Speak of the Devil

Three days had passed, during which they accomplished a lot around the farm. The last load of pine logs needed for the planned barn addition were felled, hauled, and stacked into a pile, ready for their trip to the mill. From the beginning, they’d been very thoughtful when choosing which trees to cut, and now had good square sections of cleared land for future planting. In the meantime, grass took over the sunny spots around the stumps—which would eventually be burned out—giving them other places to turn hobbled horses loose for grazing. Rotating the stock regularly kept their fenced areas lush and green.

They were setting the final few posts of the newest paddock—the one Mitch had been working on before he left to go fishing—when Boone thought he smelled smoke. It was faint, and he had to sniff a few times to be sure, but there was soon no mistaking it.

Coy’s head weren’t long in coming up as he stamped dirt around the fat, peeled post he’d just set four feet down into the ground. “I’m smelling smoke… you smell smoke?”

“Yep, I surely do, but it ain’t close… I don’t think. Smells kind of sweet to me.” Boone searched the landscape for signs of it, fear rising at the thought of their buildings catching fire. “Could be coming from anywhere, but we should check the house and barn to be safe.”

Both men dropped their tools and with long strides headed toward the cabin. There was no smoke to be seen as they neared. Boone had thought it possible the campfire coals had flared up, but that weren’t the case neither. “Might be someone has a fire going near the river?”

“Mitch, you thinking?”

“Nah, can’t see it. What reason would he have for a fire so close? Could be a fisherman cooking his catch, though.”

Coy did a slow circle, his nostrils flared. “Don’t think it is coming from the river, and besides, it don’t smell like no cooking fire.”

Boone sniffed again, and a swirling breeze from the east carried the faint scent right to him. “Yep. You’re right. Could be one of the farmers is burning stumps or brush.”

“Feel better if we checked,” Coy said, still looking unsettled. “Possible there’s a fire in the woods somewhere.”

“Not enough smoke for that, is there?”

“Likely not, but there wouldn’t be if it just got started.” Coy began walking east, and Boone quickly caught up.

“We can make our way up to the ridge and get a better view.”

“Was thinking the same thing, but I want to check along our boundary line first.”

“Yep, it’s definitely coming from that direction.” They weren’t long in getting to the edge of the ravine, and by then they saw smoke. Boone breathed a sigh of relief. “Looks to be a campfire beyond that tree line. What’s that funny smell?”

“Don’t know but it’s definitely sweet. Wait… ain’t that sage what’s burning?”

“That’s exactly what it is!” Boone answered, having no doubts now.

“Someone must have used it to start a fire. Think it could be Red Eagle’s bunch? They use sage plenty.”

“Yep, they do, but they’d never build a fire on that land. They know it’s all government parcels along here, and they ain’t ones to look for trouble. Besides, he said he wouldn’t be back around these parts till fall.”

“Might be they’re getting rounded up like in other places, and don’t have no choice?”

“Sure hope not. These lands have been their hunting grounds long before we stole it all.” Boone hated how the government had broken every treaty ever made with the Indians. They were few and far between now, forced to live on reservations, yet still were hunted down like animals… worse than animals. No decent man massacred animals.

“Think someone bought the land?”

The sage smell was stronger now. “Possible, I suppose. I think we should go see who’s over there… say hello if that’s the case. Might be someone in trouble who needs help.”

“Never thought of that. Could be a signal fire?”

“Not much smoke if it is. Don’t got my gun, but you got yours.”

“Yep, and I’ll be ready,” Coy said as he headed down the slope.

Boone was quicker, and scrambled up the other side of the ravine before giving Coy a hand for the last few strides. The flickering flames of the small fire could be seen through the trees ahead of them, in what Boone knew to be an open area. Once Coy was safely beside him, he called out. “Hello, yonder. You need help? We live on the farm to the west.”

Coy stepped forward, and Boone was quick to do the same. “Don’t go charging over there,” he whispered.

“I won’t… you worry too much,” he added with a grin.

A few seconds later a figure stepped into view, and Boone’s jaw dropped.

“Mitch?”

“Howdy, boys,” he said, looking pleasant enough. “What brings you fellas over this way?”

“Smelled smoke,” Boone answered. “Didn’t know it was you, but not sure you should be setting a fire on government land without permission.” Boone went about kicking off his boots and pouring water from them. Coy was doing the same.

The sheriff snorted. “Don’t need no permission.”

“Well, I suppose you know the law better than we do, but—”

“Nothing to do with that. I own this here piece of land, signed official as of today. Had the dubious pleasure of dealing with a Mr. Phineas Lemon—ain’t seen bigger eyes in my life,” he finished with a wry smile.

“You what? You… you bought this?” Coy asked with eyes as wide as Boone had ever seen them.

