Protection

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Two weeks passed and Clint noticed how Bliss didn’t go to Almighty or her mother’s grave as much she had done in the weeks before. No notes came, no more mysterious figures were lurking around the ranch, and not even Bliss brought up the subject of the knife or the buckle, not did she tell her father that Seth couldn’t write so it was impossible that he was sending the notes. Clint was beginning to think that she chose to forget about the whole ordeal, yet a part of him knew better.

At supper one Saturday night, Sherman and Damian were wrapped up in yet another war story. They tended to stretch the truth a little bit with a tale of Indians attacking them from one side and Yankees from the other. Clint shook his head and looked at Bliss. She smiled and stuck a spoonful of peas in her mouth.

The story seemed to go on for about twenty more minutes until they had all eaten and Grace began gathering the plates.

“According to all the stories you two tell, I don’t see how ya’ll made it out of the war alive,” Clint said, handing his empty plate to Grace.

“We may not be glorified bounty hunters like… some people,” Damian said pointedly, “but we could hit a Yank between the eyes.”

Clint nodded like it was dull music. “Uh huh.”

It struck him as odd that in the past few weeks, Damian hadn’t even been working on an article of any kind. It was to Clint’s understanding that most newspapers sent out a weekly paper, and Damian claimed to be a head journalist, did he not?

“How’s your newspaper writing going, Damian?” Clint asked, rubbing the line of his jaw with his thumb.

Damian looked at him strangely, the telltale sign that he was hiding something. “It’s going fine.”

Clint pursed his lips and nodded slightly. Sure it was.

Pushing himself into a standing position, Clint dismissed himself from the room and walked out the back door and into the chilly night air. Darkness was about to descend over the ranch, a few stars making their appearance against the darkening sky. The air was silent except for the occasion neigh of a horse or the bellow of a cow in the distance. Clint sighed and allowed himself to indulge in the boyhood dream he’d had of owning his own spread. Maybe ranching was more honest work, but being a gunfighter definitely brought more money.

He walked across the yard until he reached the fence that outlined the closest pasture. He rested one of his feet on the fence and heaved a sigh, leaning his whole weight onto the sturdy fence.

For a moment he felt like he owned the world. The land stretched out in front of him like a painting on a canvas, making his thoughts turn to something it rarely had before. Did the land just end up in such a beautiful state? Surely something was keeping it in order.

He had heard several people refer to God and praying, but he didn’t understand much. Why did they believe in Him? What had He done? Why did He care about people, anyway?

He heard footsteps behind him and looked in their direction.

“Hey,” Bliss smiled at him.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” she asked him, leaning against the fence beside him.

“Nothin’ much,” Clint answered simply.

She sighed, looking out over the land in front of them. “It’s a pretty place, huh?”

Clint nodded.

“I’ve lived here my whole life and it never ceases to amaze me,” she smiled broadly. “One day this will all be mine. Well, either mine or Colt’s. I don’t think Daddy’s decided yet.”