“And every morning,” her father answered. Then he clapped Colton on the shoulders. “You will do well, son.”
“If the wolves come—” Jim started.
“I’ll watch for them,” David said. “And I can still shoot.”
Abigail and the children came out, and they all exchanged another round of goodbyes. Then Jim, Colton, and Ellen set out toward Onionville.
The idea had been Ellen’s. They couldn’t sell the cattle, not if they were to have a future here, and as there was no other source of income, she, Colton, and Jim would look for work in town. Paying for a place in town might prove expensive—though Jim had an idea of building a second cabin—but if the three of them could work through autumn, they should put enough aside to see them through another winter.
Onionville proved unusually crowded when they arrived; it only took one look to know why. Lost Creek had flooded, and water ran through a full third of the buildings nearest the river.
“Might be tough to find work with the town like this,” Jim said.
“Or easy. Most of these people will need help,” Ellen said. “Let’s see about the general store first.”
The three rode to the store and Jim helped Ellen out of the saddle. She smoothed out her dress and checked her hat.
“While I ask around inside, why don’t you two talk to those freighters over there?” She pointed to a group of men struggling to load barrels out of a storeroom the floodwaters were approaching.
“Good idea,” Jim said. He smiled at her then, squeezed her hand, and gave her a quick kiss. “No need to be nervous.”
“I know,” she said, and smoothed the front of her dress a final time.
Jim watched her go, then turned to Colton. “Guess we’d better be going.”
A short, burly fellow stood near the freighters, yelling and cursing at the men as they pulled sacks and barrels from the storeroom. He eyed Jim and Colton when they approached.
“I’m Fletcher. What can I do for you?”
“Looks like you could use some help.”
“Any chance either of you own a storeroom, one not half-drowned?”
“No storerooms,” Jim said.
“Then I’m not sure you’ll be much help.” Fletcher turned back to his men. “Dammit Bill, don’t drop those.”
“We can pitch in and get your goods out faster,” Jim said.
“Anything would be faster than this lot,” Fletcher said. “But what might that cost me?”
“A job.”
“One job or two?” Fletcher said.
“Two, if you have them. One otherwise,” Jim said.
“Let’s see how you work first. See if you can load faster than these boys.”
Colton hopped down and jumped to work immediately while Jim secured their horses where he could keep an eye on them. With the town in chaos, it would be easy for someone to help themselves to a pair of waiting horses.
They worked hard, Colton joining the other men hauling goods from the warehouse and Jim loading the horses.
At a significant cost, Fletcher managed to secure another storeroom, one well uphill from the river. Jim knew the owner, Dale Owens, a man known for reckless gambling, hard drinking, and little else. It surprised Jim he owned much of anything, much less a storeroom.
Fletcher turned to Jim. “You know your way around this town?”
“I do,” Jim nodded.
“Hale,” Fletcher called to one of the other men. “You and this new fellow take the horses up to the new place. It’s supposed to be up behind the church.”
“Which church?” Jim asked. “Three in town.”
“Lady Mary of the something or other. You know it?”
“I do and I know the place he’s talking about.” Jim looked at the growing pile of goods. “It’s not very big.”
“Pack it tight,” Fletcher said, and went back to yelling at the other men.
Hale was a lean fellow, and he followed Jim and the horses.
“You been with Fletcher long?” Jim asked.
“Two years. He’s not so bad.”
“Really? Seems like a yeller.”
Hale rolled himself a cigarette and lit it.
