BA Tortuga - Cabin Fever.pdf - B. A. Tortuga - chillipi

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of

the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,

organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of

either the author or the publisher.

Cabin Fever

without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or

reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

ISBN: 978-1-60370-020-7, 1-60370-020-X

Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press electronic edition / May 2007

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

http://www.torquerepress.com

Cabin Fever - 2

Cabin Fever

By BA Tortuga

Chapter One

Walker had learned a couple three things in the past six months.

One. When a sheriff in Texas said, "Ride on out of town", a sensible man rode.

Two. Them that cheated at cards carried sidearms and were a faster draw than he was.

Three. Mountains looked closer than they really were, whether or not the Comancheria were

riding you hard.

Four. Winter started a lot sooner and harder than he'd been led to believe once a man reached

those mountains.

Five. Every tree in these damnable woods looked the same.

Every one.

He'd been wandering for days, looking for a way through the mountains, looking for the pass that

the map he'd bought in El Paso swore was right where he stood.

"You thinking about jumping my claim, boy, there's something you ought to know. I'm a damn

good shot, I have the drop on you, and I'm a damn sight bigger'n you to boot."

The deep, bear-like voice came from behind him, along with the sound of a rifle cocking.

Walker took a deep breath, hand sliding for his gunbelt, puffing himself up as big as he could as

he turned. "I'm just passing through."

Six. Mountains looked to be a favorite place for lunatics and mad men.

"You pass anywhere in the next few days you'll freeze solid, friend. It's fixing to snow, and

hard." The barrel of that samesaid rifle practically pressed his nose. "And the only reason you

should pull that pistol is to hand it over."

"I ain't looking for trouble." He lost his pistol, he'd starve. Walker stepped back, shaking his

head. "No trouble at all."

"Good. Then you can keep it, but I swear, boy, the first time you look like you're going for it, I'll

make you eat it."

The rifle lowered enough that he could see something besides the bore, and he got a good look at

the man holding it. Tall, wide, dressed in dungarees and a rough shirt, along with a heavy coat

and boots, the man had a wild red beard and a mass of curly, brownish-red hair. Set deep in the

brush were a pair of twinkling green eyes.

He nodded, kept moving backward. He should have kept his old nag instead of going for

supplies. He should have listened to his Pa when the man called him a durned fool for leaving

the fields.

"You're gonna land on your butt, son." Sure enough, his down-at-the-heel boot clunked against a

rock, nearly sending him sprawling. "What are you doing here?"

"Like I said. I was headed west. Hoping to get work. Maybe work some land." Maybe work the

rails with the Chinamen. Something. Anything.

"Uh huh. Well, and like I said, you'll never make it to the next town before hard frost." God

damn it if the first flake of snow didn't fall on his nose right then, breaking through the trees.

He bit back his sigh, his worry. "I knew I shoulda kept that nag..."

"So you should have. You'll not make it, son." The big man sighed. "Come on, then."

"Pardon?" Come on where? Surely if he walked it hard, he'd find a spot

"I can't leave you out here to freeze. You ain't even got a decent coat, nor boots. Come on, now.

You're bound to be hungry." The rifle lowered all the way, the big man actually turning his back

and heading off into the trees...the ones that all looked alike and would look even more so with

snow on them.

Walker found himself following, balancing his pack more surely so that his pistol was in reach.

Everything was getting grey, the clouds heavier minute by minute.

The snow filtering through the trees felt wet, heavy, starting to weigh on his light coat within

minutes. He'd swear the air went colder than a witch's tit in no time. He was shivering by the

time they got to a small cabin set on a high point, the trees around it cut and burnt.

He must have walked right by the place and never even looked at it. "How long you been

following me?"

"Long enough. You wandered in circles near an hour 'fore I stopped you. You ain't much on

maps, are you son?" The place had a cot, a table with one bench, a washstand that looked like his

momma might have owned it and a potbellied stove that threw out the most lovely heat he'd ever

felt.

"I got a map. I was just lookin' for something." An hour? Shit, Marthy.

"Well, if it was Guanella Pass you're off by a good three miles and four thousand feet thataway."

He got a keen look as the man pulled off his coat and shook out his beard. "What's your name?"

"Hansom. Walker Hansom." Three miles. God help him, he was worthless as tits on a boar hog.

"Horace Grady." One big paw reached out for his, pumping it until his arm hurt at the shoulder.

Cabin Fever - 4

"Howdy." Lord love him, his hand near disappeared in there, the idle strength stunning. "I'm

right sorry to be a bother."

"Well, you'd be sorrier to be dead, I'd wager, young as you are. I expect you're hungry." The

cabin seemed too small for the big frame, but Horace managed just fine, and soon enough he had

a plate of beans and warm biscuits, all taken from the little cast iron warmer on the back of the

stove.

Oh. Warm. Good. He moaned out his thanks, eating with a hunger, his stomach near clenching as

the food hit it like a stampeding bull.

"Slow now. Don't want you bringing it up on my floor." A cup of coffee ended up next to his

elbow before Grady went to put more wood on the fire.

"No. No, I wouldn't." He wouldn't. That would require horrible things like moving.

Standing.

Not eating another bite.

"Just slow it down." He got a wink, Grady settling on the cot, one knee drawn up for his arms to

lean on. The man's feet were just huge. Like a giant in his momma's stories.

"Yes, sir." He nodded, slowed, the taste of the coffee enough to bring tears to his eyes.

"Where you from, son?"

"Virginia. Tobacco country."

"Must be damned cold to you then." Those eyes, they laughed at him.

"I wasn't expecting it to be winter yet." He blushed, looking away from that regard.

"Well, of course not. Comes earlier up here. Soon as the first snow really settles in I'll take you

down into Georgetown. I got an extra pair of snowshoes."

"Snowshoes. When will the snow stop?" Snowshoes.

That big head tilted, eyes half closing as Grady listened to the wind. "With this storm? Could be

two days. Could be two weeks."

"Two weeks." His mouth was opening and closing like a catfish in a basket, drowning in air.

"Yessir. That first snow can be a real deep one." There was that twinkle again, just shining

through. "Well, I need to get some chores done. You'll pull your weight if you stay, but for now

you can sit a spell, warm up. Don't let the dog worry you none. He's not friendly, but he's too

lazy to bite."

He hadn't even noticed the indeterminate-breed hound laying on the floor half under the bunk.

BA Tortuga - Cabin Fever.pdf

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