Jeremiah only realised that he had a stowaway on the back of his wagon in the late afternoon six miles past Salesville, where he had first called to the flourmill to pick up what he had ordered on his way to the city and then dropped of some goods and parcels to the folks at the sawmill. He had called into them on his way into the city. They had been very helpful to him in the past and he was keen to return the favour so he asked if they had some errands to run.
He had a good idea who was hiding in the back but of course could not be certain. It would have been too much of a coincidence though, if it hadn't been the boy.
It was too late for him to go all the way back to the city now, but he could go back to Salesville and stop over there. He'd get there just before nightfall and could return to the city first thing in the morning. It would add at least one more day to his journey. There was only that far he could tax his animals to go on one day.
But then what? Hand the child over to McManus? Let McManus take him back to the orphanage? No matter where in the world, old or new, an orphanage was not a place for a child to grow, Jeremiah reminisced. He agreed with McManus on that, but he wasn't convinced about the idea of 'placing out' either.
McManus had called the boy a flight risk and was doubtful he'd get him there in the first place. Having seen the boy in action Jeremiah had no doubt McManus was right. He'd end up on the streets sooner or later. Not a fate either man wanted for the boy. They had agreed on that point too.
But could he even be certain McManus wouldn't fold if the sheriff and the pastor threw their weight around and tried to make him hand the boy back over to the Blacksmith? If McManus even was still there and had not yet taken a train back East at this stage?
Handing him back over to the blacksmith might be the only other option if McManus had already gone. The boy had run away from him, by the sounds of it for good reason? Maybe the blacksmith no longer wanted him? Why would anyone want a child that didn't want to be with them? Would the local committee take responsibility for the boy? He didn't like the way those bigoted idiots talked about the boy or the way they looked at Jeremiah himself. Nothing good would come out of bringing the boy back, other than he was rid of him. The whole idea of dragging children across the country to live with strangers who might or might not treat them well was wrong in Jeremiah's eyes. But was it any of his concern?
He hated those pretend do-gooders whose real aim was to quieten their bad conscience by cleaning up the streets, so they no longer had to look at the perpetuating misery that this new world has brought to so many instead of the chance of a life that they had been promised. Darn it, he hated colluding with them and didn't want to be a cog in that system, no matter how small. He had left it all behind so he wouldn't have to make decisions like this.
Goddam hyperactive dog and his stupid fear of the tarp, Jeremiah thought angrily. The dog had been trying to alert him from the beginning. He could see that now. But Jeremiah had misread what was going on and simply thought the dog was agitated by the canvas over the goods, just like the last time they had travelled together like this.
On the way to the town the restless dog had been constantly moving, jumping from the seat to the back of the wagon, resting there for a few minutes and then doing the same again in reverse. Occasionally he had even jumped down and walked alongside the horse. He wasn't a pup anymore but nobody had told him that. The dog had never been one for sitting down long.
On the way back however, with the tarp over the supplies he had bought in the city, the dog had been staying beside him on the seat. He had been agitated. Every so often he was turning around, putting his front legs across the backrest of the seat, whining, then turning around again on the spot and sitting down for a little while, often resting his head on Jeremiah's lap, looking up at him with those sad eyes. Like a child whining, 'are we there yet?' It wasn't unusual behaviour for the dog, but what was different this time was how he occasionally yelped at the tarp, and how he now and then kept nudging him in the side of his face with his nose and licking his chin. He knew Jeremiah didn't like that and Jeremiah had scolded him for it.
Jeremiah sighed. Again, he heard a rustle behind him. When he turned his head, he noticed a slight movement on the right-hand side, below the canvas that was reinforced with tar. Again, the dog yipped at it. For it was too gentle to be a bark which is how Jeremiah knew it was the child and not a complete stranger, or so he hoped.
He glanced over his shoulder again and could see the little fingers sticking out between the tarp and the sideboard, lifting it just high enough so whoever was under it could take a peep at the passing countryside. McManus had to smile a little but then worry washed over his face again.
