The Horse Keeper Read online

  CHAPTER 6

  The man who stole a thief.

  Wayne had never seen Wyatt show any emotion. In fact, anybody that knew Wyatt had ever seen him show much emotion, about anything. Even at his own mother’s funeral just before the last Christmas, he had stayed in the background, cold and aloof. So what happened at their cousin’s Mary Lou’s wedding, shocked and stunned everybody, especially Wayne. Wayne liked Mary Lou, with her long blond hair and sweet manner. Although they had very little contact, because she lived out of town on another small, tightly run, frugally orientated small holding, owned by her parents, there had always been a congenial friendship between them. He did not know the fancy dude Lyle from Atlanta that she was marrying, but he had wished her all the best.

  The drama, which had suddenly erupted after the wedding was another gut wrenching memory that Wayne would brood over, leaving him with yet another unanswered question. It would manifest itself like other pieces of a puzzle of a person that he had never known, making him desperately search for other lost pieces.

  The ceremony had gone well, Mary Lou looked beautiful in her white wedding regalia and Lyle handsome and dapper in a black suit, with his hair slick with grease. They had looked a picture of happiness as they came through the church door, arm in arm and slowly walked through an applauding gauntlet of people. Pink and white confetti had been distributed in abundance to everybody in large boxes and had began to fly in the air and land on the happy couple, who were smiling graciously at everybody.

  Suddenly Wyatt who had been standing close to them as they passed, wedged between two big farm boys became visibly alarmed. He tried to step back, but was being impeded by the crowd standing behind him. A look of dire panic had moulded his face into a mask of sheer terror, baring his large teeth into a shocking grimace. A pink rain of confetti appeared to be missing the joyful couple and landing in abundance on a by now extremely distraught Wyatt.

  Everybody had noticed, and the cold feel of adrenaline had gripped Wayne’s whole spectrum of feelings, because he had never seen his austere brother behaving anything like this before. But what was it? What had antagonised him, flashed through Wayne’s mind. It was the confetti. The confetti, or fear of it, had thrown him into a blind, catatonic panic. Wyatt was now flaying his arms around, like broken, dislocated broomsticks, desperately trying to break free. But the rain of confetti was still in full flight and still predominantly finding Wyatt. By now he was kicking and lashing out wildly at everybody. Wayne had stepped in the centre of the aisle of shocked and completely bewildered people and had shouted,

  “It’s the confetti, he’s frightened of the confetti!”

  Wyatt somehow managed to barge an exit route through the crowd and run at incredible speed away from the scene. He looked like something akin to a demented ostrich, with his bandy, stick thin legs carrying him off. Pink confetti was still flying off his head and shoulders, as he cleared a fence like a champion hurdler and vanish through a low slung meadow, leaving a trail of pink confetti behind him.

  Wayne still harboured the memory of Pat slowly walking away from the congregation and following the path of his son, with a halo of blue pipe smoke circling around his head. Wayne had tried to reassure the gathering that he would try to find out what had happened to Wyatt. But as he followed his father through the meadow a feeling of deep sympathy and pain caressed his heart and soul, if not for Wyatt, but his father. Had this been a prelude, or a dire warning, beyond his understanding of the terrible events, which were about to unfold events that he could not control.

  Pat had asked Wayne not to mention the incident at the church to Wyatt, or anybody else. If Pat had gleaned anything at all from him, he was keeping it to himself. Wyatt had quietly gone back to his studying in his ramshackle study, his only visitor being Tom Boucher, who would bring books and sheets of poetry.

  All in all, things settled down into the old routine for Wayne of work and sleep, with the occasional outing with Ty and Wade. Until the one night that would change Wayne’s opinion of his loathsome, toothy brother forever.

  It had been one of those hot, balmy summer nights, with crickets and other nocturnal creature’s making their individual melodies in the clammy dark. It was two o’clock in the morning and Wayne could not sleep, despite being tired and irritable. He had sat up from the bed and walked over to the window and looked out over to the outbuildings, that were nothing more than dark outlines. The light from Wyatt’s study was still burning brightly and Wayne thought that Wyatt might as well take his bed over there, because he virtually lived out there, like some weird hermit.

