Lamentation of the Leaves
by Galen Peoples
Part One
|
|
Lamentation of the Leaves
by Galen Peoples
Part One
There were no cobwebs in the corners. Candy kept a tidy house, Jason had to allow. She even had the brides sweeping the attic. Or maybe that duty fell to her siblings, one of whom was now searching through the storeables with a sureness that implied long acquaintance. Jason was doing his best to help Molly, but the ceiling was too low, even at its peak, for him to do more than pick among the few objects within reach of where he knelt crouched by the trap door.
The largest such object was a horsehair-covered trunk, which opened to reveal four clean handkerchiefs neatly laid atop the other contents. He lifted a corner, exposing a mysterious tangle of lace, taffeta, and whalebone, and was about to explore further when Molly's voice startled him.
"You found it?" she asked, clambering back to him.
He quickly pulled his hand away. "No, I was only–" He seemed flustered. "This'll be some kind of female makin's, I daresay."
"It's what we use for the wedding dresses." Molly looked primly at him and began to shut the lid. Jason stopped it with his hand as his eye was caught by a card stuck to the inside. Molly bent forward to read the hand-scripted lettering: "'Miss Emmeline Canfield and Mr. Donal McGee request the honor of your presence....'"
"I'll be...." said Jason. It was from the first bride's wedding, at which Reverend Gaddings had done the honors. Molly did not recognize the name. "Our first preacher," Jason said, and then corrected himself. "First ordained preacher." She asked what had happened to him. "He moved on."
She shut the lid. "Men aren't supposed to be up here," she said by way of apology. And just as well, thought Jason, we don't fit anyhow. "We were looking for the May Day banner," she reminded him. She went back to rummaging, and Jason, within his close confines, did the same.
In a few seconds he lifted out a large object from behind the trunk. This was not the banner either but a piece of wood on which were carved the words "A. Wright M.D." "Our first doctor," Jason said, and added, before Molly could ask, "She moved on too."
"She?" said Molly in surprise.
"The inexpressive she," said Jason. He remembered that the man who had first said it had been carving his true love's name in wood. As he returned the shingle to its place, he noticed another sign behind and slid it out.
The message on it made Molly start. In forbidding letters it blazoned "Loggers Keep Out!" "What was this for?" she asked.
"This?" said Jason. "From this hangs a tale."
He deposited his rump on the floor and stretched out his legs. Molly sat alongside with her legs pulled up. She knew how his stories went. The banner would have to wait but she didn't mind.
"After the brides came to Seattle," Jason began, "the men were–they were–" He searched for the right way to put it. "Let's say they were in high spirits."
McGee gave a whoop, Frank gave a holler, and Corky emitted a sound halfway between. Other whoops, hollers, growls, howls, and less classifiable emanations spanning the entire audible spectrum down to grunts, belches, and other expulsions so indecorous they could not be named in public echoed through the town and surrounding hills from everywhere Jason's men were, which was everywhere. Some of the hands from Stempel's mill contributed to the din too, but with nothing like the same fluency. Like moths to the flame, the lumberjacks flitted around the new dormitory, and any of the residents who ventured out, with an absence of restraint that upthrust even their normal level of hellraising by so much some of the townspeople, shrinking as they edged by, wondered if perhaps the cavalry should be called.
They were showing off and knew it, and each was sure he had more to show off than his fellows. Even in staid, steady New Bedford the brides had not been unacquainted with the follies that could accompany the male craving for attention (and other less mentionable things) and guessed soon enough this was the same phenomenon manifesting itself in more vigorous forms. Yet often they had to wonder whether that accounted for all of it because never before outside a circus had they seen such an exuberant physical display.
The men ran, they overleapt the fence, they balanced on the fence posts, they turned handsprings and cartwheels, they ran up to the girls and touched their sleeves and then ran off again giggling. Occasionally one of them made a bolder grab and earned a slap for his boldness. Some of them took courage in liquid form, and these got progressively more courageous as the day wore on. Of course they fought, none too long or too hard since their interest was in the girls and not themselves, but long and hard enough to demonstrate their prowess, to beat their chests, to stand out as cock of the walk if only for a moment. Some of Stempel's men tried to mimic them but could not keep it up. Jason's mountain exuded a vital, vibrant air that made men feel like giants. Not a few actually were giants.