“Sure did, young Diamond. Got the deed to say I’m your neighbor… for the time being.”

“For the time being?”

“For as long as I last, yep.”

“So… this mean you’re not going to Bearpaw Lake?”

“I reckon it probably does mean that. Don’t see the need for more travel when I can settle on a piece of heaven on earth.” He grinned, and there was some devil in it. “Not sure I’ll end up in that other heaven after the life I’ve lived.”

Coy’s confused expression cleared. “I’m glad for you sticking close, but… you know you could have stayed with us as long as you need. There weren’t no need to—”

“I know that… and I still might, depending on how much time I got left. You boys are willing to watch me die, and I ain’t in a position to say no to it.”

Boone had been watching the conversation unfold, but he was just as confounded as Coy. He finally put the boot he’d been holding in his hand, back on. “I don’t understand, Mitch. Happy as the dickens to have you for a neighbor, but why buy this now if you’ll be staying with us? If that doc was right, you’re in no shape to be a farmer no matter how good you’re feeling. For sure we’ll help you build something—a home—if that’s your wish, but….”

“My last wish?” he asked with the same devilish grin. “You’re a smart man, Boone. Can’t you figure out the why of it?”

“No sir, can’t say I can, but I guess I understand wanting such land. You mentioned before how you liked it.”

Mitch sighed. “Didn’t plan on telling you boys this just yet, but since I was stupid enough to start a fire you could get wind of, I guess I need to tell you what I’m up to, otherwise you’ll keeping looking at me like you are now, as if I lost my damn mind.”

“I’d be obliged if you’d explain your reasoning, Mitch,” Coy said, and Boone heard the worry in him.

“I will, but come by the fire while I burn the last of this here sage I collected upriver.”

“Smelled it all the way back north of the cabin,” Boone said.

“Should have known the smell was strong enough to reach your place. Didn’t seem windy to me when I lit it.”

“Smoke don’t need much wind. Took us a while to figure out it was sage, though. So why are you burning it now? Is it to celebrate buying this land?” Boone asked, liking the clear-eyed expression Mitch was wearing. It looked like a couple more years had lifted off the man since he’d ridden out the few days before.

“Well… when I built my little house back in Red Bluff, an old Indian feller came by one evening just as I was finishing up for the day. Had the roof on at the time, or most of it, and was feeling proud for the good work I done. Spoke decent English, that old man did. Said burning sage in a new home—he called it my lodge—brings the protection of the ancestors, so he walked around the place with a bunch of it smoking like morning fog over a pond… even smoked me before he walked away chanting in his own language. Funny how all that smoke didn’t set me to coughing back then.

“Anyways, I ain’t got no buildings or nothing, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to do it for the land. Spent a lot of good years in that house, and got better than I should have when I sold it. Fool lawyers… don’t mind taking their money at all.” His grin was contagious.

Boone could see a vitality in the man he hadn’t seen before. Nothing wrong with a man dying knowing he owned a good chunk of land. “I think it’s a fine idea.”

“Burning sage?”

“Not only. Coy and me, we got sage smoked by Red Eagle when we first got here. He said it offered protection from bad spirits. But, I meant buying this plot too. Don’t matter how long you’re around to enjoy it, it’s a special place for sure. There might be wider lands around here easier to farm right away, but there’s few that are prettier. It’s got the same gentle slope ours does, good spring water too, a few good-sized clearings for pasture, a spring fed crick deep enough to bathe in, and you even got an apple tree up in the west corner.”

“Two fine apple trees you're welcome to harvest,” Mitch corrected. “Yep, it’s got all that and more. I’m mighty partial to the ridge myself. Could stare out over that valley for hours at a time. Thanks, Boone. Pleases me you get my thinking, but truthfully, them ain't the only reasons I purchased this particular piece of property.”

“We understand, Mitch,” Coy said, his concerned expression cleared. “I’m tickled you want to own land next to ours.”

The man took a deep breath as he eyed them both. “That’s a part of it, for sure. Mainly though, I figured since you boys weren’t comfortable with taking my money when I’m gone, you might be more inclined to accept this piece of land you can add to yourn. The will’s already being drawn up in town—and yes, there’s still some money I’m asking you to accept—so I’ll go back in in a few days to make it official. This land and all I have is yours when I die, and I hope you respect that it’s done.”

Boone exchanged a long glance with Coy. “You sure have been busy for someone who was out on a fishing trip.”

“Only took half a day to get things settled once I made up my mind, and I did do some fishing. I ate good in fact, but my stomach’s feeling a mite empty at the moment.”

“That mean you’ll join us for supper?” Coy asked.

“If we eat the string of trout I got tied in the creek, be glad to. That’s if’n you’re not expecting company already?”

“If you mean Will, we’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since the afternoon you left. He don’t want to be the reason you stay clear of our place… but he is itching to talk with you.”

