn, carefully folded on the top. He lifted the gown and stared long and hard. His mother's dress. She had been real. She had loved him.
Laramie buried his face in the soft garment, and for the first time since his babyhood he allowed himself the expression of tears.
When his inner storm had pa.s.sed, Laramie lifted himself from beside the trunk. It was over. He had emptied his soul of all bitterness, anxiety, and conflict. He was satisfied that he was who the book said he was. Burke Lawrence, son of Lavina and Turner Lawrence. He might never know more than that about his heritagea”but at least he knew to whom he had belonged. It was something preciousa”a treasure to carry with him for the rest of his days.
He rose, folded the gown carefully, and placed it back in the trunk.
”Thank you, Mother,” he whispered. ”For yeralove. Yer prayers. I'm gonna be all right.”
He closed the lid, gently, firmly, and left the room without looking back. He would call at his pa'sa”noa”at his foster father's grave one more time. The man had saved him from certain death. He had raised him in the best way he knew how. He owed him respecta”and one final goodbye.
”Will Russell's gang, ya say?”
The crusty sheriff leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet up on the wooden desk.
Laramie nodded silently.
”Don't recall seeing ya when the bank got robbed,” said the sheriff.
”I wasn't there,” replied Laramie.
”Where was ya?”
”I had lefta”some time earlier.”
The sheriff frowned. ”Why?” he asked simply.
Laramie stirred. This was going to be harder than he had imagined. ”There was a girl,” he began. ”She was kidnapped from Smithton. She was a prisoner in our camp. I took hera”to her kin.”
The sheriff's head lifted. He looked long and hard at Laramie, as though searching for his own answers, or looking for flaws. ”What changed yer mind?”
Laramie frowned. ”I never changed my minda”really,” he replied. ”I hadn't been in on the kidnapping.”
”Who was?”
”Mya”the boss. Will Russell.”
”What changed his mind?”
The man sure had a lot of questions. Laramie squirmed. Why didn't he just get on with it? Get a confession, or whatever it took, and lock him up.
The sheriff was still waiting for his reply.
”Wellahe didn't change his mindareally. IaI took her without him knowin',” Laramie confessed.
”This girla”?” The sheriff's eyes narrowed and he lowered his feet. ”Yaaharm herain any way?”
”No, sir,” Laramie was quick to reply. ”I jest took her to her uncle's farma”in Montana.”
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