Chapter 6 – Colt Meets Caldwell
The lamps in the ranch house burned low and steady, casting a soft gold glow across the long supper table. The plates had been cleared, coffee had been poured fresh, and the last crumbs of Mary’s peach pie still clung stubbornly to a few forks. Outside, the wind whispered through the cottonwoods along the river, and they could hear the distant sound of the rapids tumbling over the rocks.
Caldwell leaned back in his chair, easing the weight off his long, day-worn legs. He let the silence stretch a moment, thoughtful, then turned his eyes toward Jake.
“You know,” the old man said slowly, “a fellow learns a lot about a man by who he calls a friend. You and Colt—how’d that come about?”
Jake glanced across the table at Colt, who sat stiff-backed, hat resting in his lap, eyes lowered to the grain of the wood. For a moment Jake said nothing, as if weighing how much of the past to open. Then he took a slow breath.
“That story starts a long way from here,” Jake said. “Back when this whole country was tearin’ itself in two.”
Colt lifted his eyes then, not interrupting, just listening.
“I was fresh outta school,” Jake continued. “Didn’t have much stomach for killin’ my fellow Americans, but I sure couldn’t stand by while boys my age bled out in the dirt. So I joined up with what they called the Stretcher Brigade—stretcher bearers. Union side. Our job was carryin’ the wounded off the field to the doctors. We carried in men from both sides.”
Colt nodded once, the painful memories plain in his eyes.
“I felt the same,” Colt said quietly. “Only I was from Kentucky. Border state. Family divided. I believed in states’ rights, but more’n that, I believed no man should be left to die alone if help could reach him. Jake and I worked together, going behind the lines of both sides to take, sometimes a dying man, back for help.”
Jake went on. “We met after the First Battle of Bull Run. Field looked like the end of the world—smoke hangin’ so heavy it hurt to breathe and it burned your eyes, men cryin’ out from everywhere at once.”
Colt gave a faint, rueful smile. “Blood’s the same color on everybody. North or South.”
“Shortly before the Second Battle of Bull Run, the Union had finally organized the Ambulance Corps proper,” Jake said. “By then, me and Colt had our way of workin’ together—fast, quiet, and determined. Other men from both sides worked together as we did. We all had the same goals, to help the wounded and dying. A couple of times we brought in a man who found his wounded brother or father who had been fightin’ on the other side.”
“I fought in both those battles,” Caldwell said reflectively. “Under Longstreet. Men like you two were worth more than gold to the men you helped... and their families”
“What I learned from Jake, I took back to Stonewall,” Colt said. “Then we began to save more boys than I could count.”
“The last place we met,” Jake said softly, “was Appomattox Courthouse... Saw two brave men making peace, Grant and Lee.”
Colt’s jaw tightened. “We were friends with opposite ideas about the war, who had worked together on the battlefield. A Blue Belly and a Johnny Reb. We shook hands. War was over. We planned to meet again.”
“But we didn’t meet again,” Jake said. “Not till this mornin’.”
Caldwell studied Colt. “Jake told me you had worked on the Flying-Z. How long?”
“Five years, sir.”
“What did you do?”
“I finally made Range Boss, but the ranch was too small, and I wanted to go west.”
“What about rustlers?”
“We fought some. Haldeman’s gang was the worst. He left two men behind, dead, and he got none of our cattle. None of us hurt.”
“Good to hear,” Caldwell replied. “I’ve heard of him. Read in the paper that Masterson finally got him down Kansas way.”
“From what Jake said, and what I’ve heard, I could never find a better Range Boss,” Caldwell declared. “What do you two say?”
Colt straightened. “I won’t promise perfection,” he said. “But I’ll promise this ranch will run straight.”
Caldwell smiled. “That’s all I’m askin’.”
Jake grinned. “Sounds like we’re ridin’ together, pard.”
Mary appeared at the doorway. “Who wants the last slice of peach pie?”
“Give it to the new Range Boss,” Caldwell laughed.
And for the first time since Appomattox, Colt Barnes accepted something not as a soldier, not as a stretcher bearer, not as a wanderer, but as a man who had finally found a home….
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