And the brides loved it. The town men saw this and hated the loggers all the more for it. The girls were scared, naturally, and hid their delight as far as they could, but the men sensed it and it fired their courting games; for such they were, although a visitor from a more settled metropolis might not have recognized them. The brides' leader, Candy Pruitt, was trying hard to keep to her role but it did not come naturally to her. Not that she would have succumbed, even were she not spoken for, to any of these rough characters playing the fool; it was rather that inside herself she longed to be out there whooping it up with them. But decorum forbade it, and more important, her duty to the other brides. She clearly saw that the wildness in the air, the pleasure of letting go they were witnessing, beckoned to them with a force years of proper upbringing and churchgoing and jaw-setting could only barely withstand. But she would do her part to help. And those three brothers, wherever they were, if they would just do the same–
Aaron Stempel, of all people, was having the same thought. From his office at the mill, even with the door shut, he could hear the clamor at the other end of the street. Where's Jason, he thought, and those brothers of his? It's their duty to put a stop to this. He certainly did not need Dexter Chase, one of the few town men not in his employ, to look in and report that the men from the mountain seemed to be getting out of hand and that as (unelected) head of the (nonexistent) town council Stempel ought to take care of it. But having now been so advised he had no choice but to act, or to appear to. He got up with a sigh.
"Can't you do something?" Ben Perkins pleaded as Stempel walked up. As the largest business in town, excepting the mill, Ben's general store was a natural focus of activity. Three of the men were taking turns jumping over the apple barrel. Another had climbed on the roof and was dancing on the edge.
"Get down from there!" Stempel ordered. The man looked for a soft landing place. Two of his campmates ran up and held their arms out. He took a soaring dive and they caught him between them, but the weight was greater than expected and sent them stumbling forward propelling his feet through the window.
"Now see what you done!" said Ben. The man pulled his legs out unharmed. The three of them reached into their pockets, pulled out what coins were there, made a quick count of them, and pressed them into Ben's hand. Two of the brides passed and the men ran off after them. "It's like this all over town," Ben said.
Stempel could see that for himself. "Has been since these women arrived," he said. He was wondering if that hadn't been a mistake. Not that he was impervious to their charms: he had brought two to supper at the mill already. But he felt a man in his position could not be seen to pursue anyone too ardently; besides, at all the welcome parties and socials, the best-looking ones always turned up with Jason Bolt, and always under Stempel's nose, as if Jason were parading them for his benefit. Stempel watched closely for any impropriety, as Jason himself did, for that matter. Neither man could do much genuine dallying, and both would have given up even the appearance of it if each had not still secretly hoped somehow to outdo or undo the other's efforts. Today Stempel was feeling almost sure the women Jason had brought were too heady for Seattle and it would be best if he could persuade them to leave. The other citizens would thank him. As a side benefit he would acquire Bolt's mountain, but his primary motive in getting them gone, if it came to that, was his concern for the commonweal.
So he was musing and was fancying himself quite the altruist when a pack of men rushed past and knocked him off his feet. Without realizing it he had placed himself square in the path of a foot race. He sat up and dusted his sleeve as another man ran up beside him, hopped onto the town pump, and began kicking at the handle. Stempel watched with a growing sense of powerlessness.
It became even stronger when, after picking himself up and brushing himself down, he saw Mrs. Dale advancing on him. Lucy Dale had lived in Seattle forever, was the self-appointed czar of its morals (she had personally inspected the brides upon their arrival to make sure they were the sort of girls the town wanted, and she would have sent them away in a trice had they fallen short of her standards), and as the founder and president of the Ladies' League was Stempel's staunchest ally in the establishment of order and, after the Bolt brothers, his fourth biggest annoyance.
"Is this the sort of thing you permit?" she said. "Rowdyism and license?"
"I feel the same as you," said Stempel, although in her presence he was less certain of that, "but remember, this is the first time most of these men have seen any attrac–" He stopped. "–so many new additions to our community. Stirs 'em up more than usual. But I'm keeping my eye on 'em." He tried to sound like a man in charge.
"See you do," she said crisply. "You're not the only businessman in town, you know. If you won't uphold the proper standards I can take my trade elsewhere." With that she marched off.
The threat hit him where it counted. Only after she no longer impinged did he feel free enough to ask himself when she would have occasion to trade at a sawmill.
