Colonel Brandon's quest chapter 1

Chapter 1

The black clad man sat alone at the table in the saloon, with a well-deserved drink and a pipe.  He was the sort of man whom most law abiding people might take at first glance to be a lawyer or a business man; until they looked into his eyes.

  Those narrow, almost almond shaped eyes were devoid of any emotion but watchfulness; they were eyes that had gazed on death so often that they almost held an echo of the grave in them.  The face was bland and gave little away; but the discerning might note that not all the lines about the eyes were from squinting at the bright desert landscape; some were emissaries of humour in a man who had known laughter, as the faint lines by his mouth told a similar story.  Some might say that his humour was as dark as the death that looked out of his eyes; others that he had buried it six feet under.  But those who had most cause to complain about his humour were themselves beyond complaining in the land of the living.

He was a man who, once they had looked into his eyes, the law-abiding avoided as dangerous.

He was a bounty hunter.

Unlike many of his profession he chose to maintain a level of civilisation in his appearance, in an impeccable morning suit and damask vest, and a neat hat, all in unrelieved black; and he kept his appearance immaculate.

 He was aware of the light step behind him and used the mirror behind the bar to ascertain that it was not the barmaid as he had initially guessed  but a youth who could be no more than a boy. 

There was no apparent change to his demeanour; but he was ready.  Even for a boy.

The sable-clad man had never seen this boy before.  But that did not mean that the boy was not trouble.  And the boy made his way purposefully, threading through the rickety tables to approach the only currently occupied one, lithely making his way across the room. Unhurriedly the older man tapped out the dottle of his pipe with one hand; his other hovered near the butt of a gun, out of sight, under the table.  The boy swayed through the encumbrances with some grace. He came up to the older man’s table.

“Colonel Brandon ?” the boy spoke softly.

“Mm’Mm?” said the colonel. It was a grunt which might have meant almost anything.

“May I join you?” asked the boy.

“It’s a free world,” said the Colonel.  His tone was not encouraging.  He gave his attention to his pipe, filling it carefully; seeming not to even look at the newcomer.

Seeming.

The piercing eyes missed nothing though they seemed to concentrate only on the pipe as though that was the only thing in the world he cared about.

It did not seem to deter the youth – he did not even shave yet, thought Brandon  – who sat down opposite. The youth was slender to the point of being almost emaciated, pale of complexion, with crisp golden hair which looked as though it wanted to curl if it was permitted to get too long. It curled at his collar. His clothes were good quality if rather sober and more suited to an older man.  His tie was badly tied and it irritated the colonel, who frowned at it.  The colonel’s own string tie was impeccably tied, and his own pale locks cut short and neat, like his well-trimmed moustache and goatee beard, a gentleman’s style of facial hair.

The youth studied him, carefully.

“I was looking for you,” said the boy. “You are Colonel Brandon  aren’t you?  You didn’t exactly confirm it.”

Brandon  looked up from his pipe and regarded the boy.

“I am,” he said.  “I believe you have the advantage of me.”

The youth flushed.

“Robert,” he said. “Robert …Lee”

“Well if you claim a middle initial of ‘E’ I can’t say I’d be sure I’d believe that,” said Brandon.

“I was named for General Lee; plenty of people were,” said the boy. “Most people call me Bobby.”

Brandon  grunted.

“It’s a little boy’s name.  You appear to be just a little boy.  What’s a little boy doing in a bar talking to a bounty hunter?” he laid down the pipe and took a pull on the liquor in his glass. “I am not the sort of person nice little boys should be talking to.”

Bobby smiled shyly. It made a pair of dimples appear.

“I wanted to ask if you’d take me as your apprentice,” he said.

Brandon almost choked on his drink.

“Boy, you are insane,” he said. “It’s not the sort of thing a young kid like you does by choice.  Go back home to your mammy and pappy.”

“That I cannot do; I have no home.  I’ve nowhere to go,” said Bobby. “And I figured that in this world, one is either predator; or prey.  I don’t want to be prey.  A predator has to be either against the law; or working for it.  And a criminal is a slave to his need to stay out of gaol; and a lawman is a slave to Uncle Sam.  The bounty hunter has the precarious freedom to starve or eat well in his own sweet way.”

Brandon  regarded the youth through his narrow almond shaped eyes as he struck a match on the table and set it to his pipe.

“Well you’ve not got too many illusions,” he said. “You’re a sickly looking brat.”

Bobby shrugged and waved a careless hand.

