Authors: G. Clifton Wisler
“You know J. C. and I soldiered together,” Hanks went on. “The one or the other o' us pulled the other out o' more bad spots! Why, I owed J. C. my hide more'n once. But just now I can't be thinkin' on that account. Ledger's closed, so to speak, and life marches on to the next campaign.”
“Yessir,” Erastus said, searching for some meaning behind the words.
“You understand, Georgiana, I built this ranch out o' rock and sweat. I lost hundreds o' critters off this east range 'fore I put up the line camp. J. C. did a fair job o' ⦠“
“Fair job?” Georgiana asked with wild eyes.
“More'n fair, to tell the truth. I paid him fair, too. Took on his oldest when I had the work. Would've seen Alex a cowboy, too, if the years'd been kind. But now I got to tend to business. I need a man out here I can trust to watch my stock, to see we don't lose none to rustlin' nor fire, either. Only right I should offer that man this cabin.”
“How long, Mr. Hanks?” Georgiana asked sourly.
“Be two weeks 'fore we finish gettin' the horses together and another to start roundup. Three weeks,” Hanks concluded.
“And I've got that much time to find work and settle my family?”
“It's all I can offer.”
“Well, it's fortunate J. C. was a friend. Elsewise we'd be leavin' in yon wagon, I'm sure.”
“That's not called for,” Hanks argued.
“I'm not in an apologizin' mood, sir!” she stormed. “I'd deem it a favor if you'd leave me to look after my little ones. You have horses to break, I believe. I'll send Erastus along later.”
“No, keep him to help you,” Hanks argued.
“We'll need the money, sir,” Erastus explained.
“I'll pay you, boy, but it's your ma needs you now. Stay here and help her. You got some big shoes to wear now your pa's gone. Take some doin', bein' J. C. Hadley's son.”
“Always has,” Erastus answered.
Late spring wasn't the best of times to look for work. Not with planting done and most of the male population readying themselves for the long cattle drives to Kansas. Georgiana Hadley did her best to find a place for her fatherless family, but Thayerville was the only town close by, and they had a seamstress and a cafe already. Oh, odd jobs could be had, but hardly at a wage to feed four growing youngsters, much less provide shoes or britches. Georgiana lacked the aptitude for dealing cards, and she didn't have the easy manner or shapely figure of a saloon girl.
In desperation she sent out frantic telegrams, hoping some friend or relative might come to her aid. In truth, there was pitiful little family left after the war against the North and the Comanche raids that had killed her own two brothers. Finally an answer came from her mother's sister down in Austin.
“Good news?” Erastus asked as her mother scanned the sparse words.
“Partly,” Georgiana answered with a frown. “Alex, Juliana, Marcus, you three hurry along a minute. Look after the hens. I've got words to share with your brother.”
“Can't we know, too?” Juliana complained. “He always gets to know first.”
“Hush!” Georgiana scolded. “Now off with you.”
Alex took his little brother and sister by the hand and pulled them outside. Once the children had gone, Georgiana motioned Erastus to her side.
“Is it about me?” he asked.
“About all of us,” his mother explained. “Aunt Cordelia has a rooming house in Austin. Two of her grandchildren live there with her, but they're young. She's offered to take me on as cook. Juliana can help, and Marcus is the same age as her little grandson Crane.”
“What about me and Alex?” Erastus asked.
“She's found a place for Alex to work. He'll be looking after horses at a nearby stable, and he'll take his meals and pass his nights with us.”
“And me?”
“Cordelia says,” Georgiana began. She paused to swallow a tear, then scanned the telegram again. “Cordelia feels you're old enough to find your own way.”
“I promised Pa I'd look out for you,” Erastus objected. “I swore I would.”
“We'll be just fine, Rastus.”
“Then why're you cryin'?”
“Because I don't like to think what's in store for you. I was on my own at fifteen, and it wrinkles a body so you think he's twenty goin' on forty. Makes for an early grave, son.”
“I'll get by.”
“I'm of a mind to tell Cordelia no,” Georgiana said, clasping her eldest son's hand. “It's a hard thing, comin' o' age with no father to lean on. Alex and Marcus'll need you. Juliana, too, in a different way.”
“And you?”
