John didn't see anything, didn't hear anything, so it was a surprise to feel himself lifted off his feet, and falling in a wide somersault into the brush far below. He didn't feel so good, but who would, after that short but spectacular flight? He started to get up, but quickly changed his mind.
"You know I never miss, Frank. Did you ever know me to miss, particularly at that distance and with that clear of a shot?" The voice came from the hill above John.
"No, I never did, Paul. You are deadly at that distance."
"So then, tell me, Frank, where is he? I don't see no body, nor any sign that a body is anywhere around here."
Frank was slow to respond. "Well, Paul, if I was to suggest that maybe one time - once in a million times! - you did miss, you would be mad as hell at me." Frank stopped, and regarded his partner, who was looking a little red in the face. "But, as we just said, you never miss, so there must be some other explanation."
"Well, I don't like it. I don't like feeling that I've left a job unfinished."
They spent a few minutes walking the length of the clearing, looking for any sign that a body had walked away, slid away, or been carried away. There was nothing to be found. Time passed.
"Paul, this is what I'm thinking. If he's dead, it's going to be awhile before anybody finds him. On the other hand, if by some miracle he's alive, he may already be making his way to get some help. It might not be too long before we're dodging a posse, and maybe some blood hounds. Maybe we ought to get out of here, pretty quickly?"
"Yeah, you're right." Paul looked around them one more time. "I hate to leave it like this, but you're right. We need to get as far away as possible, as quick as possible."
They turned to go. "What about his wagon, Paul? It's right out there in the open for anybody to see."
Paul thought. "Well, if he's already gone for help, moving or hiding the wagon isn't going to change anything. If he's dead, it's not going to help searchers any more than it's helping us. He unhitched the horses, and got them in under the trees. They'll be all right. Let's just get the hell out of here."
As they started down the hill, Paul had one more thought. "Nobody knows it's us what shot him, even if he's alive. There's quite a few others up here who would have been proud to pull the trigger. If we just go about our business, and act as natural as possible, we should be all right."
Once he was pretty sure his ambushers were gone, John decided he better make his way out of this brush pile, and go get help. The problem was that he couldn't seem to get loose. He was either too stuck, or just too weak for some reason. Also, his eyes were closing. He didn't think that was a good thing.
"It would be nice to discuss this predicament with Sarah. She'd have some good ideas."
His eyes closed.
***
"Scoot over, John. I need a little more room, unless you want me to sit on your lap." She gently shoved against him, and he moved just enough to let her sit on the rock with him. She thought it would have been nice if he'd picked a smooth granite slab to rest on, rather than this scratchy sandstone outcrop. Well, we took what we got, didn't we?
John's eyes had been closed, and if he hadn't been actually asleep, he was pretty close. "Sarah, where did you come from? Can't I ever escape from you?"
"Of course not. You're my best friend. Why would I want to leave you alone? Why would you want me to leave you alone?"
"Sometimes a man just needs to get off by himself, and meditate - ponder life's problems. I need to be alone to think."
"Not true. You think much better when we think together. Besides, you weren't thinking. You were sleeping."
"Perhaps I dozed off for a moment but, believe me, this was a thinking session."
She considered that for a moment. "If you were thinking, I think you were thinking about a girl."
"Sarah, that's too many 'thinks' in one sentence. Go away, and let me manage my 'thinks' better."
"You were thinking about a girl! Was it a pretty girl? Well, of course, you wouldn't be thinking about a girl if she wasn't pretty. Besides, I know which one you're thinking about."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"Well, besides being your lifelong best friend, who knows everything about you, how do you imagine you can keep anything secret in a town that consists of about 30 buildings and maybe 300 or 400 people? It's not possible. Well, you're right, she is pretty, that's for sure. Do you think I'm pretty, John?"
He looked a little stunned. "Now, what kind of a question is that?"
"Well, what's wrong with it?"
They were sitting too close on the narrow ledge to be able to turn and look at one another. "Sarah, you're my best friend."
"You may have noticed along the way that your best friend is a girl, and girls like to know if people think they're pretty."
"Yeah, but that's the kind of thing a man thinks about with a girl who... Well, a girl he feels different about than he feels about a best friend."
Sarah stood up, and walked around in front of him. "John McCoy, sometimes you are a real hayseed, and don't seem to have a brain in your head, but I know you know that people who are best friends with other people can also be different than just best friends. I mean, you know that I am a girl and you are a boy, don't you? Don't you think it's possible to...?"
"Sarah... I don't know what you want me to say."
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
"Well, sure."
"What do you mean by that?"
She was confusing him. "Well, you're nice to look at."
She stamped her foot. It was silly, but... "I'm leaving John. I've taken up too much of your thinking time. I really only came to deliver a message from you Pa, anyway. He said if I happened to stumble over you somewhere along the way, to send you home. He needs your help with something." She turned, and started to walk away.
