(cont’d from here)
“You could have told me what you were going to do,” said Rack.
“I did. I told you to stand still.”
“Very funny.”
“I knew what I was doing! I’ve been shooting since before you were born! Well, not you, Rak, but you!” He glared at Dan.
“And what’s with the magic?”
“If I have the power, I might as well use it. Besides, a lot of it is Chinese fireworks.”
“You’re going to draw attention to yourself.”
“As if we don’t already, with our choice of partners.”
“Now we do. In the old days, that wasn’t true.”
“In your old days. In my old days, it was a scandal. Or would have been if we got caught.”
“Which is why we don’t get caught, do we?”
Saj shrugged, stuck his hands in his pockets again.
“Be careful.”
“Why? Nobody’s out to get us.”
“Yes there is,” said Dan.
“What?”
“Hubris.”
Rack laughed. “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said, and put an arm around Dan’s shoulder. “We have to get home.” They started walking away.
“Say,” called Saj, “Can I interest you in doing that trick again tomorrow night?”
6.
The next morning, Dan was awakened by a kiss. “I have to go into town,” said Rack. “I’m taking the wagon.”
“Ahum,” Dan murmured, and turned over.
Rack kissed Dan again on the top of his head and left.
When Dan finally got out of bed, it was full morning, and the sunlight was streaming into the windows of the house. He got up, stretched, and yawned. Rack hadn’t come back yet. This was unusual.
He went downstairs, calling for him, but there was no answer. He went out among the animals, but he wasn’t there, either. He was heading back to the house when a man on a horse came riding up the lane. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he did seem to have purpose. “Are you Jordan Blumgold?”
Dan looked around, “Uh, yes.”
“Letter for you.” He handed it to him. Dan could tell by the script before he saw the address. The horseman waited.
“Thank you,” Dan said, looking down at the letter.
The man snorted and pulled the horse away from Dan, then trotted back to the road. Dan went into the house and used a knife to tear open the letter.
When Rack arrived home, Dan was sitting on the bench outside of the house. Rack saw the sad look on Dan’s face.
He jumped down from the wagon, pulling the horse toward the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
“My parents.” He thrust out a piece of paper.
“Is something wrong?” Rack walked up the steps and took the paper, reading it.
“They want me to go to Boston and leave here. They said the Mendelsons are really angry.”
Rack read through the letter, his eyes squinting. “Who’s Harold?”
“My sister’s husband.”
Rack laughed, “They actually will send him here to get you if you don’t go back?” Rack handed the letter back. “Over my dead body.”
Dan looked relieved.
“You should know me better than that,” Rack said. “Come help me with the horses.”
Dan followed Rack into the barn, and as they took the horse off the wagon, Dan started talking. “Harold gets what he wants, Rack.”
“So do I, if it’s as important as you are.”
“Don’t kill him.”
Rack said quietly, “I only kill if it’s a last resort.”
He sighed. “All right. I’ll get the cows.”
As they sat watching the sunset, Rack tousled Dan’s hair and whispered a “Everything will be all right.”
7.
The next morning, just after cock’s crow, Dan saw another man come up the lane. Dan was outside letting the cows out, and Rack went out to meet him. Dan finished what he was doing and joined Rack.
It was Saj. Rack was holding some tickets in his hand while talking to Saj. He waved to Dan. “Hello, sorry we parted on such bad terms. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Not do that again,” Dan said.
Saj laughed, “Don’t worry. Nobody wants to touch that trick with a ten-foot pole.” He looked at Rack, “And I’m sorry for making you the town laughing-stock.”
“It won’t last long. I’ll get my reputation back in a few months. Widow Moore is failing fast.”
“Pasture?”
“Alfalfa, better house than this. East of me, right across the road.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” He went in his pocket and took out a square piece of metal about the size of a dollar with etchings on them. “For luck.”
Rack nodded, taking the metal. “Happy travels, Sagittarius.”
“Happy living, Cancer. Good luck, the two of you.” He nodded to them both, then left them.
Dan inclined his head toward the tickets. “What are those for?”
“For next time they come through.” Rack went back to the barn. “I gave them a donation of some hay.”
“Even after that bastard almost killed you?”
“They’re a family,” Rack said, putting his arm around Dan’s shoulders. “Like we’re a family.”
8.
Dan never sent a letter back to his parents, as if daring them to send Harold. Christmas came, and Rack put up a tree. Dan didn’t bother with a menorah, but liked the gentile Christmas better, with the tree and presents and their legends of Santa Claus.
Winter gave way to spring. Widow Moore had, in fact, died over the winter and by some stroke of luck or the way the will was written, her son got her land. Her son was in Texas, doing fine ranching down there, so Rack made him an offer. The son took it, and Rack added 105 acres to his sprawling farm of 400 or so acres. He was connected to Soldier’s Creek and extended his northern border to be along the indians.
One day in April, they went to the town to get some supplies. Dan got bigger and sprouted a beard. Rack gave him an old beat-up jacket with patches that was still a bit big on him. Dan didn’t fit in any of his clothes from New York anymore.