“I come from out east.  Easiest way to travel without too many questions asked was to claim to be taking something akin to the Prairie Cure.  A consumptive gets left alone.  So I have been careful not to let my skin darken yet.  I dare say it will and if I have someone to work for I shall be eating more regularly and lose the skinny look.” He scowled as if to dare Brandon to find pity for him. “I had to husband my resources until I found you. It took a while.”

Brandon  regarded the boy malevolently.  He disliked being made to feel driven into a corner. He would maybe give the kid a square meal and tell him to get lost……. He regarded the thin, nervous hands playing with the empty glass the youth had picked up. Their fingers were long and delicate. They bore no calluses and were not used to hard work.  Gently-nurtured, and a tenderfoot.  Why would this youth seek him out to ask for a lifestyle so far from what he was used to?

He grunted.

“What makes you think I want or need an apprentice?  I manage perfectly well on my own.” His eyes bored into Bobby.

The youth did not flinch, which was a mark in his favour, thought the colonel.  Grown men had been known to quail before one of his hard looks. The soft curves of the boy’s mouth hardened slightly, and the little chin raised and the shoulders squared.  Brandon was impressed despite himself.

“I should think I could make myself useful to you,” said Bobby.  “And you could always give me a trial to see if I am of any use.”

“I doubt you’ll be much use without training,” said the colonel.  “You couldn’t spend a day in the saddle and then fettle horses and cook an evening meal. You have the hands of a youth used to servants to do everything for you. How could you possibly manage in a world where you have to do everything for yourself?” he let a little contempt into his voice.

A touch of colour spread across the youth’s face.

“Perhaps I cannot do much as yet, sir, but I could learn. I have had to learn to live without servants coming West; and I have managed well enough so far.  I believe I could manage most of the fettling of the horses and the cooking, even if I am unused to spending the day in the saddle. Was there not a time when you were new to such hardiness?”

No angry denial, nor declaration that he was up for any trial; a statement of what he could do, and what he was concerned about.  Brandon nodded slightly.  That was good. He was amused to have his own tenderfoot days thrown up at him.  Maybe there was something in the brat.  He took a long pull on his pipe and released three smoke rings slowly one after the other before he spoke again. Bobby watched them rise, fascinated.  Brandon nodded slowly.

“Well maybe we’ll give it a trial; you fetch and carry for me and saddle up the horses – do you have a horse?  Do you know how to care for them?”

The boy flushed. It showed more on so pale a skin.

“Of course Colonel, sir.  We’ve always had horses ... Before I had to leave you understand,” he added. “I came with my mare.”

The colonel nodded.

“Very well; I’ll check her over in the morning.  I’m in no hurry to leave so we can take our time.  I was about to order supper; I take it you’d like to eat?  I’ll pay you with board and you sleep wherever I sleep and when I take a man in I’ll pay you a proportion according to how well you earned it.  Suit you?”

“Yes sir; suits me just fine,” said the boy.

Brandon signalled for the girl.

“Feed the brat,” he said, when she came over, a seductive smile pinned on her face. “Steak and onions and whatever else comes with it; plenty of good red meat.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.  “And whiskey?”

“The boy will do better on milk until he grows up,” said Brandon.

Bobby flushed.

“I drink wine at home,” he said.

“And while you’re with me you’ll drink milk until you’re a darker colour than it is,” said Brandon. “You look like you need it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Bobby, resigned. “I don’t like beer anyway,” he added.

“I don’t suppose it would like you either,” said Brandon.  “I don’t need to be clearing up your puke.”

Brandon watched Bobby eating when the food arrived.  The lad ate with the concentration of hungry youth but with a delicacy that spoke of a gentle upbringing.  Well, the boy bore watching.  And that was why he had taken this strange youngster under his wing; because there was a story there.  This place was no place for a child who knew nothing of the world; the evenings brought rough customers and a kid like this might easily accidentally cause offence and find himself shipped back east in a wooden box.  Brandon  sighed.  Sometimes having a conscience was a serious problem.  Well, first of all there was much to find out; and then he might make decisions. 

And it would be as well to get the child above stairs and into his private room before the evening’s rough customers began to arrive.  The girls here who provided entertainment, whether dancing on the floor or horizontally in rooms, were a bit too much of an education for a gently-reared child like this.  And the men who came to watch them and more would not take into account youth and inexperience.

“If you’ve finished, you’d better come with me,” said Brandon.  “I don’t think you want to be here when it gets lively.”

“No, I do not like it too lively,” said Bobby.