Lloyd took the paper and carried it over to Ben’s father. Jeff took a shirt to Ben and put it on him. It hung past the boy’s knees, and Jeff rolled up the sleeves.
“I’ve felt like a kid myself this whole trip, Ben,” Jeff tried joking with him, wanting to get rid of the boy’s tears. “I’ve been traveling between these two big men for a while. Now there is finally somebody smaller than me along, so I feel a little bigger. My name is Jeff Trubridge. What’s your last name?”
“Perry.” The boy’s eyes were already drooping.
Jake got to his feet and brushed the dust from his clothes. “Get his birth date, Jeff. That’s important to a man. Write it on that paper.”
Jeff remembered the encounter in Peter’s office, when Jake had to guess at his birth date. “Sure, Jake.”
“Where are my guns?”
“In my gear. You threw them down when you rode up to attack that man,” Jeff told him.
“I don’t even remember throwing them down. I guess I knew I’d rather beat the hell out of him with that belt than shoot him.”
“You tossed your extra gun belt too. I’ve never seen a man so enraged. It was pretty scary. Lloyd had a hell of a time getting you off that man. Between your age and not being totally healed, I don’t know how you can still be so strong.”
Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Being mad as hell gives a man a lot of extra strength. And what do you mean by my age? Are you writing me off as an old man?”
“Well, no, not exactly.”
Jake grinned but lost his smile when Ben started to swoon. Jake grabbed him up before he could fall. The boy put his head on Jake’s shoulder, and Jake carried him over to his horse. “Jeff, come hold him till I mount up—and get my guns.”
Jeff hurried over to help out and Jake mounted up. Jeff handed the boy up and Jake set him in front of him on the horse, hanging on to him with one arm. Jeff retrieved the guns and shoved them into Jake’s holsters. He hung Jake’s extra cartridge belt over Prince’s neck.
Lloyd ordered Ben’s father to sign the paper, then brought it over so he, Jake, and Jeff could all witness the signature. Charles Jacob Perry, it read. Springfield, Missouri. Jake handed back the paper. “Go ask him what the kid’s birthday is and write it down.” He rode off with Ben. “I’ll wait for you two farther ahead,” he called back. “I need to be alone.”
Lloyd winced at the aching sting on his right shoulder and arm. “Jesus,” he told Jeff. “The way this one welt hurts, I don’t know how he lived through it. I’m glad we had some laudanum for Ben.” He sighed, walked back to Ben’s father, and asked him Ben’s birth date. He walked back to Jeff and wrote the date on the signed paper. He folded the paper and put it in his gear. He mounted up and rode closer to Ben’s father. “If I ever see your face again, you’re a dead man. That’s a promise. It will be the same if my dad sees you.” He rode off, more than ever hating the grandfather he’d never known.
Jeff followed. They rode until almost dark, Jake keeping a passed-out Ben in front of him and saying nothing. He headed his horse into the woods and dismounted, asking Lloyd to spread out a blanket for Ben. Jake laid the boy down, then unloaded all his weapons and spread out his own bedroll, laying all weapons beside it.
Lloyd made a fire. “Pa, that cut on your face is really wicked and turning purple. You okay?”
“I’ll live. I’ve got to change this bloody shirt, though.” He rummaged through his saddlebag and pulled out a clean, blue shirt. He removed the bloody shirt as Jeff was coming back with his own gear.
Jeff stopped, forcing back an urge to mutter My God. For the first time, he saw the scars on Jake’s back. There were a couple that looked like old gunshot wounds, but most of them were white stripes, like from a belt or a whip. Jeff looked away and pretended to have forgotten something, waiting until Jake changed shirts.
“Jeff, get your pencil and tablet,” Jake told him.
“I already have them,” Jeff answered, coming back with his blanket and a tablet.
“How bad is that welt on your shoulder hurting?” Jake asked Lloyd.
Lloyd lit some kindling under some bigger logs. “I think if you could handle something a lot worse at Ben’s age, and now Ben himself is managing, I can handle one lash with a belt.”
Jeff sat down near Jake. Jake lit a cigarette and smoked quietly for a moment, his shirt still unbuttoned and untucked. He glanced at Jeff. “I’m only going to say this once, Jeff, and I’m doing it now because Ben is asleep and I don’t want him hearing it.”