He went to the general store with Rack. The owner of the store was one of the few people who didn’t treat Rack like he was less than human, and he was fighting off the constant attempts of the bankers to put him out of business. He sold to anyone – black, white, indian – the same prices, the same things. Most of the upper class did not even come near to the general store, preferring to go to Wichita for their items.
Rack was busy packing some things into the wagon while Dan went into the store, looking around at the candy. He wanted to get something sweet for Rack, and didn’t want Rack to know.
Dan picked out some rock candy and pocketed it after giving the owner a couple of pennies for it. The owner smiled, knowing who they were for. “Oh, by the way, someone came here looking for you the other week.”
“For me?”
The owner nodded. “Described you, except now you have a beard, and you don’t have those funny Jewish hats.”
“Did the person who asked about me have one of those funny Jewish hats?”
“Yes, why, yes, he did. Long hair, too. Was surprised he wasn’t run out of town.”
Dan went white. “The other week? How long ago?”
“Oh, I reckon…Mrs. Parker paid her bill that day, so…” He glanced at the calendar. “Yes, two weeks this Friday.” The owner said quietly, “Someone you owe money to?”
Dan blinked, “No. No, I mean, yes – mean – I owe him something.” Dan leaned forward. “I was never here.”
“Well, I didn’t tell him you were, but I heard that Brock told him.”
Dan’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, no.” He ran out to find Rack, and his worst fears were realized.
Three men on horses were pointing rifles at Rack, who had his hands up. A fourth man in a suit stood watching Rack, then his eyes – then his head – moved up to see Dan. “Jordan,” said the man, his eyes hooded. “Get over here.” He dismounted.
The three men kept their guns on Rack while the man in the suit and the round Jewish hat stood next to his horse. “I said come here.”
Dan looked at Rack. Rack shook his head a little. Dan stood defiantly and said, “No.”
The fourth man waved his hand and all the men fired. Rack yelled and fell to the ground. With a cry of anguish, Dan ran to Rack’s side. Rack was bleeding from wounds in his belly. He glared up at the two men with a look of pure rage and fury crossing his face.
Clouds came rolling, quick, thick and black, with thunder rolling in the distance. Dan held Rack, who was trying to push himself to a standing position while the man in the suit came over to them. “You’re coming home with me now,” the man said.
“No, I’m not, Harold, you can’t make me!”
“Shoot him again,” said the suit, grabbing at Dan’s arm. Dan shrugged him off, still holding onto Rack, his arms around Rack’s upper body.
Then the man stepped back. Rack got himself to a standing position while Dan stood in front of him, shielding him with his body.
“I don’t believe it,” said Harold. “I don’t believe that you’re with this – man.”
Dan again stared defiantly. “You shoot him, you’re going to have to go through me.”
“No, Dan,” rumbled Rack. “They can shoot me all they want, but I’ll never die, not with you.”
“How disgusting,” sneered Harold and he looked at the three men with guns. “Kill them both.”
“Ain’t no killing happening near my store!” yelled the owner, standing out back holding a shotgun aimed at the three men on the horses.
“No, Louis, no,” said Rack, standing on his own two feet.
“Hands up,” said a cool, calm voice, and Dan looked over the wagon to see the sheriff. The three men turned to Harold. “You said there weren’t no sheriff in this town.”
“Obviously,” said the sheriff, “he was wrong. Hands up, boys.”
“Shit,” one said, throwing down his gun.
Harold went to the sheriff. “Tell me, sheriff, how much would it take for you to turn right around and walk down that alley and pretend you didn’t see anything?”
Rack was taking deep breaths as the sheriff narrowed his eyes at Harold. “Bribery?” He waved his gun. “Come with me to the jail, and we can talk about this like sensible men.”
“Sensible men, yes,” said Harold with a grin, and then turned to the three men. “I’ll be back gentlemen.”
“Hell with this,” said one of the men, turning his horse and nearly galloping away. The last man didn’t move, looking back and forth between the retreating back of Harold and the man who rode away. Rack glared at him.
Then the hail came. Hail that was like bullets from the sky. The man ducked, but got pelted with hail. The one who dropped his gun took off, but was bleeding. Louis ran into the store. Dan realized that neither Rack or himself were getting pelted by the hail.
The hail hit the horse, and made it rear, throwing the remaining man to the ground. Rack ignored the man and walked around the wagon, heading to the street. People were running for cover, as the hail got bigger. Dan followed Rack as he headed to the jail.
Windows broke as the hail hit them, horses fell injured. A ball-sized hail fell right in front of Dan. The sheriff ran across the street to the jailhouse, leaving Harold behind.
Harold stood in the middle of the street, getting pelted, not knowing where to turn. Rack kept walking, right up to him. He grabbed Harold by the front of his shirt and lifted him. A huge chunk of hail clocked Harold in the head, making him go limp.
“No one takes him away from me!” Rack yelled over the pounding of the hail. “Go back to New York or I’ll kill you the next time I see you.” Then he threw the man a good ten feet away, sliding in the ice and hail, which now turned into a cold, miserable rainstorm that drenched everything, including Dan and Rack.
Dan reached Rack, who turned around to him, and put his arm around his shoulders. “We’re going home.”