  Suddenly Wayne had seen movement at the end of the buildings. He tried to adjust his sight to the area and sure enough somebody was moving about in the shadows. He thought that his eyes were deceiving him when Wyatt appeared from out of the dark and cautiously climbed over the wooden fencing. He was carrying a small satchel and his hat was pulled down over his head. Wayne made sure that it was Wyatt who he was watching. As the figure deftly planted his feet onto the other side of the fence Wayne could clearly see that yes it was Wyatt, the unmistakable figure of Wyatt. But what on earth could he be doing by creeping around like a thief in the night.

  Wayne waited patiently for Wyatt to climb over the far fence and disappear into the dark woods and then made his way over to Wyatt’s study. As he peered through the window he could see the back of Wyatt’s high chair and the back of a hat. The hat had been propped up to give the impression that somebody was sitting in the chair. But Wayne could see in the reflection of the glass-fronted bureau that the hat was being propped up on a broom and the chair was empty. Several books had been splayed open on the desk to enhance the appearance of somebody studying. Wayne had thought to himself, whatever you’re up to Wyatt, you sure don’t trust me.

  It was not until nearly four o’clock when Wyatt returned. Wayne watched him follow the same route back over the fences and quietly enter through his study door. The satchel, which had obviously been empty when he left, was now stuffed full with something.

  When the light went out and Wyatt made his way back to the house Wayne had jumped quickly into bed and had feigned sleep. And as Wyatt quietly slipped his boots off and slid into his bed over the other side of the room, Wayne had been tantalizingly tempted to ask him where the hell had he been, creeping around like a thief in the night. But no, if Wyatt had secrets to keep, maybe it was because he had to. Whatever it was and whatever he had been doing, he was behaving completely out of character. Wayne was to find out the next day when a furious and half demented Ben Boucher and a posse of startled hirelings, their faces white with shock and fear turned up at the farm the next day. Boucher’s face was purple with suppressed anger.

  Pat had gone out to meet them, looking perplexed and puffing on his pipe robustly. The usual halo of blue smoke danced around his head as he said,

  “What can I do for yah Mister Boucher? Don’ usually see you round these parts.”

  “Maybe yah can Pat, the slave I had strung up near the house for stealing, well some son of a bitch cut him loose late last night. Was wonderin’ if you or yah boys had seen anythin’… I gotta reward for any information that can bring the cuss to me.”

  Wayne, who was standing close behind his father, watched his reaction carefully.

  “Wow, who on earth would do such a thing Mr. Boucher? Don’t make sense. Ma boys were here all night. Wayne was asleep and Wyatt was studying most of the night. Did yah hear anythin’, or did anythin’ disturb yah last night Wayne?”

  Wayne hated to see his noble father acting humble in front of a man that Wayne regarded as no better than a villain. But he was also well aware of the absolute power of Ben Boucher and the way he could bring that power to bear as he alone deemed fit. As he answered another thought had been swimming around inside of his head and it was difficult for him to be calm and collective. It could not have been Wyatt, surely? Only a complete madman would dare commit such an outrage against Ben Boucher.


  “No Pa, I couldn’t sleep much last night and Wyatt was studying most of the night. Went over to check the hosses ‘bout four thirty, as yah know Talula is ‘bout to give birth, looked in on Wyatt and he had his nose stuck in a book, that’s all really.”

  Wayne sincerely hoped that he had come across well with his answer, then waited patiently for Boucher’s next move, with cold sweat trickling down his back.

  “Well Pat, I’ll tell yah, as I’ve told everybody else so far. If and when I do catch the darn thief that stole my own thief, I’m gonna hang ‘im from the highest tree.”

  And as Boucher galloped away, with his entourage trailing behind him Pat muttered, “I’m sure you will Ben Boucher, I’m darn sure you will.”

  Wayne was not watching as Boucher and his hirelings left, because his gaze was firmly fixed on the door of Wyatt’s study. Surely it can’t be him, surely not Wyatt?

  It took two weeks for the pandemonium and scandal to subside about the stolen thief. Everybody hoped that Boucher would simmer down on his own accord and nobody wanted him to catch the thief stealer. Because woe betide that individual if he did, as everybody knew that man never made idle threats.