"Whoah!" he called in an accentuated deep voice to the team of horses in front of him, pulling at the reigns and bringing his wagon to a halt. He pulled the lever of the break before he jumped off his seat and walked around to the back of the wagon. For the third time today, he untied the tarp. Starting at the right-hand corner, he folded the cover back just enough so he could climb up onto the bed of the wagon and search for the little stowaway. There was a much louder rustling sound this time. He could see that the boy moved away from the side of the wagon where Jeremiah had seen his bony fingers, but he couldn't exactly make out where to. He could have moved further back or maybe into the middle, or both. He wasn't sure what was where exactly, as it had been mainly the merchant's son who had packed the wagon for him, and sacks of flour and seed grains had been added at the flourmill. The boy had been lucky he had not been discovered then.
"Come on out kid," Jeremiah called and waited, but there was no movement anymore. "I know you are in there somewhere," he called again, as he started to fold the cover further back, and then moved forward. He had to climb over his purchases. Again, he was folding the cover backwards, and then moved forward over his goods, repeating that action until eventually he found him. The child had moved all the way to the front of the wagon, where he had wedged himself into a small gap between two large wooden crates. The boy's blue eyes, piercing due to their stark contrast to his jet-black hair, stared up at him fearfully. Seeing him that frightened Jeremiah took a step back. He did not want to scare him any further, but almost immediately regretted this action. For as soon as he did, the boy jumped up and launched himself over the box beside him, then over the side of the wagon and down onto the path. It looked as if he hit the ground running as he sped into the small but densely wooded area between the path and the river. In a flash he was gone. The dog finally finding his voice started barking loudly.
"Did you see that? Good dog, I almost missed him, if it hadn't been for you," Jeremiah scolded his dog sarcastically, and the dog replied with a woeful whine.
For a split-second Jeremiah contemplated if he should get back onto his wagon and leave. The boy wasn't his responsibility, no one even knew he was with him. He'd only been half serious when he suggested he'd have a look at him. He didn't really want an apprentice even if he had been older. An extra pair of hand would be helpful but where would he have even put him. He'd only got involved because he had heard the men talk and was incensed about the way they spoke about the child. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he'd been glad when the men rejected his offer in their ignorance and relieved when he realised how much younger he was than he had anticipated. It had given him a reasonable excuse, an out. He hadn't thought it through, he certainly couldn't look after a boy that young, even if he wanted to.
But those guilt inducing thoughts left his mind as fast as they had entered it. He knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself had he just left him there. He might have made his way back to Salesville if he was lucky but if he walked into the other direction his chances of survival would be a lot lower than that on the streets of a city. There were no bins to forage through here, no people to steal or beg from. The boy had a knife and fishing tackle but who said he could actually use it. He'd spent most of his life in the city, god knows how little he might have been taught on those short stints on the farms?
Silently cursing himself for letting the boy slip away, and caring in the first place, Jeremiah went to get his rifle from under his seat and then followed the boy into the thicket, the dog sprinting ahead. He had his uses, Jeremiah had to admit, tracking and sniffing out people who were friendly enough to pet him were on top of his list. Jeremiah took his time though in the hope that the fact that he wasn't running after him right away got the boy to stop and hide, or at least slow down. He had no intention of chasing the panicked boy towards the fast-flowing river whose gushing roar was all that could be heard. The boy's running feet had sounded the alarm and caused the wildlife to stop in their tracks.
If he hadn't got the dog with him, it would have been difficult enough but not impossible to pick up the meagre boy's trail on the dry forest ground. The dog however led him straight to a cluster of several fallen trees and promptly disappeared in the cave they formed. In all likelihood the trees had fallen victim to the same storm a long time ago as they now lay there crisscross on top of each other, their roots exposed having ripped big holes into the ground. Already the forest had much reclaimed them, as new trees had started to grow from in between their rotten trunks, and moss and ivy overgrew them and their dead branches. It made the perfect place for the boy and dog to play hide and seek. Only this was not a game.
With his tongue against the roof of his mouth Jeremiah let out a short, high-pitched whistle for the dog to come back to him. "Good dog," he told him, as he patted him on the head when he returned enthusiastically jumping up on his leg. "You too, John. Come on out," Jeremiah called in a friendly enough manner. He had no intention of scaring the boy and hoped he would come to him voluntarily but there was no movement, no sound from inside the den.
