Hard Ride to Wichita (2 page)

1862

Plenty in the country had changed in the seven years that had passed, but in Maconville, things moved at a slower pace. War had been raging for a few of those years, which meant several of the young and old men alike had picked their side and donned a uniform to fight in unfamiliar fields and spill their blood onto dirt hundreds of miles from home. Red and Luke were choosing their own paths, which, for the time being, still ran side by side.

A group of six boys ranging from the ages of eleven to seventeen were gathered in a stable belonging to one of their fathers. A conversation had started a day or two ago about the sport of wrestling, and the boys had escalated it to the point of boasting which of them would best the other in a proper tournament. Like a spark that had been tossed too close to a pile of dry leaves, that boasting had grown into a tournament itself, although it was anything but proper.

Marty and Joseph Paulsen had squared off and were locked in a grueling struggle. Without anything more than a lot of hot air behind them, none of the boys would have known a correct wrestling stance if it was drawn on one of the dirty walls surrounding them. The Paulsen brothers were the first to fight since they were about the same size and always at each other's throats anyway. They growled like a couple of pups as they bared their teeth and did their best to make the other look foolish in front of the others. So far, all of their efforts had only amounted to a bunch of scraping, cursing, and tugging at each other's shirts in an attempt to knock somebody over.

“You'd . . . best give up,” Joseph warned as he shifted to loop an arm around his brother's neck.

“Why?” Marty grunted. “Or you'll hug me to death?”

The rest of the boys got a good laugh out of that.

Locking his hands in what looked like an effective grip, Joseph twisted his upper body and somehow managed to gain some leverage. He lifted his brother off one foot and then shoved him into a bale of hay. Marty tripped over the bale and landed in a heap on the other side amid raucous cheers from the paltry crowd.

“That's how you wrestle!” Joseph said while rubbing his hands together. “Who's next?”

“I think it should be Red and Luke!” one of the smaller boys said. He'd already had his turn, so his clothes were rumpled and his face was scratched up after he'd been tossed onto some exposed floorboards.

Those two stood at the other end of the crowd, looking on with big smiles. Red shrugged and stepped forward while Luke's smile faded noticeably. In the years that had passed, both boys had grown. Luke had sprouted up while Red had filled in through the shoulders and chest. Luke's arms and legs were on the gangly side, giving him a lean appearance. Red, on the other hand, was thick as a tree stump and had skin that looked as if it had been weathered for decades before it had ever been wrapped around him.

Having been in plenty of scuffles for plenty of different reasons, Red didn't mind stepping up for this one. Luke's experience in that arena was much more limited. More often than not, if he had a dispute with someone, he talked his way out of it. A couple of times, he'd settled a troublesome matter by circumventing all of the normal procedures and thrown a punch without setting up a time and place for a real fight. Those times were rare, but they kept any following incidents down to a minimum.

“Come on, then,” Red said. “Let's do this thing.”

“I don't want to fight you,” Luke told him.

“It's not a fight. It's just a stupid tournament.”

“Right. It's stupid.”

“If you're too yellow to fight,” Joseph said, “then you can just go right back home to your mama.”

Luke's eyes narrowed and he weighed the consequences of both his choices. As much as he didn't like the thought of going through with the fight, it would be less painful than being needled for having walked away. “Fine,” he sighed. “Let's get this over with.”

Red laughed under his breath and showed his friend the sort of grin he always wore when he took the role of protector. The fact that Luke didn't need much protection wasn't the issue. Mostly, Red seemed to enjoy looking out for him as if the difference in their ages were at least triple the actual number. It was also the grin that came around when Red vaguely admired something Luke was about to do. Much like, Luke thought to himself, someone watching a child toddle over to try his hand at a task that was well over his head.

“I'll take it easy on you,” Red said.

“The hell you will.” With that, Luke stepped up to the other boy and grabbed him by both arms.

The two pushed and shoved each other in a fashion similar to the other bouts they'd seen that day. When he tried to shove Red toward the same bale of hay that had tripped up Marty Paulsen, Luke was unable to make more than a few inches of progress. Red planted his feet and put some of his muscle into moving Luke back. Although he started to slide on the dirty floor, Luke shifted his weight until he could find a spot from which he could make a stand. Once he gained some footing, he halted Red's surge.

“Not . . . bad,” Red admitted. “But you won't be able to beat me.”

“Why not?”

“'Cause you don't . . . have it in you. That's why.”

“Well,” Luke said between strained breaths, “you'll have to beat me to prove it.”

The next couple of seconds dragged on for what seemed like hours in Luke's mind. Every bit of it was spent with him trying desperately not to get humiliated by the somewhat larger boy. They might have been friends, but this wasn't the first time Red had asserted himself as the tougher of the two. Luke wasn't one to argue such banal points, so he usually let it go with a shrug. He was still a young man, however, and wasn't about to roll over and be dominated just for the sake of moving on to other things.

As Luke gritted his teeth and tried to shove Red back, he felt the other boy step forward and place a foot behind his. Red then pushed him and forced Luke to trip over that foot. Since Luke wasn't about to let go, he dragged Red down with him and both boys headed for the floor. They landed and immediately scrambled to try to get over on each other. In the end, Red's natural quickness and strength put him in a superior position a second or two before Luke could get there. The older boy wound up grabbing one of Luke's wrists and using his other hand to press down against his chest. Luke wedged his hand against the floor so it wouldn't be moved and strained to keep from being forced all the way down.

“Go ahead and give up,” Red said. “You put up a good fight.”

“The fight . . . isn't over.”

They struggled for a while longer before Luke became aware that he couldn't move an inch from that spot. He didn't have the power to force Red back and wasn't about to allow Red to push him down. Judging by the sweat and strain showing on his face, Red had arrived at a similar conclusion.

