When Paths Cross

By B M White

J.D. had arrived in America at the onset of disputes that were threatening to divide the country. Like the faction fighters of his birth country, they each had their own view on how things should be done. He had gotten caught up in the ways of others business for a time, sailing the waters of a trade in which he did not want to participate and then fighting in a war he did not fully understand. Now he was finally roaming free, all that behind him. He headed west, away from the population, but the trouble he was warned of out here, Indians, weather, animals, didn't prove to be as much of a challenge. It was the army and the outlaws that he discovers are still after him. Running from trouble, he finds, only brings more.... When Paths Cross.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B M White
• Release date: Mar 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215853559

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When Paths Cross

Published by B. M. White at Smashwords

Copyright 2023 B. M. White

Smashwords Edition

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When Paths Cross

By

B.M. White

Waking up early had never been one of J.D.’s strong points. As a child in Ireland his mother would tell him he was working hard at being lazy. That he should be up doing work when the rooster crowed, not shuffling about in his socks. Her frustration would start with such a statement then end with a grunt as she went about tending her household. It seemed to J.D. that his mother felt obligated to reprimand him but it was always just observations, never the stern, definitive scolding that required him to change. He missed her terribly. The day came when his father’s frustration culminated and he told him to ‘move on,’ and ‘make your own way,’ along with many more colorful words. He had thought at first that living in the city would afford him the luxury of his lazy mornings. He did find work at night, where he could sleep in the mornings, but that too caused problems. When he was forced to leave Ireland, he lamented on the ship that he may never see his mother or father again. Most days now, he knew he would never see them again.

At eight that morning, the noise outside had become too loud for even him to sleep through. J.D. stretched out his six foot frame like a cat slowly and purposely unfolding, feeling out its surroundings. With an open hand he combed through his ash blond hair pushing the long strands off his forehead.

It was a cool fall morning and the sun was just rising, its’ rays of early light still too bright for J.D. Leaning his lanky frame against the front wall of the attic room, he rubbed his eyes and peered out the small wavy glassed window. He had found this abandoned frame house purely by accident --very literally by accident. In the cold Wyoming night he was running his mare hard from the teeth of a hungry wildcat. More focused on the location of the cat, he had let his mare, Bess, choose their path. He turned his head with barely a moment’s recognition of the house. Their intersection with it had thrown him from the saddle directly onto the porch. After rolling across the wooden floor, he slid to a stop at the front door. As Bess scrabbled to redirect herself away, her side slammed into the railing stretching it to its breaking point, the aging wood squealing under the pressure. With a swiftness that impressed even him, J.D. had pulled his revolver. The instant Bess was past his sightline, he saw the cat. Its eyes narrowed and focused on him. Two quick shots rang out loudly in his ears. A cloud of dusty earth swirled around the animal that was moving quickly towards him. Forced to blink away the gritty matter, he opened his eyes again to see the tail of the animal retreating just as fast as it had been approaching. Having missed both shots on the animal, it had spun away, obviously startled by the unexpected noise.

J.D. sat up on the porch and stretched his legs out in front of him. He looked at his gun and realized, ‘I am not a very good shot.’

Now he found himself trying to discern the source of latest interference of his trek across this new land. Taking the edge of his sleeve in hand, he rubbed a spot clean on the window to get a better view. He caught sight of six men, running their horses toward the house. The first three arrived at the house bringing their horses to such an abrupt stop that they very nearly were thrown off in the same manner as he had been the night before. Then at once, as though practiced quite a few times before, they headed for the front door. All were inside within a moment. The second three men made a more graceful stop, ducking behind rocks and brush in the front and to the side of the house.

As the impending shoot-out began, J.D. slowly set himself down on the bare attic floor. While the bullets flew down below him, J.D. listened and imagined seeing the scrambling of both groups of men as they attempted to get better positions. There was a moan of one, now two men hit. Outside. J.D. whispered to himself about the source of the moans. He pulled out his gun from its holster and checked the chamber to be sure it was fully loaded. He whispered again to himself, Just in case they want to come up here.