The town men were competing for the brides' attention with scant success. Two of the mill hands, Gene Hill and Riley Duff, stood together with Dexter in the shade of the general store, glaring at their rivals and muttering dark oaths.
Their language and countenances brightened when two brides hurried past. Dexter called to one of them to ask if she would care to go for a walk. "Not now," Mary Ellen called back. "The men from the mountain are having a contest."
"Contest!" said Riley. "We'll show them!"
Mary Ellen and Deborah gave each other a look and broke into laughter, which did nothing to placate their would-be admirers. They ran on and the men followed to where a crowd had gathered near the wharf. The girls edged in between the onlookers to see what was going on.
Two loggers were engaging in what they called rooster-fighting. Each had his legs bent and a pole lodged in the crooks of his knees and fixed there by being tied to the hands on both sides. It forced the men into attitudes resembling those of chickens. Swinging their shoulders from side to side, they pummeled each other with the pole ends, each with the object of toppling the other. The brides watched in fascination. Two blows from the left set one of the men off balance, and a final blow finished him.
As he was untied, Frank called for a new opponent. Riley took up the challenge. It didn't look so tough. But the weight of the pole strained his knees more than he had anticipated, and keeping them bent tried his forelegs. Every time he tried to swing his trunk around he found some other part of his body holding him back. Before he could discover the trick, he was struck in the ribs hard enough to keel him over.
Gene Hill followed. He quickly gained the knack of maneuvering while trussed up but spent most of his time dodging Frank's attacks and was too much outweighed for his own blows to have much force. He also was put out.
Then Dexter stepped forward. He could barely keep on his feet even before the bout started, and the few seconds of burning pain that surged through the muscles of his legs while he was in the arena made his quick defeat a reason for gratitude rather than disappointment.
That did not, however, diminish the resentment he felt when Frank, having exhausted the available competitors, became the center of a ring of admiring brides. McGee, Corky, and others who had acquitted themselves well were attracting their share of giggles, simpers, and blushes also. Adored heroes, each with a lovely girl on either arm and others waiting in line, having no more need to strive for attention, recipients of as much feminine company and coquetry and flattery as a man could dream of–it was more than the losers could stand.
"We'll show them," Riley repeated. Gene's eyes, and then Dexter's, met his in understanding.
A few seconds later Frank felt a jab in the ribs. He turned to see a town man passing as Gene retreated into the crowd. "What'd you mean by that?" Frank asked.
"Mean by what?" the town man said.
"Smackin' on me that way."
"I didn't smack on you."
"Well, don't do it again."
"I didn't do it the first time!"
"That's good 'cause if you do you'll be sorry."
"If I smack on you you're the one who'll be sorry."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"Well, I'm sorry too!" Frank swung at him.
Emmeline, standing beside McGee, felt a brief but unmistakable encroachment on her person and turned on the town man standing behind her as Riley slipped away unseen. "How dare you?" she said.
McGee asked what the man had done.
"He took a liberty," said Emmeline.
"I never touched her!" the man said.
"You wouldn't lie to me, now?"
"If I was gonna take a liberty it wouldn't be with her."
"Of all the nerve!" Emmeline slapped him. "How dare you not take a liberty with me?"
The man lifted his hand in defense. McGee took it for an attack and struck first.
"Town boys ain't real men!" a voice yelled.
Corky turned to see Dexter pointing at him. "Hear that? He says we're not real men." Half a dozen townies crowded in on him.
Dexter stepped back to join Gene and Riley and they watched contentedly as man after man ran to join one or another of the fights, which soon merged into a single big fight. Stempel and some other neutrals plowed bravely through the middle and parted the combatants. They asked who had started it. A row of fingers pointed to the three loggers. Another finger, Mrs. Dale's, wagged at them. "It's jail for you, you runagates!"
With a quick look at one another to confirm they were of one mind, the three bolted for the path that led to the mountain. The town men took chase.
Jason and his brothers, descending the path, heard the shouting before the town rose into sight. "More trouble," said Joshua. Jason was half-expecting it. Time was he had enjoyed coming down, but these days Stempel's influence and that of others like him–if there were anyone else like him–had so far pervaded that paying a visit was like putting on a high collar. Seattle still had its pockets of disrespectability, which Jason made it a point to enjoy while they lasted. That would not be long: these bluenoses would see to it.
