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Hap & Cal
On the Trail of Stewart Clayton
Chapter Five: Heading Home
Scott A. Gese
Chapter Five
Heading Home
Hap and Cal were glad to be heading home. They felt a little disappointed not to have Stewart Clayton to bring back with them, but on the other hand, they were happy that circumstances had worked out favorably regarding the money they ended up with. Cal was relieved that Hap didn't get either of them shot, though he kept that to himself.
As they rode along, Cal began to think about what Hap had said regarding going on to Fort Scott.
“Say, Hap. Are you serious about trying to get hired in Fort Scott?”
“Yep, I'm tired of running all over the country chasing after people I don't even know and maybe getting myself shot in the process. I'd like to get a place of my own, but I figure I might have to add to what I've got, and I don't want to shoot someone else to get it.”
Cal could tell his friend was still not quite over the shooting of the young man who shared his name. He didn't bring it up and simply changed the subject. “So who's this rancher who owes you a favor, and why does he owe you?”
Hap smiled and chuckled to himself. He turned toward Cal, his steel blue eyes focused on him, but seeing back in time—back to the war years. After a few moments of careful thought, he began to speak. “Cal, let me tell you something you don't know about me.”
Cal was all ears as Hap started his story. “I don't know what that might be, but you go right ahead.”
Hap continued. “I wasn't always drawn to a career as a lawman or a bounty hunter. As a matter of fact, there was a time when I was much younger and maybe not so smart; I could have just as easily gone the other way. I could have headed down a whole different trail—maybe even been behind those same bars I’ve put other men behind.”
Cal cut in. “Hell, I don't believe that for a minute. You're pullin' my leg, aren't you?”
“God's truth, Cal. I was a little hellion when the war broke out. I joined up thinking I was going to be shootin' Rebs like it was a jackrabbit round-up on a Sunday afternoon. It was a sad mistake. The first skirmish I was in, I fired just one shot. I was shakin' so bad I couldn't even reload. I saw three men meet the Almighty that day, and it changed me right then and there. That evening, I went back to camp and laid plans to desert at the first opportunity. I planned to steal a few supplies from a company wagon during the night and make my escape. My plan would have worked too if it hadn't been for the fact that the Quartermaster Sergeant caught me red-handed. It could have gone real bad for me. My saving grace was that the Quartermaster Sergeant didn't have the stomach to turn my scrawny ass in. The man's name was Mac Shepard.”
“Nice story,” interjected Cal, “but I don't see where you owe him any favors.”
“I ain't finished, Cal. Listen up, and I'll tell you why I owe him a favor.” Hap went on with his story. “I swear I almost pissed my pants when I got caught. I thought for sure he was going to shoot me or turn me in and let someone else do the shootin'. Either way, I thought I was a dead man. I begged him to give me a break, and to my amazement, he agreed. It turns out he was in need of a teamster to drive one of the supply wagons. He sent me back to my tent with orders to report to him in the morning, which I did. God knows it was not an easy assignment. Mac sure wasn't letting me off the hook. He kept me from deserting or getting shot, and he taught me a lot about how to get hold of things when it seemed impossible. He was the most resourceful guy I ever met. If you needed something, he could have it for you in short order, no matter what it was. On more than one occasion, he had me take my wagon to a nearby town to pick up supplies that were hard to come by, even in good times. He had never been to that town, but when I got there, the supplies were waiting. My guess is that he had access to some sort of underground resources I wasn't privy to. Anyhow, he kept me from getting my head shot off; that's why I owe him.”
The two men rode on in silence for about half an hour when, out of the blue, Cal spoke up. “What sort of stuff?”
“Stuff? What stuff? What are you talking about?”
“You said Mac could get supplies that were hard to find. Like what?”
“You've got to be kidding me. I tell you a story I ain't never told anyone, and all you want to know is what stuff? I figured you'd want to know what it was like being in a battle under cannon fire, or seeing good men die right before my eyes, or maybe the hardships and heartaches we endured. No, all you want to know is what stuff I toted around in my wagon.”
“Yup, that's all I want to know,” replied Cal smugly.
Hap's disposition quickly changed. In a rather agitated tone, he answered his friend, “Cal, I ain't got a nickel's worth of desire to answer that question.” He put his horse into a trot and left Cal to ride by himself.
“Guess I hit a nerve. Sorry 'bout that,” Cal called out.
Hap was too far ahead to hear the apology.
The two men rode separately for several hours before Cal decided he was getting a bit lonely riding by himself. He figured it was high time he made amends with his partner. He spurred his horse and caught up with Hap. As he rode up beside him, Hap gave him a wry grin. “Was wondering how long you were going to eat my dust.”
“Long enough for you to get over your tizzy. Seems I timed it about right.”
“Yup, you did.”
“Sorry I'm such a human being. Never have been a deep thinker. I pretty much get by on instinct, and right about now my instincts are telling me I owe you an apology and I'm getting mighty hungry. Why don't we head for that patch of oak trees off to the left and rest a spell?”
Hap had no quarrel with that idea, so the two of them headed for the trees to take a break from the saddle. As luck would have it, the trees shaded a small area with several large boulders and a few smaller rocks. There was a small amount of water seeping from the ground and dripping from one of the boulders into a smaller rock that formed a shallow pool. It held enough water to fill their canteens and let the horses drink. Once the horses had their fill, they tethered them and sat leaning against the trunk of a big oak, gnawing on some hardtack and dried fruit.
“How do you suppose that water trough got there?” questioned Hap. “Doesn't look natural.”
“Had to be put there by human hands,” answered Cal. “Probably Indians at one time or another.”
“Glad they did it,” Hap thought aloud.
“Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?” asked Hap.
Cal took a long swig of cool water. “Not so much, why?”
“I figure we'll be looking for a place to make camp in a few hours. Why don't we just call it a short day and camp here for the night? It's about as nice a spot as we're likely to find.”
“I'm good with that,” replied Cal. “It took longer to find Stewart Clayton than I expected. I plan to take it easy from here on out.”
Later that evening, as the two men sat by the fire enjoying a cup of hot coffee, Cal reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of folded paper. He handed it to Hap, who unfolded it and read it aloud. “'Wanted: Dead or Alive. One Thousand Dollar Reward for the capture of Claude Vassar, better known as the Two Bit Bandit.'”
“Well, what do you think?” asked Cal a bit uneasily.
“I'm on my way to Fort Scott, and I'm not chasing after some Two Bit Bandit. What the hell kind of name is that, anyhow?” scoffed Hap.
“Well then that's perfect,” answered Cal excitedly. “Last I heard, he was operating in that very area.”
Hap considered it for a long minute. “Tell you what, I'm on my way to Fort Scott. You can tag along if you like. If we catch wind of this hombre, we'll go after him. If not, we part company at Fort Scott. Deal?”
“Deal,” declared Cal. “You can plan on adding to that ranch money you got before we get to Fort Scott.”
“We'll see about that now, won't we?” Hap gulped down the end of his coffee and silently stared into the fire. Cal wasn't sure if he was thinking about a ranch or the Two Bit Bandit, but he noted that there was a smile on his face.
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