“Yes, me, too. If only there was some other other way ⦠“
“Isn't, though, is there?” he asked, “I heard Miz Cathcart talkin' how we're sure to be taken into an orphan's home. Or else split up and sent off to this farm or that. Aunt Cordelia'd keep Juliana and Marcus with you, and Alex ⦠well, he wouldn't be far.”
“You would.”
“I might could find work in Austin.”
“I wouldn't think that likely, Rastus. If there was anything handy, Cordelia'd found it.”
“Maybe Mr. Hanks'd take me on the drive?”
“I asked already,” Georgiana said, pulling him closer. “I guess I've spoken to near every farmer or rancher for twenty miles.”
“I'm fourteen, Ma!”
“And better'n nigh any full-grown man I know. But they all say you're thin. And smallish, after my people. I tell 'em how you work, but they all ask why Orville Hanks doesn't take you in then.”
“Wonder so myself.”
“There's one man'd take you in,” she said nervously.
“The Morrises? Wouldn't be so bad livin' with Mitch. He's close to a brother.”
“Otto Plank,” she muttered.
“Ole man Plank?” Erastus asked, feeling his legs wobble. “He beats his horses, and his boys, too, to hear folks talk, Ma, I'd as soon take my chances in Austin.”
“And how would you get there, Erastus?”
“Ride my horse.”
“Your horse? That pony doesn't belong to you, son, no more'n this cabin or the creek. Everything's Orville Hanks's property.”
“I'll walk.”
“No, I'll write Aunt Cordelia and send my regrets. I couldn't sleep knowin' you were out walkin' the wilds, food for wolves or target for Comanche arrows.”
“Ain't any Comanches out here anymore. I got a talent for fishin', and I got a good eye with a rifle. Wouldn't go hungry.”
“I won't go unless I know you've got a roof over your head, Rastus.”
“Ma, I really ought to look after you and the little ones.”
“We'll be all right. I'll see even Marcus writes you a letter every week.”
“Wouldn't be forever, would it? I mean, I wouldn't have to stay if I didn't like it.”
“No, and Mr. Hanks promised to keep an eye after you. By next summer you'll have some growth, and he's certain to take you on.”
“If it just wasn't the Planks. That man's mean.”
“He's promised to be kind,” Georgiana assured him. “I'll speak with the Morrises, too. Perhaps they can come by and take you to Sunday meetings. That'd give you and Mitch some time.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Then you're agreeable to it, I take it?”
Erastus rubbed his chin and studied his mother's hopeful eyes. He'd promised his father to see to her needs. Wasn't that what he was doing, staying with the Planks so she and the little ones could go to Austin? His insides grew cold at the notion of living under Plank's iron fist, but he nodded his consent. After all, how bad could things be?
It wasn't long before telegrams flashed south to Austin and back north again. The last Sunday in April Georgiana drove her family toward Thayerville. In the open bed were three trunks full of the family's meager possessions. It didn't seem a lot to show for the good years they'd shared at the Hanks line camp.
The wagon halted but twice on its way into Thayerville. The first time was at the river crossing where a Methodist circuit preacher held the county's biweekly meeting. The final stop was in front of the ramshackle house where Otto and Virginia Plank made their home.
“Got to go now,” Erastus announced as he tossed a flour sack filled with his father's razor, a good skinning knife, and two patched cotton shirts onto the hard ground. He gave Juliana a good hug, wrapped a spare arm around a sobbing Marcus, and gripped Alex's wrist.
“Be missin' you awful,” the eleven-year-old whimpered.
“No, you'll be too busy with the horses,” Erastus argued. “You got to be the big brother now. It's a hard job, but you'll do just fine at it.”
“We won't stay little forever, Ras.”
“No, we won't,” Erastus agreed. “Then we'll get the bunch o' us together and talk over old times. Likely we'll have some tales to swap then.”
“You take care o' yourself, Ras.”
“Look after Ma and the tadpoles.”
“Do my best at it,” Alex promised.
Erastus darted over and gave his mother a parting hug. Then he stepped back and somberly waved good-bye. He imagined how tall they'd all be next time they were together. Why, he'd hardly recognize them!
“Won't be long till you come down for a visit,” Georgiana called. “Mr. Plank promised you five dollars a week and Sundays off.”
“That right?” Erastus asked, turning to where Otto Plank stood on the porch.
