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Five Years later
Harry and Adam, now thirteen years old and a head taller than his mother, sat by a campfire in a small forest of mesquite and cottonwoods a few miles north of Copperhead. They had ridden most of that day. It was supposed to be a hunting trip, but Harry wasn’t sure about spotting any game. It was more of an excuse to get Adam out in the wilderness and give Nel a chance to have some alone time. They had settled down in a shallow cup of land. Harry waited until it was getting dark before he started the fire. There was no need to broadcast their whereabouts to the predators, both humans and otherwise, roaming the desert.
“We’ll see something tomorrow, up in the hills,” Harry said.
“Yeah,” Adam was making himself comfortable, sitting cross-legged and watching the flames slowly grow.
Harry fed the fire slowly. The wood was bone dry, it hadn’t rained in a month, and it burned hot. The night settled around them, the stones and sand cooled. They had laid out their blankets and were eating a can of beans and jerky. Harry had been taking Adam on hunting trips since he was ten. The boy was a good shot, but he didn’t like killing anything.
Harry understood. Copperhead was growing, a major stop along the rail line. Most people didn’t hunt to eat. Refrigerator cars brought slabs of beef from as far away as Texas. Harry had heard they shipped the cows to Chicago and there the beef went all over the country, all over the world. The world was changing and Harry enjoyed the new goods and services in his hometown, but he was nostalgic for the old days at the same time.
He was still young, but Adam made him feel old, as did what he had already seen in his short time. But Copperhead was safer than it had ever been. The days of the outlaw gangs seemed to be fading or, like everything else, adapting to these new times.
“Mama was going to daddy’s grave when we left?” Adam asked.
Several years earlier, Harry had gone to reclaim Franklin’s body from where the cow farmer had buried it on his property after Desmond and his boys had left Franklin’s body to rot. After digging four holes, he found the body and brought it back to Copperhead, where he gave Franklin a proper burial and headstone. Nel had been very grateful and regularly visited the grave, setting wildflowers by the headstone. In all this time, Harry had never said a word about Adam’s real father. Nel had hinted that she wanted Adam to know, but she wasn’t sure how to tell him. She felt guilty for having lied to him for so long.
“Did you know my daddy?” Adam asked.
“I did,” Harry said.
“What was he like?”
“That is a complicated question,” Harry said diplomatically.
“Was he a good man? Mama said he had a good heart, was unlucky, and lived in fear of his own pa, my grandad.”
Adam didn’t often broach the subject of his father or grandfather. He had memories of them, mostly blackened with fear. He knew how Franklin had died, but Harry wasn’t sure he knew everything about his real father.
“Did you know my grandad?” Adam asked, a tinge of pain showing in his words.
“I did, briefly,” Harry said.
“He was evil,” Adam said, casting his eyes on the fire, the flames reflected in his almost-black irises.
“I don’t know about that,” Harry replied.
“You killed him!” Adam blurted out.
“I did,” Harry replied calmly. “He was fixing to kill your ma. I was protecting her.”
“Just like my dad died protecting her,” he said.
“Franklin was unlucky,” Harry explained. “He was a kind soul born to a wicked father. Desmond Ouray was the kind of man who’d pick a fight just to fight; he didn’t need a reason. He robbed stagecoaches because he could, not because he needed to. A man like that is angry all the time, angry at the world, and he isn’t satisfied unless he’s sowing chaos. I don’t know if that makes him evil, but it makes him dangerous.”
Harry continued, “It must’ve been hard on Franklin. Because he wasn’t anything like his daddy, but a man wants to please his father. A man wants his father to recognize him and approve of him. It’s only natural. So, Franklin was trying to be a good man while gaining the respect of a bad man at the same time. He was walking a knife’s edge, Adam. One false step… well, Desmond had tried to force Franklin to kill an innocent person to prove himself. Franklin couldn’t do it, and that must have decided for him. He decided to take your Ma and you and run to safety, but he also wanted to get back at his father. He knew he couldn’t fight him, so he took something precious to him.”
“The journals,” Adam replied.
“Yes,” Harry said. “But I think Desmond would have chased him down and killed him all the same, regardless of you or the journals or your mother. Franklin died a hero in my book. I wish I could have known him.”
“But,” Adam said, furrowing his brow. “You said you did know him.”
Harry had to stop short. Adam would make a good sheriff one day, if that was what he chose to do.
“Actually,” Harry replied slowly. “I said I knew your father.”
“I don’t understand,” Adam said, but there was something in his face that told Harry the young man might have already guessed at the truth.
“Adam,” Harry stuck a stick in the fire. “I’ve got to tell you something, and I want you to know that your mother kept this from you for your own safety, but you’re old enough now to know the truth. Franklin Ouray was not your father.”
Adam looked at him across the fire.
“What?” he asked.
He wasn’t outraged or visibly upset; that wasn’t like Adam. He was quiet, controlled, and always thinking. It made Harry worry about him even more than if he were a hothead.
“Desmond Ouray was your father,” Harry said.
Adam said nothing but sat back like the information was a physical blow.
