Dead Remnants

Chapter 6 (Part Two) : MACAJAH: AGNES

August 10, 1879

The stream babbled and sang as it flowed by the cabin. It meandered toward the back of the property, its pace gradually quickening before cascading over a sharp rock ledge and into a freshwater basin filled with cutthroat trout, their green and pink hues speckled here and there within the water's depths.

Nearby, Macajah was putting his shoulder into it, swinging his pickaxe and tearing out chunks of the solid clay ground. He paused to pull a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead before using his Stetson as a fan.

Through the glare of the kitchen window, he could see Abigail kneading dough for that evening's supper. Her hair had come loose, and she'd flick her head whenever a disheveled curl toppled over and obscured her line of sight. The laugh lines Macajah loved diminished as she concentrated. He couldn't help but notice how serious she looked.

Glancing up, she met his eyes and smiled. She tapped her knuckle on the glass, pointed a dough-covered finger at his pickaxe, pointed back at him, then pointed at the soil he'd been working.

Macajah yelled out, "Alright, alright, ya derned taskmaster! I should've never promised you a vegetable patch—this here is the hardest earth I ever labored over. Gonna take me till next spring to dig one dang ditch!"

He could hear her laughter drift from the cabin's open door and grinned in spite of himself. When he raised the pickaxe for another strike, a distant sound of galloping traveled up the canyon. Four riders appeared from around the bend. Beneath the hooves of their horses, clouds of copper-colored dust billowed, wispy tendrils catching on the mountain breeze.

Macajah didn't recognize three of the men, but he knew the leader. He rested the head of his pickaxe on the ground and leaned on the handle as they approached, shooting a look back toward the house. Abigail stood inside the threshold, rubbing her palms together to roll up extra bits of dough before wiping the excess onto her apron. He motioned for her to go back inside, but she answered with an expression that told him she planned on staying put.

Three men dismounted right outside the cabin. The one Macajah knew remained in his saddle.

"I wasn't aware Abigail and I were expecting visitors."

"This here is a surprise visit, Mr. Sloan," Thaddeus said.

"I presume a friendly visit?"

"Suppose that all depends. Don't want to jeopardize our blooming friendship."

"That's mighty presumptuous of you. And I ain't your friend."

Thaddeus clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Macajah, I could be the best friend ya ever did have." He looked over at Abigail and tipped his hat. "Mrs. Sloan."

The muscles in Macajah's neck tensed. "You leave her be."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of injuring such a handsome woman. Since it's been a few months since our fated meeting at Cheap Joe's, I merely request that we emend my previous proposals. Even brought up some sample bags for some ore. Saves me and my boys valuable time."

"You and I know that meeting wasn't fate."

Thaddeus smirked. "Well, ain't ya perceptive? Yes, it's true I arranged for our paths to cross to get a measure on ya."

"Well, I've already told you, we ain't in agreement," Macajah said. "It don't matter a lick what you offer or how many times you inquire. We'll not be persuaded."

"You mistake my intent, Mr. Sloan. I ain't here to purchase."

Something in the old man's tone made Macajah more alert, and he tightened his grip on the pickaxe. One of the riders approached Thaddeus and held his hand up to assist the old man with his dismount. Thaddeus took a moment to glare down at the man before he gripped his saddle horn and slid to the ground. He pushed past the rider, swiping his hand away.