“Come on, Red!” Joseph Paulsen shouted. “I got two dollars that says you can take him down easy!”

“Don't listen to him, Luke,” Marty said. “My money's on you. Put Red in his place and we'll split the winnings!”

The rest of the crowd whooped and hollered as if they'd found themselves at a prizefight.

•   •   •

It was some time later and Luke could barely hear much of that over the rush of blood through his ears and the straining breaths surging in and out of his body. Still wedged into a vaguely stable position between defeat and victory, he and Red both refused to give an inch.

The stable had become quiet. In fact, the younger boys had already found somewhere else to be. Although the Paulsen brothers were still there, they'd started talking to each other without casting more than an occasional glance at the continuing struggle on the floor.

“Just give up so we can leave,” Red snarled between tired breaths.

“You give up!”

Red thought about it for a few seconds and then steeled himself. “I should win this. I'm the one that took you down.”

“You don't know anything about wrestling.”

“I know I got the drop on you easy enough!”

“Oh yeah?” Luke grunted. He then clenched his eyes shut and pushed with great effort against Red's shoulder in an attempt to turn the tables. Although he moved Red an inch or two, he couldn't do much more than that.

Red pressed more of his weight down on him, straining to put an end to the match once and for all. He took back the inch or two he'd lost, gained maybe a fraction of another inch, and was stopped cold.

The struggle between them shifted ever so slightly back and forth for a few more minutes. Although the effort took every bit of focus the boys could muster, it didn't make for a very good show. But Luke or Red didn't seem to notice even as their small audience drifted away.

“You gonna give up?” Red asked.

“N-no.”

“You ain't gonna win.”

“I won't give up,” Luke insisted.

The stables were quiet apart from the two boys' voices and the occasional shifting of hooves from one of the horses in the two occupied stalls.

For some of that time, Luke wondered if he would get to leave that drafty structure on his own two feet or if he would have to be carried out. His strength was fading and his thoughts shifted toward the ever more attractive possibility of giving in just to put an end to the senseless contest. That thought alone, however, might as well have been a sharp set of spurs jabbed into his sides. His will flared up and when he thought of how Red would flaunt his victory, the rest of his body followed suit.

Luke shifted his weight until he felt Red attempt to compensate. At the right moment, Luke escaped from the deadlock by pushing in another direction entirely and started to climb to a more tenable position. In the end, his fighting and scraping bought him less than another three inches. Before he could feel the oppressive weight of a seemingly impossible task settle upon his shoulders, it all came crashing down. Both boys fell over as their limbs collectively gave out at the same time. Red wound up on his side and Luke pulled himself up onto all fours. The instant he saw what had happened, Luke placed a hand flat on Red's chest and held him down.

“I . . . got you,” Luke wheezed.

“The hell . . . hell you do.”

Putting all of his weight behind that single arm, Luke shoved Red down even harder as he struggled to his feet. He only managed to get one boot on the floor before his arm was slapped aside. The grin Luke wore might have been tired, but it remained in place even when he realized he couldn't get up.

“I just got tired, is all,” Red said.

“I put you down and kept you there,” Luke announced. “That's how to win a wrestling match.”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Red said, “Take a bow, then. Looks like them two horses enjoyed the show.”

Sure enough, those horses were the only other living things in that stable with them. As much as he would have liked to think the pathetic excuse for an audience was entertained by the spectacle, Luke couldn't find the first hint of amusement in either animal's eyes. When Luke ran his hands through his hair, they came away covered in enough sweat to fill one of the troughs in those stalls. “I did win, though. At least admit that much.”

“If it's so damn important to you, I'll admit it.”

“It's not so important. It's true!”

Red scowled at him and scooted back until he found a wall he could lean against. Once there, he stretched his legs out and slicked back the hair that had fallen into his face. “What's gotten into you?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

“Like a bolt from the clear blue sky, you get a burr under your saddle and want to pull my head off my shoulders. That's what I mean!”

Luke was going to protest one more time but stopped himself. Suddenly he didn't feel like looking his friend in the eye. “Remember Mike Miller?”

Twitching as if he'd been blindsided by a quick jab, Red rested his head against the wall. After taking a few seconds, he replied, “The kid that lived out on the old Keeler spread?”

“That's the one. His family lived in Maconville for a year or two before they moved on.”

“What about him?”

“Mike got it in his head to push me around and challenged me to a fight,” Luke explained. “I didn't want to, but—”

“You was about to bust into tears at the thought of fighting him if I recall,” Red chuckled.

Even though the potential dustup was when both of the boys were much younger, Luke still blanched at the memory. “I wasn't gonna cry,” he said. “I just didn't want to fight him.”

“I don't blame you. He packed a wallop.”

“You'd know that because you fought him.”

Red shrugged. “Mike had a big mouth.”

“Is that why you fought him?”

“Probably.”

“Or was it because you wanted to keep him from picking another fight with me?”

“Every little thing wasn't about you, Luke.”

“It seems to me that you protect me sometimes.”

“That's what friends do. You've helped me more times than I can count.”

Turning to face Red, Luke stared him straight in the eye and said, “I'm not weak.”

“No one ever said you was.”

“If you think I can't handle myself, then you must think I'm weak.”

“Is that what all this was about?” Red asked as he waved a hand in a sweeping motion encompassing the stable floor. “'Cause if it was, then you made your point.”

“Did you let me win?”

The hint of a grin flickered across Red's face, but disappeared just as quickly. “Why would I do that? Joey Paulsen was betting on me.”

“I know. He wouldn't shut up about it.”

“Those Paulsen brothers really get under my skin sometimes,” Red grunted.

“I thought they were your friends.”