John didn't know whether to laugh or be worried. As she disappeared into the vegetation, he couldn't help thinking that his best friend had become very nice to look at.
***
He must have dozed off. Funny to have a dream about Sarah. It had been years since they had talked. Why now?
He was sensing that his condition was far worse than he had thought. His chest was aching, and his shirt felt sticky and wet. Also, he was smelling something that had become much too familiar in The War: blood. He had been shot! He felt his eyes closing again.
Sarah had been right; he had been thinking about a girl.
His eyelids won the battle and closed, and he was gone, again.
***
John loitered until he saw her come out of the mercantile, and start toward home. Then, he rushed into the feed store, and picked up the sack of corn his Pa had sent him after. He hoisted it on his shoulder, then managed to casually leave the store just as she was passing by.
"Hello, Miss Margaret." Everybody called her Maggie, but "Margaret" seemed more special.
Margaret stopped, and turned her head so she could look up under the grain sack. She didn't really need to; it was just for effect. "John McCoy, is that you under that big sack? I hardly recognize you."
"Yes, it is me, just doing a chore on my way home. Speaking of walking home, may I walk beside you to your own house?"
"That would be nice, but won't that sack get pretty heavy?"
"No, I'll be fine." They walked a ways without speaking. Finally, John began. "Miss Margaret, I really enjoy being with you. It makes me feel special, and I wonder..."
Margaret stopped, and turned to look at him. "Johnny, whatever you're going to say, I think it can be said better if you put down your sack, so I can see your face." He did. "Now, what were you wondering?"
It was a little harder to say without the partial protection of his bag of corn. "Considering how I'm feeling about you, I wonder if it would be all right with you if I officially start courting you?"
She looked a little flustered. "Why, Johnny, it's lovely for you to think of me that way, but we hardly know each other."
"Isn't that what the courting process is for?"
She paused. "I suppose. But, Johnny, I'm a little confused. You're always with that Brewster girl? Aren't you and she...?"
"Sarah? She's been my best friend most of our lives, but that isn't what I'm feeling with you. Sarah knows our feelings are different."
"I wonder. Men don't know a lot about what women really think. If I was her, and knew you were talking to another girl about courting, I think I would be very jealous."
"I'm sure it wouldn't be that way. We're best friends, but not..."
"I don't know, Johnny. Having a best friend girl friend at the same time as having a not-best friend girl friend sounds pretty complicated. It also seems like you're wanting two scoops of ice cream on your one piece of apple pie."
John was disappointed and discouraged. "Let's think about it some more, Johnny, but I think some things would have to change for me to be comfortable."
***
John managed to open his eyes, but it was hard work. He was now fully aware that his situation was much worse than he had first thought. He had to get moving, or he wouldn't ever get moving again!
He knew more or less where he was. This was his home country, and he'd been all over it. There were a few problems, however. One, his short flight through the air had somewhat confused his sense of direction. He thought he knew where he wanted to go, but if he was off just a little bit... Well, best not think about that.
Somewhat good news is that there were a lot of people living here in the hill country. However, the homesteads were scattered far and wide, and there could be a lot of space between them. Missing one of them could really be as good as a mile! The other bad news could turn out to be even worse. Some of the people who lived in these hills were here because they were draft dodgers, the very people John was pursuing, and the very people that had put him in the position he was now in. How ironic would it be to end up crawling up to the door of the men who had shot him, and letting them finish the job!
Well, no sense worrying about too many things. His first need was to get to some water, and he wasn't sure he could even make his body move.
With great effort, he did manage to pull himself out of the brush pile. He found two long sticks to serve as canes, and tried to walk. He couldn't. He didn't have the strength. He was afraid if he sat down, he wouldn't be able to get up, again, so he just leaned on his canes, and rested a few moments. Finally, he was able to start walking - ever so slowly and painfully, but he was walking.
He must have moved forward, on and off, for close to an hour, when he found what he thought he would eventually find: a trickle of a stream that still had water flowing. He collapsed beside it, and used his hand to scoop a little into his mouth, and a little more on his head. He was sure it had to make him feel better, but the improvement wasn't too evident. He sipped a little more water, and dumped a little more on his head.
He hadn't taken the time to look around, at first. When he did, he had a potentially good surprise: there was a barbed wire fence crossing the creek just ahead of him. Fences were fairly uncommon in the area, and usually meant there was a house nearby. If he could get to it... He couldn't, not right now. Maybe if he rested for awhile...
It would be dark soon, and he didn't like to be so exposed. He wasn't really worried about coyotes, or anything - at least, he didn't think he was - but he thought he would feel a little easier with some type of cover. He managed to crawl under some nearby bushes. He didn't think he should go to sleep, but he wasn't sure he had any choice. His eyelids were feeling awfully heavy.
"I wish I knew exactly where I am," he thought, aloud. "What I need is a map." His eyes closed.
***
"What are you doing there, Abe?"