“It’s not pretty, but you know your mother’s past was no fairy tale,” Harry said. “Franklin and your mother got married, but Desmond ran the gang; he had the power. He forced himself on your mother, and she didn’t have the heart to tell Franklin. Franklin died believing you were his son, and I know he loved you, but your father is Desmond Ouray, Adam. You know enough by now to know that doesn’t reflect on you. You’re a good young man, and you’re going to grow up to be a great man. Who your daddy was doesn’t come into it.”
Harry finished his speech. Hoping it was enough, worried that it wasn’t. They sat in silence for some time. Then Adam, as he sometimes did, changed the subject as if he hadn’t just received news that could shake the foundations of his world.
“What about your dad?” Adam asked.
“What about him?” Harry replied.
“He was a good man, and you’re a good man,” Adam explained.
“Yes,” Harry said. “But that’s because he raised me. He could have been some man with no blood relation to me, but he was the one to teach me right from wrong. That makes all the difference.”
Adam was quiet again for a few minutes. The wind howled through the upper branches of the trees above them but never bothered them in their hollow. A pack of coyotes took up a chorus in the distance, sounding like a thousand screaming banshees. If there are ghosts in this world, Harry thought, they walk the desert at night, crowding near the small campfires of weary travelers. He could see his own father, his mouth twisted in a smile that meant mischief or solidarity. Franklin must be out there, watching Adam and loving him as much as ever. Yes, and Desmond Ouray stalked the hills and valleys, still searching for satisfaction, something to fill the endless void of his heart. Blind Eddie crept along, shying away from everything, afraid that the souls of those he killed would catch up to him. His mother, shining in the silvery moonlight, protecting the children along the trails and on the farms and homesteads.
Harry could see them all out there. He’d be out there someday as well, but not yet; there was still more to do. He had to see Adam to adulthood; they hadn’t told anyone yet, but Nel was expecting another child. Adam would be a big brother, a role that would suit him well. Suddenly, Harry was pulled from his reverie by Adam’s voice.
“I have no blood relation to you,” Adam said finally.
Harry had to think back to what they were talking about. Blood relation doesn’t matter as much as how you were raised.
“No,” Harry admitted. “You think that matters?”
“No,” Adam said. “No, I don’t think it does.”
“Well,” Harry replied. “There you go.”
Adam looked thoughtful, a common expression for the young man. Harry knew that he was making a decision. Adam would think long and hard, but when he decided, it was final, as final as a judge delivering a sentence. And just like a judge, Adam liked to explain his reasoning behind his decision.
“It is, I guess, a question of blood versus family. You say that Desmond Ouray is my pa, and I don’t have any reason to doubt you. In fact, there have been little things that Mama has said or other things I’ve noticed that make this fact more plausible.”
Adam had graduated from dime novels to scholarly works on a wide range of subjects. The difficulty was in getting books all the way out to Copperhead, so they often went to bigger cities to find his reading material.
“It isn’t really a matter of fact. I’ve noticed that sometimes it is more important how you think about things than the things themselves.”
“You’ve lost me there,” Harry admitted.
Adam continued as if Harry hadn’t said anything, because he was mainly explaining everything to himself.
“If we say that blood is all-important, then we are saying we have no free will,” Adam added. “It does us no good to think we have no free will. Right?”
“Yes?” Harry replied.
“So, it makes more sense for us to focus on family instead of blood. Your family shapes you,” Adam concluded. “And family doesn’t have to be blood relations. It’s whoever is close to you. Mama, you, Uncle Opie, you are all family, even if I’m only related to one of you. There might be something in the blood, but there might not. It might not make any difference. My pa… I mean, Franklin, was of the same blood as Desmond, but they were nothing alike. You and I are not of the same blood, but you feel like my pa.”
Harry almost burst with pride.
“I’ll be whatever you need me to be, Adam,” he said. “You just ask, and I’ll do whatever I can… Except I ain’t goin’ to arrest Jeb O’Connor because he fancies Rebecca Strong. That’s an abuse of my powers, though I think she’s a fool if she likes him better than you.”
Adam chuckled.
“You’re right,” Adam said finally. “It matters who raises you. I figure Franklin Ouray was my pa for a bit, and now you’re my pa, if that’s okay with you.”
“‘Course, Adam,” Harry said.
“So now will you arrest Jeb?” Adam’s smile could have been a mirror of Harry’s father’s.
“I’ll think about it,” Harry replied, shaking his head.
“So.” Adam leaned forward, throwing a twig on the fire. “Tell me about your daddy.”
“My daddy?” Henry said. “He was the greatest man I ever knew.”
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Guns and Justice in the West", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed my new western adventure story as well as my extended epilogue! Let me know what you think below.
This western tale stands out when compared to others of the same genre. it is not a perfect book and could use additional editing and spell check. The minor needs for editing and spell check and thesaurus are actually a selling point for the book. They let you realize before the end of the first chapter that the book it was not written by AI. The plot, subplots, and interactions are week thought out and developed. The author did a great job. I stayed up all night to read it. Highly Recommend!
Thank you for your comment! I appreciate your honest opinion, and I’m glad you enjoyed the book despite the errors.
One of the better books by this author. The characters have such deep thoughts, and explains what they are considering. Had to stay up to finish it . Thanks for all your books, enjoy them all !
Thank you! I’m very glad you enjoyed it! Thank you for letting me know, and take good care!