On the other hand, he had himself gone along with measures they had taken to make the area less hospitable to scapegraces and scalawags. His younger brothers were too easily tempted, and for their sake he had supported Mrs. Dale and the ladies of the League in their reforms. He had drawn the line, however, at Lottie. Her saloon was a constant target of Mrs. Dale's, but for the same reasons it was his favorite spot in town, one of the two pleasures that brought him down from the mountain in spite of all the inconveniences; a haven of fellowship, neighborliness, and absolute democracy. It was a pleasure he shared with many of the old settlers.
The other one was personal, and probably sinful, as he occasionally reflected. That was the perverse joy he took in tormenting Aaron Stempel. All it took was Jason's presence and a few deliberately chosen words to send Stempel into a whirlwind of discomfiture. He saw himself as one to be taken seriously, and to take him seriously was something Jason could never do. He made a bad example for his brothers, who had come to regard Stempel in the same way.
This morning as they rounded the bend they met three of their men racing toward them with a mob at their heels. The men's joy at seeing Jason was unmistakable. Between pants, Corky explained the situation.
"Throw you in jail for what?" asked Jason.
"For nothin', that's what. It was them started it."
The crowd halted at the foot of the path. Stempel came to the fore. Jason stepped out between him and the three men. "Turn 'em over," Stempel said.
"To you?" Jason said in a voice edged with scorn.
"They assaulted our good citizens."
"Way they tell it, your good citizens attacked them."
"That's for a judge to decide."
Jason's eyes glinted. "I'm judge over my men. They say they're not to blame. I believe 'em."
"And you expect me to do the same."
Joshua stepped out beside Jason. "No matter. Our men aren't your concern."
"They are when they start invadin' our streets and causin' trouble. Brawling, drunkenness, vandalism–"
Jeremy stepped out on Jason's other side. "Who–who got v-v-van–"
Ben stepped up. "They broke my window."
"Did they pay you for it?"
"Well, yeah, but–"
"That's not good enough," Stempel broke in. "Not any more. Next time there's trouble you'll all be barred from town for good."
"Then how, how, how do we b-bring our logs?"
"Long way around, by the cove."
Jason stared stonily at him. "You think you have the right to decree this all on your own?"
Stempel asked the crowd. "Good for you, Aaron!" shouted Lucy Dale.
Jason turned to Ben. The Bolts were his biggest customers. "Well?"
"Well–" He cowered. "They did break my window. I go along with Aaron."
"Not me!" Lottie Hatfield marched up to Stempel. She had not been one of the pursuers but had followed them to find out what they were up to. "And mine's the most popular business in town."
"A saloon!" Mrs. Dale said luridly.
Lottie ignored her. "I say leave 'em be." A few voices rose in support.
"You would say that," Mrs. Dale retorted. "They're your best customers."
Lottie spun on her. "Lucy Dale, if you utter another word I'll tear your corset off and wrap it around your head."
Mrs. Dale began to say "Well!" but got no further than "W–" as Lottie made a move toward her.
"She's right," said Stempel. "Rest of us want a law-abiding community–don't we?"
The crowd returned a loud "Yes!"
Stempel turned back to Jason. "One chance," he said. "That's all you get."
Joshua grinned. "Sounds like a thimblerigger, don't he?" The Bolts laughed.
If there was one thing Stempel hated worse than any other it was laughter at his expense. He felt himself flushing and flushed all the more for it. "You've been warned," he said.
Jason tried to take the warning seriously but found it impossible. Something in Stempel struck him as irreducibly preposterous and always kept him from recognizing the worst implications of his cavils and caveats. He dutifully admonished his men to avoid trouble while in town but down deep he did not credit Stempel with the strength to make good on his threat, and his men sensed that. So he was responsible as anyone for what came to pass.
"Remember," McGee told Corky on the way to town, "Jason said no trouble."
He reminded him again as they were taking two of the brides out for a stroll. There was nowhere to take them to, Candy having so far declared the saloon off limits and the old coal road (of whose existence she was so far unaware) being the kind of place the loggers would never imagine a nice girl would consent to go, and so they took them on a circuit of the town proper and then, with dusk falling, repeated it.
"No trouble, now." The final repetition came after they had seen the girls back home and in coming away found their path blocked by Riley and Gene, one of whom addressed Corky as "tree frog."
The admonition brought a laugh. "That's right," said Riley, "do like your mama says."
"How can he do that?" said Gene. "Ain't none of them boys from up the mountain know who their mama is."