Mitch sighed. “He’s a considerate man… mostly. Weren’t nothing he wouldn’t do for me back in those days… ‘cept stick around.”

This time, there weren't no bitterness in his words what Boone could hear. “None of my business, but he cares deeply for you… just as deeply as he did then, and I don’t think it’s fair not to tell him about the sickness. He ain’t been sleeping a'tall, and that man puts in a full day’s work, so he needs to be sharp enough to heed the danger of what he does.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose in surprise, maybe because it was Boone and not Coy saying his piece. “Never thought of that. He was always high-fired worried for the danger of me being sheriff—he didn’t think I paid him any mind, but I did… or I tried to.” He sighed, and this time Boone heard regret. “It’s been hard for me to sleep these nights too. Course, I’ve been spoiled by your fancy mattress.”

“It’s yours as long as you want it,” Coy said.

“That’s a mighty fine offer and I thank you for it. Suppose me and Will do need to have us a talk. You’re right that he’s deserving of the truth so he can move on from such fool notions he’s carrying.”

“He might not want to,” Coy said as he looked Boone’s way.

“He ain’t got no choice. I don’t want him fretting over me like some mother hen, and when the time comes, I don’t want you or Boone to either, Coy.”

“You can’t stop us from caring, Mitch, and especially not Will. If it was him sick, what would you do?”

“Probably fret, which is why I didn’t want to speak of it to him. What are we talking about this for when you boys haven’t answered my question?”

“What question is that?”

“Are you going to respect my final wishes? Will you accept this land and make it part of Red Apple Farm when my time comes?”

“Ah… we….” Coy looked to Boone, his words failing him, and Boone understood why. He was still having trouble admitting to himself the sheriff was going to die. Like a flash of lightning, it struck Boone that it wasn’t just Mitch who considered them as family. They both looked at Mitch as not only a friend, but as a father figure as well. Coy had lost his early, and Boone had never known the man whose seed had made him. Fact was, after losing Wes and Lee, the sheriff had stepped in and given them guidance they sorely needed. He was a man who cared, and a man to look up to, and he understood the love Coy and Boone shared.

“Be honored too, Mitch, if that’s what you’re wanting,” he answered for them both.

“Good. It surely will give me peace of mind, so it’s settled then?” His gaze traveled from one to the other, looking for an answer.

“Yep,” Boone said, and they both nodded this time.

“It is, and we thank you for it,” Coy agreed.

“Well, good! Just one more thing to clear up, though. I want to be buried on this land, up near the ridge. Does me good to know where my final resting place will be, and I won’t be a bother to you after you fill in the hole,” he said with a gentle chuckle.

“There’s a strong oak in the northeast corner what reminds me of one I used to sit up in as a young’un. My pa cut most all our trees down to increase our pasture, but this one was in a corner too, and far from the house. Had a view for miles if I climbed high enough. Good place to be alone once I started recognizing I was someone my pa wouldn’t like… that no one would. Sure was a confusing thing.”

“Know what you mean,” Boone said.

“Reckon you do. I used to sit up near the top and think about the time I would be old enough to leave… until it was time for milking the cows. It seemed like it was always time to milk those damn cows. I hated them for a long time, but now I almost wish I could go back to it. Doing chores was simple.”

Boone got caught up in the faraway look in the man’s eyes. Besides Sheriff Diggs, did being different also play a part in Mitch’s determination to be a lawman… to prove something to hisself? "We’ll make sure you get buried proper, Mitch, in the spot beneath that oak,” he promised, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

“I’m obliged to you, to both of you. Thought I had no one left when Wes and Lee and Dan got shot dead, but turns out I was wrong. Funny when you think about it. I sort of knew you fellas for more than a year, but their deaths made me really see you… I reckon because of how much y’all meant to them. They loved you boys, and I figured I owed it to my best friends to keep an eye out for you, and here you are looking out for me. I’m thankful for that… I truly am.”

“So are we, Sheriff,” Coy said. “We miss them too, but you’re right that something good did come of it.”

Mitch snorted, and then laughed out loud. “Ain’t a sheriff no more, but I reckon I don’t mind you still see me that way.”

“We see who you are, and you’re a damn good friend, and someone we respect. We’re honored you sought us out when you did, and we’ve got your back the way you’ve had ours. Can I have that?” Coy didn’t wait for an answer, reaching out and taking the bunch of sage Mitch still held in his hand.

Squatting, he held the end of it until the mostly dry leaves caught fire and began to smoke. Standing, he blew out the flame as he faced the curious man. “Great Mother bless this man who sees you, and Great Mother bless this land he will take from and give to. We invite his ancestors to find peace here, and ask them to push away any bad spirits who might want to do harm, to him or this land.” Waving the sage around, he spread its pungent smoke over Mitch, front and back, from head to toe before holding it high in the air. Once he was done pointing it at the four corners of the property and bowing each time, he dropped it into the fire.

