And just like that, all tension left the moment. Benny’s raiders gathered around, jockeying for the opportunity to shake Will’s hand and introduce themselves.
He had put the war behind him, but clearly, he was not forgotten by all.
“What are you doing out here, Benny?” Will asked again.
“Like I said, brother, we have a lot to catch up on. But I’ll give you the short of it. We all had trouble with the bluebellies at one time or another.”
“I heard what happened up at Bonham. I’m glad you’re alive.”
Benny nodded. “Obliged. If it weren’t for the good Lord, I never would’ve made it out of that scrape. Truth be told, I still don’t know how I did.”
“You always were a lucky so-and-so,” Will laughed.
“Yeah, I don’t feel so lucky these days. Mostly what I feel is hungry. These men are in the same boat. They all had trouble like mine, here and there. We all sort of fell in together over time.”
“And now what?” Will asked. “Are you highwaymen?”
“I’m sorry about this whole thing, Will. We saw you boys with all them cattle and figured we could use some beef. If I had known it was you?—”
“Don’t worry about it, Benny. These are desperate times. And nobody got hurt. Tell you what. Let’s throw some wood on that fire and get some grub going. We can catch up over beans and salt pork.”
CHAPTER 29
“Where is Will Bentley?” Sully Weatherspoon demanded from atop his black stallion. His men stayed back a few feet, Gibbs on one side and Chad Butler, whom Sully had hired after speaking with that nincompoop Sheriff Rickert, on the other.
The old man stood there, barefoot, fooling with the straps of his filthy bib overalls, and took his time answering, which infuriated Sully. But such things one must endure when dealing with peasants, and Sully’s father had forbidden him to cause trouble out here.
After squinting at Sully for several seconds, the old man spat a long stream of tobacco juice onto the ground between them. “Ain’t seen old Will since before the war.”
“But you know he’s back,” Sully said. “Tell me where to find him, old man.”
After an even longer pause, the man spat again. “Young man like you ought to call me sir, not old man.”
“I said what I said. Where’s Bentley?”
“Gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“The Thicket.”
“You lie. He came back here.”
“Came back, sure. Then he left again. Went to the Thicket is what I hear. See, folks around here, we like Will. He comes and goes, we know. He’s a good man. Common as dirt, always with a kind word for?—”
“I don’t care about any of that,” Sully snapped. “Why did he go to the Thicket?”
“Will’s got friends down there. Good friends. Men who rode together during the… well, maybe you heard of it… the war?”
Sully nearly struck the man then. Of course, there was no way that this man, who didn’t know his identity, let alone his personal history, could know about the war. But he’d implied something resembling the truth nonetheless… and it infuriated Sully more even than the man’s slack-jawed insolence.
“Watch your mouth, old man. You don’t want to make me angry.”
The old man gave an aggravating smile, showing Sully a handful of tobacco-stained teeth. “Well, ain’t you the cock of the walk? You stick around, maybe Will’ll come back and teach you some manners. Of course, he already did teach you some manners, didn’t he? All three of you.”
The man spat again, fire coming into his eyes.
And that was not only irritating but confounding. How dare this old man display anger while facing three strong young men?