McGee decided the time for quoting Jason was over. "Now, you should know better than to be sayin' a thing like that to a pair of Irishmen." He brought his palms together. "May Himself and Jason forgive us."
The two of them passed a restful night in spite of varied bruises, a black eye, and the hardness of the cell floor. The satisfaction of victory led to a sound sleep. Stempel's order of incarceration did not worry them, for they knew once Jason learned of it he would put everything to rights.
Stempel was waiting at the jail. He could surmise the events of the morning: someone at the camp would have remarked the absence of the two men, someone else would have remembered their leaving for town the evening before, Jason would have sent a man down to find them, the man would have rushed back with the news, which would have sent Jason into a fury, which he would have kept kindling all the way into town, and ultimately he would descend on the jail like an avenging angel and demand their release.
When he did, Stempel was prepared for it. "This time they go before the judge." The judge was not due for fourteen days. Jason asked what the bail was. "No bail. Want to be sure they show up at the hearing." Jason gave him his word. Stempel grinned. "Like I said."
Jason started toward him. "Fifty dollars," Stempel said immediately. Jason pulled a fold of bills from his pocket. "Each," Stempel added.
Sighing, Jason handed it over. "I'll see they steer clear till then."
"Not just them," said Stempel as he opened the cell door. "All of you, unless you have business here. I warned you."
Jason faced him squarely. "You don't bid me whether to come or go."
Stempel made a conciliatory gesture. "I'll make an exception for you and your brothers. You've always stayed within the law. For the rest, unless they're here on your say-so–"
The loggers turned to Jason. "What about Emmeline?"
"And Mary Ellen?"
"Springtime's takin' its natural course," Jason said to Stempel. "You mean to stand in its way?"
"They shoulda thought of that before."
"It's a bitter man deprives others of what he can't have himself," Jason said but he did not argue further. "Ain't like the brides are jailed up," he told the men. "They can come visit you any time."
"Won't come that far," said McGee.
"And they'll be mad when we stop comin' to see 'em," said Corky.
"Then they'll give us over."
"Start goin' out with town boys."
"Might even decide to go back East," said Stempel, smiling at the thought.
"Go to 'em, Jason," Corky begged, "tell 'em why we can't come. Tell 'em we'll be waitin' for 'em up on the mountain."
"They'll be waitin'," Jason reported to Candy in his best poetic manner, "up on the mountain."
Candy was unmoved. "You expect the brides to trudge all that way? They don't wear cork boots, you know."
"Then they can meet in the woods. Plenty of those about."
"Meet men secretly in the woods like–like the sort of women who do that sort of thing? Not on your life, Jason Bolt. Either the men come calling as etiquette dictates or the brides will have nothing to do with them. That goes for you and your brothers too."
"They can't," Jason said impatiently. "I told you–"
"Then it's their own fault for behaving like hooligans. Teach them a lesson."
Jason was silent for a moment. "Miss," he said, "I'm not one to make matches, but if I was I'd have the perfect partner for you." She asked who. "Aaron Stempel," he said, in a tone usually reserved for descriptions of crawling things. "You're two of a kind."
Candy knew she had been insulted but had known Stempel for too short a time to understand just how.
As soon as the town men learned of the prohibition they leapt into the breach. Riley, Gene, and Dexter appeared at the brides' door on Saturday morning carrying a hamper and a tablecloth and invited Emmeline, Deborah, and Mary Ellen out on a picnic.
"'course if you'd rather wait till those law-breakers come back...." said Dexter.
"You're in for a long wait!" Riley said, and the three laughed.
The girls sought Candy's advice. "You can sally forth flags flying," she advised, "or you can turn away all callers and die a lot of old maids. It's your choice."
They chose to go. Neither they nor the men knew the woods and after an afternoon of fruitless traipsing they returned worn and footsore.
"Have a good time?" asked Candy. Their looks gave the answer.
"Town men!" said Mary Ellen.
"We want loggers," said Emmeline, "big handsome loggers."
"Who know their way around the woods," said Deborah.
"And around a girl's heart."
"Not everyone feels that way, Emmeline," Candy said, nodding toward the parlor, where two of the others were entertaining young men with slicked-down hair and shirts buttoned up to the collar.
"Well, we do," said Deborah, "and it's not fair."
McGee said the same to Jason the next morning. He and some of the others approached him after breakfast. "Town men can come courtin' and we can't."