“Where the dickens did you learn that?”

Coy grinned at Mitch, and then at Boone, who found himself smirking. “I paid attention to our friend Red Eagle and asked him about it after he smudged us. Indians put a lot of store in such a ceremony—the sage is an offering, and smoking the person helps the ancestors know where you are, so your ma and pa and their ancestors will be able to find you here. Can’t argue with the good fortune Boone and me have had since we were smudged.

“Some tribes add tobacco and sweet grass to the sage—even red cedar—but Red Eagle don’t have faith in such. ‘Only sage,’ he says. They have their differences I guess, maybe depending on where they live, but seems to me their religion don’t twist and turn on the important things, not like ours does. They don’t try to make it suit them, while we shove ours down their throats cause we think we’re more civilized. Ain’t what I’ve seen. Red Eagle is what my ma would have called a gentle soul, and white men prove time and again they are the real savages.”

“No doubt for that, Coy. You sure are a thoughtful man for your age. I’ve seen the cruelty in those who call themselves men of God. Far as I’m concerned, they hide behind religion while they do evil in plain sight. Is the ceremony over, cause if you got time I want to show you some of my plans?”

“Yep, but we’ll let the sage burn away on its own. Rain or wind can put it out because they believe those things come from the one who creates, but it’s bad luck for us to.”

“Fire’s down anyway. Feel like taking a walk?” Mitch asked.

“Good day for it,” Boone answered.

Mitch showed them where he’d like to put a small cabin, and while he described it, they encouraged his enthusiasm. Boone noticed he hadn’t coughed a lick since being smudged, but didn’t say a word about it. Weren’t the time to remind the man of his illness.

Mitch also wanted a small, open barn with a shed roof for his horses, enough to get them out of the weather if need be, and showed them where it would go. The one he’d built in Red Bluff had been the same before he eventually closed it in, and it had been simple pole barn construction, with no need for a stone foundation.

A pole barn made sense to Boone, he and Coy having considered it for theirs before settling on the post and beam structure they had now, but he did silently question it being left open. Mitch was used to Red Bluff winters—Larkspur winters were a lot colder. He reckoned they could set the cedar poles needed for the frame into the ground in a day, with the bracing and roof taking only a couple more. Putting up some walls for the wind wouldn’t take much either if Mitch changed his mind.

The sheriff also wanted a chicken coop to provide him fresh eggs, and of course, an outhouse. Boone offered up themselves and the team to help him build, insisting that adding to their own barn could wait another year if necessary, and wasn’t any inconvenience. The man might be dying, but he had dreams like anyone else, and Boone wanted to see as many of them come true as possible.

Mitch took them south to the clearing where he would put his first corral, saying possibly the next year if he were still around. He didn’t stand still for long, though, and was soon showing them an easier path to cross the stream, just down from where the corral would go.

Reaching into the running water, he reclaimed his string of five fat trout and held them up with pride before splashing over to the other side. They followed him across their land, walking fast to keep up, and he talked the whole way about other things he’d like to see on his new homestead. Boone was happy for the life in the man’s voice, but sad to think how little of those plans he’d likely get to see.

Mitch seemed to come back down to earth, and reality, when Coy mentioned Will would likely see to it he got the lumber he needed right quick, so there were no worries there.

After a few deep breaths and some silent strides up their lane, he spoke again, this time with his earlier enthusiasm missing. “Suppose William would try his best to help when he finds out my plans, wouldn’t he?”

“Yep,” Boone and Coy answered at the same time.

“And I am going to require the services of the local Merrick Mill, seeing how it’s the only one around.”

“Yep, you surely are… and ain’t no one better to deal with, even if there were others,” Coy said, sharing a glance with Boone.

“Expect that’s true enough… just talk and dreams right now, though. Might be none of it ever gets done, and I ain’t looking for anyone’s pity.” Mitch sighed just as the sound of a horse’s footfall broke the quiet behind them. They all turned around at the same time—someone was riding up the laneway. A few long seconds later Will came around the bend, ducking under a leaf-laden branch that needed trimming.

Boone and Coy shared another concerned glance, and Boone felt fearful for how this would go.

“Thought I heard my name. You folks been talking about me?” Will’s gaze focused on Mitch, who didn’t seem at all surprised at his appearance.

“Speak of the devil. Suppose you were mentioned a time or two today. Expect we’ll need to talk, seeing how you don’t appear to be giving up.”

“Nope, I ain’t… not this time.”

Mitch lifted up his string of fish, his expression giving no clues as to what he was feeling. “Then join us for a fish fry… caught ‘em myself. We’ll have us a conversation after our bellies are full.”

*