The firing stopped for a moment. J.D. felt a rush of apprehension causing him to listen even closer. A bang and the sound of shattered glass were followed by a moan of sudden pain. Inside or out? J.D. tried to discern. A gun dropped and he could hear the thump of a body hitting the wooden floor. A lone shot rang out followed by another thump. Outside. J.D. remarked definitely. He stood up and carefully looked out the window. Down below he could see a man lying face up on the ground. His face locked in the look of surprise and a small spot of blood growing on his shirt just over his heart.

From below, J.D. could hear strained voices. Not voices of concern, but those of anxious, greedy men. Carefully he slunk to the floor, pressing his ear against the rough wood slats.

Jesse, Jesse. Come on don’t die on us now! One voice said.

The other was slower, more assured. Jess, just tell us where it is. We can’t get you to no Doc’s this time. This time is it. He paused then added, Better us than another set like them.

J.D. could hear the one called Jesse start to mumble and drift a bit before distinguishable words came out. From the attic, J.D. missed many of his words, but managed to pull a few.

…….money’s behind…………saloon…………………….West Run.

The one called Jesse stopped there and J.D. could hear the other two men slowly walk out of the house. As he stood up, he could hear the sound of the men riding off taking all of the horses with them. A stab knotted his stomach as he turned to face the rear of the attic. ‘Bess?’ His mind called out her name. His mare had been stabled in the two horse shed at the back of the house. Stepping quickly over to the small rear window, he hastily rubbed a pane clean and peered out. The doors were still fastened shut and he couldn’t hear any sound of Bess. J.D. relaxed knowing that she had remained perfectly tranquil through it all. That’s my girl. He said with a grin.

His mind back to the current situation, J.D. re-holstered his gun and thought about the men downstairs. He could understand, although not approve of, the two that left not burying or even checking on the three they had been shooting at, but why would they leave their friend? J.D. had seen it before. It was last summer in Mississippi, men arguing over land. Neither side concerned who took care of the dead. More than a couple of saloon brawls ended with only the barkeep to tend to the mess. But this man was on their side, and by the sound of it, had most probably just left them with a pot of gold.

J.D. pulled on his boots and lifted the hatch door on the floor of the attic. First peering through the opening and listening for any movement. He then stepped a foot down, descending into the boxed area for the ladder. At the bottom, he stood in the cooking area. A fireplace across at the wall opposite him and to his left a counter with the tattered remains of a fabric curtain covering the storage below. With his gun, ready in hand, J.D. inched around the corner to view the main living area. A broken chair and a wooden box lay near the center of the open area. Except for those two items, the house had been stripped clean. Ahead of him, by the window to his right, lay the man J.D. surmised to be Jesse. He was face down with his right side slightly twisted backwards, his right arm, limp across his back. J.D. could see a bloody circle that had formed on his shirt. Amazingly, in the center of it was the handle of what appeared to be a fairly large knife. ‘Those bastards,’ J.D. remarked to himself, ’They left the knife in him.’ J.D. looked around the area, trying to view out the windows from where he stood, looking and listening for any movement. All appeared still, he turned back to view the room. The movement that came made his heart jump and his body freeze. He stared in disbelief as the arm of the man on the floor moved feeling around on his back till it met with the knife handle. With a jerk, the man’s arm flinched and a low moan exited his lungs. His body fell limp onto his stomach, arms and legs straight and slack like a rag doll. Inside, J.D. cringed with sympathetic pain as he watched. He continued to stare wondering if the man was still alive or if he had just seen his last movement and heard his last breath.

Realizing he would have to do something to confirm either way, J.D. stepped over to the man and knelt down next to him. Putting his hand on his back, J.D. felt for moment. Sensing he was breathing J.D. assessed the man’s injury. Taking a light inspection of the wound he determined it would be safer with the knife out of his back as soon as possible. Wanting to make the procedure as simple and neat as he could, J.D. grasped the handle with his right hand and pushed against the man’s back with his left. A swift pull up and it came out. Pleased at first with how easily it had released, J.D. was quickly returned to a light panic as he heard the man moan quietly and he could see his back sink as the air in his lungs was expelled. Thinking he had just died, J.D. quickly pressed his ear against the man’s back. The man gasped again. J.D. inhaled his own gasp of air as he settled back onto his heels. Soon the man’s breathing became heavy and J.D. realized it was because he was attempting to speak.