"And the brides won't come to see us," said Corky.
"Ain't a matter of won't," said Jason, "they're not allowed. Now, if someone could talk some sense into that mother hen of theirs...."
They turned to Jeremy.
"I t-tried. She, uh, we, uh, we're not t-talk–" He gave up with a sigh. "I t-tried."
Jason said it was up to her.
Candy said it was up to Jason. Some of the brides had approached her before breakfast.
"Go talk to him," said Emmeline, "please!"
"Talk to her," McGee begged Jason. The other men agreed.
"No offense, Jeremy," said Corky, "but Jason's got a way with women."
Coming down the mountain path, Jason met Candy on the way up.
"Miss Pruitt," he said.
"Mr. Bolt."
"Men are unhappy."
"So are the brides. Some are talking about going home."
Jason guessed correctly that Stempel had been around to see them that morning. "This can't keep up," he said.
"It certainly can't."
"Then you'll let the brides come visit the men?"
"No, indeed. You'll talk Mr. Stempel into letting them visit the brides."
He sighed. "I can't."
"Why not? You talked us into coming here."
"And you came. Halfway round the world you came. Can't you come a little farther–far enough to see the men who want so badly to see you?"
Candy grew quiet. "It's because we have come so far–far from our families and everything we've ever known–the girls need rules to protect them."
"Protect them? From what them and the men are both keen on doing?"
"That's exactly what they need protecting from. And the keener they are, the more they need protecting."
"Then you won't bend."
"And you won't try."
"I been tryin' till I'm blue in the face."
"And Mr. Stempel's too clever for you. I see."
"Stempel! That stick of wood?"
"Then you can do it," she said, staring at him with her huge questioning eyes.
"'course I can!" No sooner had he said it than he realized he was not sure at all.
He successfully hid his doubt from Stempel. Indeed, the boldness with which he demanded an end to the ban nearly provoked the mill owner into having him thrown off the premises. "Come bargin' into my place of business givin' orders," he said. "Who do you think you are?"
"I'm a Bolt, and the son of a Bolt. And our people were loggin' these woods before you ever heard a steam whistle. You got no right declarin' us trespassers in our own country."
"It's not only me. It's all good citizens."
"They listen to you. You say it's all right, they'll go along."
"It's not all right. We haven't had so much peace in a month of Sundays. We've seen what it's like to have a town without Bolt men."
"A dead town. In another fifty years it'll be the haunt of deadwood and ghost wind. That what you want?"
"In fifty years it'll be a proper city. And you and your kind will be relics of an era well lost."
"Good enough for you to do business with."
Stempel shook his head. "You're just handy."
"You wouldn't last a week without us!"
"I'd like to try. One week–just one–where I don't have to put up with your mocking and–clodhopping and–and big fancy talk." He was so badly agitated he could hardly find words.
"That so?" Jason was getting hot too. "Want to cancel our contract?"
"It'd suit me to the ground."
"Me too."
They stared at each other for a moment. "We'll have to shake on it," said Jason. They did so reluctantly, and let go fast.
"I'll find another logging outfit," said Stempel. "Territory's thick with 'em."
"And I'll find me another mill. From this day forward I'll have nothing to do with you."
"And your brothers?"
"My brothers too. And every man on Bridal Veil Mountain."
"Good!" said Stempel. "Then you got no more business here."
For once Jason was stumped for a reply. He glared at him for a moment and then exited. "After today," Stempel said, when Jason was out of hearing, "this town is closed to the Bolts and anybody that sits down to supper with them."
He realized the mill was quiet and looked around to find the hands paused, listening. "What do you think this is," he shouted, "a waxworks?" They immediately resumed work.
That afternoon he assigned two of them to make up a sign to read "Loggers Keep Out!" The next day he had it planted by the totem pole at the entrance to town and then recruited volunteers to stand guard there till further notice.
"Oh, dear," said Candy when she heard the news.
"What's the idea?" said Corky when he and Frank were met by two of Stempel's men, one of them armed.
"You can read, can't you?" the man said.
"Remember, Riley," said the other, "he's one of them mountain boys. Better read it to him."
"We come for supplies," Corky protested. "That's legitimate business." He started forward. Riley clicked back his rifle bolt.
Frank laid a hand on Corky's shoulder. "We'd best tell Jason."
bravenet.com