Plank said nothing. Instead he waved and grinned good-naturedly. Once the wagon resumed its journey, the balding farmer limped over beside Erastus and clamped a hand onto the boy's shoulder.
“Got yer farewells done wit?” Plank asked.
“Yessir,” Erastus answered.
“Best. For now on, you got no fambly. Jest work.”
“Sir, it's Sunday,” Erastus objected.
“Won't be once you shed that good shirt and kick off them shoes. Then it be jest like the rest o' the days, with plenty to fill it up.”
“But you promised Ma ⦠”
“Don't you sass me, boy!” Plank shouted, backhanding Erastus hard across the forehead. “Boy eats my food, he puts in a day's labor. Now get yerself ready. And keep yer 'pinions to yerself. Hear?”
Erastus nodded sourly, and Plank cuffed him again.
“Best you unnerstand, boy. Yer ma offered you to every man from here to Mexico, and nobody else spoke up. She's off to her new life, and she's shed herself o' you. World starts and finishes with Otto Plank now, and if you don't want worse'n my hand on you, you take it to heart.”
“And yer promises to Ma?”
“Oh,” he said, laughing. “She didn't believe 'em anymore'n I did. You do as I tell you, you'll eat well enough. Maybe in time, I'll even find you some pocket money.”
“And if I don't?”
“Man's got a right to shoot a boy who tries to steal a horse,” Plank said, grinning. “Won't be a soul to say otherwise. No neighbors for miles, you know. Unnerstand how it be?”
Erastus nodded bitterly. And that very moment he determined to show Otto Plank his heels the first chance that came along.
The opportunity for escape didn't come. What did were hours and hours of back-breaking work that left Erastus haggard and blistered, little more than a ragged, barefooted slave.
To be truthful, Erastus wasn't alone in his suffering. Otto Plank had four boys of his own. Peter, who was nearly seventeen, shared the barn loft with Erastus and fourteen-year-old Efrem. The younger boys, Randy and Veston, spread their blankets in an empty stall down below. The whole bunch were locked in the barn by night, and there wasn't a one of them escaped their father's harsh words or ready hand. At the slightest sign of rebellion, the old man would take a rawhide strip to the back of the offender.
Once, when young Veston dropped a china plate at breakfast, Plank bent the child over a chair and whipped him raw.
“That's 'nough!” Erastus cried when he could stand Vesty's howls no longer. “Cain't you see he's bleedin'?”
“I can see I got to find another chair,” Plank growled.
The other boys scurried for cover as Plank headed for Erastus. For a moment he only waited. The scowl on Plank's face and the upraised strap struck terror. He hadn't been raised to shy from trouble, but he knew the sting of that strap, and he couldn't help retreating.
“Where you goin', Rat?” Plank called. “Rat! That's what they call you, ain't it? Gutter rat. Own ma wouldn't even take him. Ingrate! Don't you know more'n to talk back to your betters!”
“Betters?” Erastus shouted. “You may be bigger, but you ain't better. Why if Pa hadn't ⦠“
Erastus never finished. Plank reached out and threw a chair out of the way. Then, like a pouncing wildcat, the big farmer was on the boy. The strap stung Erastus's neck and shoulders. He flinched as it ripped open his shirt and tortured his ribs.
“How's it feel, Rat?” Plank howled as he laid on blow after blow. “I'll teach you some respect.”
“Pa, no!” Peter called. “You'll lame him. Won't be no good to us then!”
“Please, Otto,” Mrs. Plank added as she fought to calm the shivering Veston. “You'll kill him.”
Plank turned toward his wife a moment, then tossed the strap aside. He lifted Erastus by the chin and gazed hard into the boy's defiant eyes.
“You'd like to kill me, wouldn't you?” the old man asked. “Well, you'll be a long time buried 'fore you have the chance.”
The words had the ring of truth to them. While Peter and Efrem dragged him along to the barn, Erastus shuddered from pain and shock. And also from the notion that he would live out his days on that accursed farm.
Seven days a week Erastus labored slopping hogs, feeding chickens, chopping kindling, and tending the fields. He rarely lifted his eyes past his feet, and he spoke only when the barn door was bolted and Otto Plank beyond hearing. Even then he rarely joined in the boastful jabbering of the Plank boys. No, he kept his vengeful dreaming to himself.