Ten-year old Abraham moved aside, so his brother could see.
"You're making a map! Dang, you're making a map of Williamsburg. That's good, Abe!"
Abe was pleased, but surprised. "How did you know it was this town?"
"Well, you got it all there. That's the loop in the river, where it almost meets itself, again. There's town - my, it looks like you have the exact number of buildings."
"I do. I went down there and counted them, and made sure I knew which was where."
"Well, it's a masterful job."
Abe nodded, but made a face. "I wish we had a hill or a bluff right outside of town, so I could get up high, and look down. Then, I could really get it right." He paused, thinking of something. "Ma says you weren't born here."
John was surprised at that comment, or question. "That's true. I was born at Yellow Springs, where Ma and Pa were living before they moved here. Pa was in charge of the canal, but he wanted to farm, so they came here. Then Pa got elected Justice of the Peace, so we're real town people, now.
"Why does my being born at Yellow Springs matter?"
"It doesn't really. I was just thinking what Ma told me, that there's a high hill near there, where you can see all this country, just like you were a bird flying over it."
"Sure, that's what they call Table Rock. From the top, you can see all this country, just as clear as a bell. Of course, you're farther away, so you're not looking right down on town, but you can see it all, real well."
"I'd like to see it."
"Sure, you and I could go up there, sometime. It's not very far. Say, you should put that map on a bigger piece of paper, so everybody could really see it plain."
"I'd sure like that, but I don't know where I'd find any paper, like that. This was just a scrap that somebody had already written on. I'm just using the back side."
"That's true. There isn't a lot of paper around these parts. Well, I'll keep my eyes open. Say, I see you got a new school teacher. What's she like?"
"She seems all right." Abe stopped, and gave a little smirk. "She asked about you."
"About me?"
"Yeah, and she got kind of a dreamy look in her eyes. She asked if you were married, or had a girl friend or anything."
"She did not!"
Abe laughed. "No, I guess I remember that wrong."
"So, what did she really say?"
"Oh, I think she asked if I had any brothers or sisters - something like that."
"Abraham McCoy!"
***
John felt, and heard, breathing close to his face. Well, he was pretty sure it wasn't Abe's teacher. He hoped it wasn't a coyote. He opened his eyes. A large red hound looked back at him.
"What you got there, Duke?" he heard at that same moment. Then, "Sweet Jesus, are you all right, man?"
"Got shot," John mumbled.
The man bent down so John could see him. "Shot? Sweet Jesus!" he said, again. "I don't see much blood."
"I think it was a pretty clean shot, and the shirt soaked up what little bleeding there was. My arm and shoulder are really stiff, and hurt to blue blazes."
"Sweet Jesus! Well, let's get you out of there. Can you walk?"
"Not much. Not far."
"Well, hold on. I'll go get my wagon. Let's go, Duke."
"Do you have any food?" John asked, as the man turned to go.
He patted pockets. "Apple," he said, holding it out to John.
"Thanks."
***
It took the man close to a half-hour to bring the wagon. With what help John could offer, they managed to wrestle him up onto the wagon bed, and then the man coerced the horse to go as slowly and gently as possible to the farm house. It wasn't far, and the man's wife was waiting at the door. They gradually moved John into the house, and onto a bed. The wife addressed her attention to his soiled clothes. The man just stared down at him for a few moments.
"Maudie, I think we got us a real problem here."
"He's certainly in bad shape," she agreed, without looking up.
"No, I mean more than that. I know who this is, and I know why he got shot. He's the government man, and he was up here looking for men who are evading their army responsibilities."
He looked at John for confirmation. John nodded.
"See, Maudie, if anybody finds out we got him here, somebody is going to try to finish the job. If people find out that we're helping him, our neighbors are not going to look on us too kindly. We got to get him out of here, and quick."
Maude was indignant. "Clement Brown, we can't move him until he's rested. He could die."
"He could, but he could die from that other cause I mentioned. No, for both his sake and ours, I got to get him out of here, tonight.
"Where do you live, sir?"
"Williamsburg," John managed to say.
"God Almighty! You can't live in Williamsburg. That's a couple hours away, across the valley." He looked at John questioningly.
"Sorry," John croaked. "Born in Williamsburg, but live in Janesville."
"Thank God! We can get there in an hour. If we leave here about 2 o'clock, after most everybody has been abed for a few hours, I can get him down, and maybe get back here early enough that folks won't be asking questions about where I went in the middle of the night."
Maude was clearly upset with the plan, but she had to agree it seemed the best solution. She cleaned John's wound as much as she dared, then they let him sleep for a few hours. Around 2 o'clock, they got him back in the wagon, covered him with several quilts, and Clement started them on their way.
"Sorry about this, man, but we're just getting through a big war. We can't risk a little war here at home."
"War," John muttered, as his illness and the swaying of the wagon sent him off to sleep, again.
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