  The only person to discover the real truth, by accident was Wayne. Wayne had dismissed the thoughts of the offender being Wyatt, simply because it did not add up. Wyatt had never shown any radical views on slavery, indeed nobody knew his views about anything. But it still remained a mystery to Wayne, as to what Wyatt was doing, creeping around during that particular night. Wyatt very nearly did get caught out though, and by sheer luck Wayne managed to foil that discovery.

  Tom Boucher arrived at the farm one morning, carrying some books. He was knocking on the door of Wyatt’s study, when Wayne noticed him. Wayne had casually walked over and told Tom that Wyatt was in town with Pat, but it was okay to leave the books on Wyatt’s desk.

  Fortunately Wayne had opened the door for Tom. Because the first thing Wayne noticed as he entered the room was the satchel under the desk. And out of it, the ends of the Boucher clan’s infamous bright yellow rope were protruding.

  Wayne felt as though he had been suddenly punched in the stomach. He moved quickly to plant his feet in front of the satchel, hoping desperately that Tom had not noticed it. Thankfully he had not and as Tom placed the books on the desk Wayne let rip with an explosive fart. Tom looked at Wayne in utter disgust and deferred a sharp – ‘Good day sir,’ and sauntered off through the door.

  Wayne quickly picked the satchel up and checked the contents. Sure enough it was stuffed full of the Boucher rope, which had been cut in several places. And the other piece of damning evidence was a razor sharp knife. Wayne stuffed all of the rope back into the satchel and hid it further back, under the desk and out of sight. He then began to laugh out loud, with his nerves still on tenterhooks and cold sweat stifling his senses.

  “Wyatt, you son of a gun, it was you, it was you… Well I’ll be damned Wyatt…!”

  Wayne had been sorely tempted to raise the subject with Wyatt about the slave, but the sheer gravity of what he had done still beggared belief in Wayne’s mind. But one night as Wyatt slipped into bed, Wayne had found an alibi to deftly raise the subject.

  “Was up in town today buying stores for Pa today. Yah know it’s been over a month and folks are still talking ‘bout that slave that some crazy dude cut free in the night.”

  “Really, coulda been another slave who felt pity for him,” said Wyatt.

  “Yeh, I thought about that, but it don’t add up. The slave was strung up, real close to the Boucher house. The slave quarters are right at the other end of the plantation. Now for another slave to venture out and cross all those cotton fields in the night and not draw attention to himself, it simply could not be done.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Wyatt cautiously.

  “Coz ole Boucher’s got two boys with shotguns prowling the area all night, in particular round the house and the slave quarters. Another slave nah,” said Wayne.

  “Then who do yah think done it then Wayne?” said Wyatt coldly.

  “Must be some dude with deep felt convictions that he keeps strictly to himself. To do otherwise would be sheer suicide.”

  “A damn fool, if you ask me,” said Wyatt with a hint of sarcasm.

  “A damn brave fool, if you ask me.”

  “I ain’t askin’ you Wayne, there’s a lotta boys that would give anything to work at the Boucher place. Loose talk could get you in serious trouble Wayne.”

  “Maybe it could, but I can’t help but admire the dude that did it. The sheer daring and audacity of it, would sure like to shake that dudes hand.”

  “Drop the subject Wayne, the last thing Pa needs now is some darn fool blabberin’ his mouth off ‘bout cutting slave’s loose. After all he was caught stealin’.”

  “There was no proof that it was him, after all Boucher has got four other boys workin’ up at the plantation who have access to his storeroom. I figure the dude that cut him loose must of taken account of that. That’s why he did it. Wow.”

  “Nobody in their right mind would think about the rights of a slave that was caught stealin’ Wayne. Most folks would think he got his just deserts.”

  “Not me Wyatt, nah. Nobody could stand up and trade punches with a man of Boucher’s power. Musta been a dude with a strong sense of justice and duty.”

  “A damn fool, that’s got no place meddlin’ in things that ain’t his business.”

  Wayne digested what Wyatt had said in quiet disbelief and carried on.

  “He musta had some idea of the plantations layout. And he musta planned how he was gonna do it. And he damn well did it with military precision.”

  “Drop the subject Wayne, you’re talkin’ more stupid than I thought you were.”