Nate? He questioned.

J.D. He replied introducing himself in a manner.

J.D. continued on to look the man over. He was about the same age as himself, perhaps an inch or two taller, with dark brown eyes and hair. By his features and olive toned skin J.D. guessed him to be a Mexican, but not quite. There was something different in him. Maybe he felt this because he couldn’t quite say what nationality he was. As he looked at him, J.D. felt almost as if he knew him. As if they were somehow related. He pulled back away just as the man began to speak again.

J.D.? Who the hell are you? The man’s speech was sloppy, but now more understandable.

J.D. dismissed the question and asked his own. You’re Jesse? He said only as confirmation.

Yeah.

I don’t make it as a Doc, but I did work with one once. J.D. westernized English came out as he spoke. I think I can patch you up for now. He got up from the floor and continued as he walked toward the back door of the house. Although he tried to remain as silent as possible with most people, in most situations, he could not control the urge to speak with this new man.

One thing I learned working with a Doc is to always be prepared. I got some medical things in my saddle bag. His mind told him he should not be doing this. He was getting involved. When he left the east coast three months ago, he was also leaving involvement. He was on the run and people like that don’t make friendships. Yet he continued all the while.

Aware that Jesse may not be the only survivor left, J.D. held his pistol ready as he stepped outside. The rear door opened out onto a small porch. The ground around it was hard and dry. The entire area appeared dry. The settlers of this place had obviously tried to make a home of it but the land was not giving.

To his left J.D. spotted the image of a man lying face up in a patch of boulders. Rounding the corner of the house, he saw another man. The man he could see from upstairs. His lifeless body seemed already to be getting sucked down into the earth. J.D. knew there were three and he panned the area. A shot of anxiety pulsed through him. His eyes quickly sharpened their gaze. Relief at seeing a third man on the ground in a clump of rocks and brush made him angry at himself. Relieved danger was indeed gone, yet knowing it was because yet another man was dead.

Once back in the house, J.D. knelt down next to Jesse and opened up a small leather bag. He looked over at the now unconscious man. His gun was on the floor behind him. Taking it, J.D. opened up the chamber. Three of the six bullets had not yet been fired. Unloading it, he replaced the gun to its holster. Then going around the man’s gun-belt he removed all the remaining bullets. J.D. stared once again at the man on the floor then began using the supplies he carried to bind the wound.

The blood, for now, had ceased to flow out and J.D. concluded that for the most part Jesse’s own body was taking care of the internals. Assuming he would be out for a while, and even though it seemed now his wound was not going to be that severe, chances were he wouldn’t be walking away. J.D. went back upstairs and retrieved his bedroll. Upon his return he found Jesse leaning up against the wall listing to the right with his head hanging down over one shoulder. Although impressed with his strength of movement, J.D. still felt no immediate threat and continued to collect his things. Taking his medical kit he walked out the rear door of the house.

Outside the sun’s rising rays patterned the ground as it shown across the shed and accompanying single tree. With the sky clear, the rays of light were warm and intense. It took the chill off the morning air and put J.D. into a confident feeling. For no particular reason, J.D. felt that the day was going to be good.

Near the back of the house lay an assembly of rocks forming a circle. Two poles held another post across and above it with a rope kept wound about it and a bucket attached to the end. Just in case there was a chance, J.D. tried the well. Untying the rope to let the bucket loose, J.D. let it fall down into the hole that the rocks were encircling. The bucket landed with a thud. Not even a hint of a splash. He entered the small building and greeted his mare, Bess. Taking one of his canteens he filled his hat for her to take a drink. Stroking her shoulder as she lapped up the water, he viewed the structure for an instrument suitable for burying the three men who had died in the battle. A small but sturdy looking spade leaned against one corner. J.D. tested it in the dirt floor and proceeded to the needed task.

The