"Come on out John. I know you are in there. I am not going to hurt you," he tried again, a little firmer this time but still no sign of life. Could the dog have gotten it wrong, and just chased a hare or squirrel into the hiding place? He wouldn't have put it past him, he mused. But then he noticed movement and saw one of the boy's black boots disappear under the bottom trunk.
Jeremiah sighed. He didn't fancy having to crawl into the hideout and pull the child out. He wasn't even sure if he could reach the boy who would surely be able to fit into the tiniest of spaces.
"Right dog. Come on so. He doesn't want to come with us. Let's go home, we still have a long way to go," Jeremiah told his dog, a message that was really meant for the boy, and then added, "wouldn't want us to end up as some wolf's dinner tonight."
Jeremiah smirked as he could hear a faint rustle from amongst the dead trees. But still the boy did not come out. Slowly but with a lot of noise Jeremiah walked away, every so often glancing over his shoulder, in the hope that the boy would follow. If this didn't work, the only other option was to try and crawl in and pull him out with force. He couldn't just wait and leave his horses unattended indefinitely. It was getting late. He would have to put up a camp soon.
It did work though, and the boy came crawling out. He slowly followed him, but kept his distance. As soon as the dog noticed he took to running from one human to the other as if trying to connect the two with an invisible band and Jeremiah didn't stop him. When he got to the row of trees that lined the path Jeremiah stopped and turned around, patiently waiting for the boy to catch up with him, before stepping back out onto the path. But the boy slowed down and eventually came to a halt altogether about ten feet away from him, carefully watching Jeremiah's every move.
"Why did you run?" Jeremiah asked.
The boy didn't answer but shrugged his shoulders instead. Was it not obvious? He had been scared, but you don't always have to know the reason why you are scared.
"Come on," Jeremiah said and stepped back out onto the path, hoping but not looking if the boy was going to follow him. Slowly the boy did follow though, continuing to keep a safe distance all the same.
Jeremiah closed the back of the wagon again and secured the tarp, fastening it to the sides with robe, while the boy without taking his eyes of Jeremiah stood a good few feet away running his fingers through the dog's long hair on the back of his head.
Jeremiah sighed. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do. Going back was the last thing he wanted to do but taking the boy with him? Was that even an option? He looked around at the scrawny kid who looked undernourished and cold, and just too young.
Jeremiah went to the front of his wagon and slid the rifle back under his seat. He turned around and whistled for the dog who promptly came running up to him, getting his rewarding 'good boy' and pat on the side of his body before clambering onto the driver's seat. "Come on kid, I don't have all day, you can't stay here. The wolves will eat you for dinner," he told the boy casually. The boy looked back into the direction of the wood, and then slowly walked up towards him but then stopped again. Jeremiah would have been able to reach him at this stage but the boy' stance gave the impression he was ready to bolt anytime if need be.
"You aren't taking me back, are you Mister?" the boy asked, his voice fearful but his determined eyes looking up at Jeremiah in a way that did not suit the rest of his appearance as it made him seem a lot older.
"No, I reckon I won't," Jeremiah replied with a sigh. Had the boy not asked he might have, but he was not good at saying no, never was, never will be. He reached for the boy' shoulder and the boy let him. Guiding him forward with his hand, Jeremiah turned the boy to face the wagon and then lifted him up by the waist, helping him to climb onto the driver' seat where the child moved past the dog and placed himself on the outside, making sure to keep the dog between himself and Jeremiah. It was going to be a tight squeeze for the rest of the journey, but then the dog jumped onto the tarp covered boxes that stood right behind them and lied down. Resting there, slightly above them, watching the landscape pass, he gave the impression of a much more mature animal, a leader of a pack, protectively looking out for his subjects.
Jeremiah could only shake his head at his foolish dog who suddenly had forgotten he was afraid of the tarp.
"Get-up," Jeremiah called, and the horses started to move forward down the path and towards the mouth of the canyon.