  “He must of approached from the south, taking a long route. He must of crossed the stream that runs across the extreme south of the cotton fields. It musta been very difficult to cross all of those fields in the pitch dark and still keep his bearings. When he finally approached the house, how comes all those hound dogs that Boucher’s got did not start barkin’? Well, I’ve also thoughta that. Coz those darn hound dogs knew the intruder, he probably even stroked them. He musta also known that the two boys patrolling the estate woulda shot him without question, if they’d caught him. He also musta known that those two boys would be in serious trouble anyway if he got away with the deed. Then after cutting the slave loose he would have had to carry him over at least four acres of fields in the pitch dark, coz the boy woulda been too exhausted to walk. Then carry him across that deep stream…Now what kinda dude could do that?”

  “A damn fool dude Wayne, a damn fool dude.”

  “A damn brave fool dude Wyatt, a damn brave fool,” Wayne said, wryly.

  Peach blossom and pink confetti.

  War had become inevitable from the moment that General Beauregard had ordered firing on Fort Sumter. The northern protagonists in power and the southern stalwarts had been thrown into a dubious and uncompromising position. The northern invader was about to probe south and the southern defenders of a doctrine, which they had very little control of themselves were about to pitch into each other in bloody battle. The rich man’s war, fought by poor boys was about to erupt across the land like a storm.

  Wayne watched with guarded interest as the boys, twenty-two in all fell into a hap-hazard formation and were made ready to march off. They looked quite smart in their crisp grey uniforms, some wearing peaked forage caps and some wearing grey slouch hats.

  Jolly banter and levity was manifest in the ranks and Ty and Wade were up to their usual horseplay. The only one that looked out of place was Wyatt. Wyatt’s uniform did not fit him at all, the tunic was far too big and the trousers were at half-mast, barely covering his knees.

  As they marched away with the crowds cheering and waving, Wayne observed how ridiculous Wyatt looked, marching at the rear completely out of step with the rest. This would be the last picture that Wayne wou
ld have of Wyatt, a picture that would tear at his heart for the rest of his life. The only reason that Wayne was not in the ranks was that the war department had taken note of his penchant for horse handling and had ordered him to take a batch over to the east. The rest of the boys had treated Wayne with sympathy when he had been detailed off. Because already General Mc Clellan had brought his massive army of the Potomac south and General Joe Johnston was shrewdly counterpunching Mc Clellan’s every move. The union defeat at the first Bull run battle had forced the issue that the union must deliver a knockout blow to the confederacy and that blow had not yet landed, much to the frustration and fear by the men of the north.

  Everybody in he north and south had got their predictions wrong. The army of the Potomac was being superbly boxed by Joe Johnston, until the shrewd little General had been seriously wounded at the Seven pines battle. When the semi retired General Lee had been put in Johnston’s place, after being no more than a military adviser to Jefferson Davis, the fundamental question was, could General Lee measure up? At the time the hapless General Mc Clellan remarked unfortunately, that the war would be easier from now on, because Lee would be irresolute and timid. How wrong and mistaken he was.

  What had happened next shocked and surprised everybody, especially General Mc Clellan. Not only had General Lee out boxed his opponents, one after the other, he had beaten them to the punch every time. Wayne could clearly remember the scene after the second Bull Run battle, when Lee was already growing into legend incarnate.

  His brigade had just pushed back Fitz John Porter’s rearguard action and were loitering around a captured artillery and ammunition, when there was a great roar of approval from the boys. All of the top Generals had come to congratulate them. Firstly came James Longstreet, squat, powerful and looking more like a pig farmer in his floppy hat and smock. Then the quirky looking Richard Ewell, with his big, beak-like nose and bald head, who was cordially shaking everybody’s hand with great enthusiasm. And then came Thomas Stonewall Jackson, with the cold, calculating and distant eyes of a killer, who was more preoccupied in ordering the Colonel to ensure that the weaponry and ammunition was taken stock of and sent back for distribution. Then the General appeared with none other than Robert E. Lee himself. The two Generals looked quite similar in bearing and countenance, the only physical difference being that General Lee was taller, larger and a lot more greyer. Lee had removed his long white gauntlets and was shaking hands with the boys as if he was experiencing a deeply felt gratitude.