drink.
A kindly voice at his elbow said, “Let me pay for that
drink, lad.” Henry looked up into a kindly face, though weather-worn, and
said, “And I thank you kindly, matey.”
Henry noticed that his new friend hadn’t touched his
mug of rum that much, but then they’d been busy talking and getting acquainted,
and Henry wondered if this man could be of some ‘use’ to him. The longer they
talked, the more sure he became. The new friend was a rough appearing mate,
Jeremy Jones, he’d said his name was, and would do just about anything for a
few American coins. He had another friend down the bar a ways, whom he waved
at. The bloke waved back, and soon had joined the pair, then, after moving to
a table, they continued to visit and drink, telling stories of the sea, singing
loud bawdy songs, and laughing loudly.
The other man was named Charlie Smith, and Henry
immediately took to them. These were men after his own heart, scum bags, and
dishonest to the end. He couldn’t believe his good fortune in having met up
with them. So he told them a little of his life, making up the fact that
Olivia had certainly wanted him, but that her brother and uncle had stood in
the way of their romance.
The two new friends definitely needed a few coins, and
would assist Henry in getting Olivia out from under her uncle’s ‘clutches’, or
see to it that her uncle was ‘out of the way’. Henry was happy, and drank mug
after mug of the strong and hearty ale. Though when he felt he’d drunk enough,
he decided he’d had enough, and then, his speech slurred, he made plans to meet
with his friends the next morning along the dock. He’d probably better return
to his hotel, after all it was two-o’clock in the morning, and he had more
spying to do when the sun came up again, before meeting with Jeremy and
Charlie.
They all left the tavern together, and Henry drunkenly
staggering, wondered absentmindedly why his two friends were following him. Henry
Adams, alias Henry Birch, woke up twenty-four hours later, in the belly of a
moving cargo ship, sporting a ‘bad headache’. Jeremy and Charlie made much
more money this way, than the measly coins that Henry had offered them.
<><><>
In the small community of Freeman, tucked somewhere
among the hills of Wyoming, around twenty miles north and west of Buffalo, the
aging, though agile, Seth Wakefield walked out of the telegraph office, then,
pausing outside the doorway, leaned against the rough-hewn logs of the outer
wall of the building and he read over the telegram he had just received from
his long lost son, Logan, for the third time.
PA,
I WILL BE HOME SOON. HAVE TO MAKE A STOP ALONG THE
WAY SO EXPECT ME WHEN YOU SEE ME. WILL DO MY BEST TO HURRY. LOTS TO TELL.
GIVE MY LOVE TO MOM.
YOUR LOVING SON,
LOGAN
Seth
carefully wiped away a tear that threatened to trickle down his cheek, and then
read the cable yet another time.
The wire had been sent from New York City, clear
across the country. Seth carefully folded the paper and stuffed it into his
shirt pocket. He had to hurry home and relay the news to Cassandra. Tell her
that their son would be coming home. He always knew he would be. All was well
with the world.
<><><>
Logan was glad when
the long train trip was finally coming to an end. He’d enjoyed watching the
scenery change from green grassy hills of Missouri west from St. Louis to Kansas City, then gradually south through the grassy plains of Kansas. Southwest through Oklahoma was nothing but desolate red dirt, but he knew that once they hit the Texas border, he’d be in God’s country.
Logan had a
friend in Texas, though he didn’t know if he was still a ranger or not, as that
had been many years ago. The ranger had been stationed in Austin, but that was
far to the southeast from where they would be, however, the man could have left
the
A kindly voice at his elbow said, “Let me pay for that
drink, lad.” Henry looked up into a kindly face, though weather-worn, and
said, “And I thank you kindly, matey.”
Henry noticed that his new friend hadn’t touched his
mug of rum that much, but then they’d been busy talking and getting acquainted,
and Henry wondered if this man could be of some ‘use’ to him. The longer they
talked, the more sure he became. The new friend was a rough appearing mate,
Jeremy Jones, he’d said his name was, and would do just about anything for a
few American coins. He had another friend down the bar a ways, whom he waved
at. The bloke waved back, and soon had joined the pair, then, after moving to
a table, they continued to visit and drink, telling stories of the sea, singing
loud bawdy songs, and laughing loudly.
The other man was named Charlie Smith, and Henry
immediately took to them. These were men after his own heart, scum bags, and
dishonest to the end. He couldn’t believe his good fortune in having met up
with them. So he told them a little of his life, making up the fact that
Olivia had certainly wanted him, but that her brother and uncle had stood in
the way of their romance.
The two new friends definitely needed a few coins, and
would assist Henry in getting Olivia out from under her uncle’s ‘clutches’, or
see to it that her uncle was ‘out of the way’. Henry was happy, and drank mug
after mug of the strong and hearty ale. Though when he felt he’d drunk enough,
he decided he’d had enough, and then, his speech slurred, he made plans to meet
with his friends the next morning along the dock. He’d probably better return
to his hotel, after all it was two-o’clock in the morning, and he had more
spying to do when the sun came up again, before meeting with Jeremy and
Charlie.
They all left the tavern together, and Henry drunkenly
staggering, wondered absentmindedly why his two friends were following him. Henry
Adams, alias Henry Birch, woke up twenty-four hours later, in the belly of a
moving cargo ship, sporting a ‘bad headache’. Jeremy and Charlie made much
more money this way, than the measly coins that Henry had offered them.
<><><>
In the small community of Freeman, tucked somewhere
among the hills of Wyoming, around twenty miles north and west of Buffalo, the
aging, though agile, Seth Wakefield walked out of the telegraph office, then,
pausing outside the doorway, leaned against the rough-hewn logs of the outer
wall of the building and he read over the telegram he had just received from
his long lost son, Logan, for the third time.
PA,
I WILL BE HOME SOON. HAVE TO MAKE A STOP ALONG THE
WAY SO EXPECT ME WHEN YOU SEE ME. WILL DO MY BEST TO HURRY. LOTS TO TELL.
GIVE MY LOVE TO MOM.
YOUR LOVING SON,
LOGAN
Seth
carefully wiped away a tear that threatened to trickle down his cheek, and then
read the cable yet another time.
The wire had been sent from New York City, clear
across the country. Seth carefully folded the paper and stuffed it into his
shirt pocket. He had to hurry home and relay the news to Cassandra. Tell her
that their son would be coming home. He always knew he would be. All was well
with the world.
<><><>
Logan was glad when
the long train trip was finally coming to an end. He’d enjoyed watching the
scenery change from green grassy hills of Missouri west from St. Louis to Kansas City, then gradually south through the grassy plains of Kansas. Southwest through Oklahoma was nothing but desolate red dirt, but he knew that once they hit the Texas border, he’d be in God’s country.
Logan had a
friend in Texas, though he didn’t know if he was still a ranger or not, as that
had been many years ago. The ranger had been stationed in Austin, but that was
far to the southeast from where they would be, however, the man could have left
the
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