The food was good. Big bowls of cowboy chili with lots of meat and beans. Hot, too with a bite that almost made me cry. The cornbread was better than any I’d ever tasted – sweet, moist and loaded with kernels of sweet corn, cream cheese, chunks of onions, hot and sweet peppers.
I took two squares of buttered corn bread and ladled the chili on top, adding cut sweet onions, shredded cheese and more peppers. The plastic bowl groaned as it was forced to carry way more than was intended for safe passage, but I still managed to make it to a secluded out of the way corner. I could eat in peace and still watch the serving staff and riders, to see if they recognized me. So far, no one seemed to be interested in me.
I went back for seconds, nobody cared. After that, I wandered the grounds to reconnoiter the farm’s layout. Still, it wasted no more than twenty minutes and even though I found the restroom, with a hot walk-in shower, I turned down the chance of bathing. Truthfully, I didn’t dare to get undressed, wet and run the risk that someone would recognize me while I was naked and pinned in the restroom. I damn sure wasn’t going to run away without clothes and Ballycor. No Lady Godiva for me.
I did wash my face, armpits and crotch. I used one of the new toothbrushes to scrub at my teeth for the first time in two days. It was the first time they tasted fresh and clean. I put the brush in my jeans along with a tube of toothpaste – one of those mini travel sizes. I was ashamed to admit I stole a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo, rolling the stuff in a plush towel which also came with me. The whole bundle went into my backpack. After that, I checked on Ballycor and left him to check out the tack room.
Still weren’t any people wandering the aisles of the barn; I guess most of them were doing that camping stuff. Barbecues, drinking beers around the campfires, and wannabe musicians singing Country Western songs. I could hear them in the background –they were doing a fantastic job of playing and singing Marty Robbins, Garth Brooks and George Strait.
I found the tack room with ease. It was neat, well-organized and heated; with both cold drinks, a Keurig machine and both coffee, hot chocolate and tea pods to choose from. Every kind of saddle was mounted on the wall with fancy metal saddle racks. Next to the saddles were brass bridle racks with every bridle from English to Western. From snaffle bits to Kimblewicks. Spanish curb bits made of decorated German silver. Silver studded show bridles. Silver or brass braided lace on brow-bands and cavessons.
I wanted a small western saddle made of synthetic leather, a material that washed with soap and water, but essentially, so light weight that I could both lift and place on the stud’s back. Any would do the job if it weighed no more than 15-17 lbs. I found one in deep brown and the name tag read ‘Lucky Seven.’ I wasn’t sure if that was the name of the saddle or the horse it belonged to.
I dragged it over to Bally’s stall and left it tipped over on its cantle with a thick blanket laid across the top. I took it mainly because it was camo pattern and would help break up the horse’s outline in the woods. I hoped that in the confusion of the Wagon Train’s departure next morning, no one would notice that I was with the crowd or that I had stolen the saddle and blanket. I also hoped that we weren’t leaving before breakfast, it would suck if I had to scrounge food with so much available.
Back in the barn next to Bally’s stall I found a stall set up as a small apartment. It had a bed, sink, small dorm-sized TV, microwave and a two-burner stove and oven.
The bed was a brass and iron daybed that could also serve as a couch. A round table with three chairs, each one made of wood, a different design so that not two matched. A lounge chair and a small love seat were set up in the far corner with a small flat screen TV. There was also a cable set-up and a modem for wireless Wi-Fi. All-in-all, it was a nice place for the barn manager to live in but left me to wonder where they had been re-located. The house, maybe?
I checked the closet and there were no clothes hanging nor anything folded in the wire baskets that were part of the big walk-in closet. No family pictures on any of the walls.
I was just about to pull my clothes over my head when someone’s fist rapped on the sliding door. I hesitated and since there was no one out except through that door, I had to answer it.
Reluctantly, I went to the gate, unlocked it, slid it smoothly out on the rail. Standing there was a lady in jeans, brown duck coat and western muck boots. She had on a watch cap covering her long brown hair.
“Hi. I thought your…Dad? couldn’t come. Something about a riding accident?”
“It turned out he was barely hurt,” I answered, knowing her next question would be about why my parents had let me go alone at my age.
“My parents said I could ride as long as I was comfortable, and the Wagon Master kept an eye on me.”
“Well, the good news is that your ride is only for a few hours and follows the route home to Delaware. You’ll pass right through Fair Play, which is only 5 miles from your parents farm,” she said. “How lucky you are that your parents allow you to ride on your own.”
“They’re throwbacks to 60’s hippies,” I lied. “Even though both are tried and true corporate America.”
“You’re not joining the campfire festivities?”
“No, I prefer to sleep. We are getting up really early tomorrow, I’m not used to that.” I opened the sliding door and she exited gracefully before handing me a green ribbon with a number and ‘I rode the Wagon Train West for Boy’s Town.’
“Thanks.” I pulled the door shut, locked it and to be up, horse fed, watered and tacked up before anyone else. Planned to leave before the Wagon Train only to join up with it once it reached Maryland. Once there, I was going to ride the Shawnee Trail all the way to the last place Crispin had told me that his Dad had buried the gold intended to buy his ransom. Once I had that, I planned to sell it on the Internet for Bit coin and use that to buy a place out in Texas. Maybe near the swamps in East Texas where I could hunt and fish, take care of myself without any adult’s help. I could live there until I was old enough to become an emancipated teenager and collect my settlement without adult interference.
I didn’t know how naive I was or how corrupt the world. And when Crispin came to me in my dreams, he did nothing to disabuse the hopelessness of my plans.
*****
Sanderson followed the horse tracks, noting the character of the child he followed by the way the boy used the terrain to keep both himself and his mount concealed from any roads. How he took care to ensure his horse drank at every stream crossing and graze in every available meadow. This had the effect of slowing the miles traveled by the pair so that Sanderson was able to catch up.
He found where the boy had camped, broken into the RV and searched through the camper’s cabinets. More curiously, he marveled at the note that the boy had left in stylish cursive stating what he had taken. Credit cards, cans of tuna fish, saltines and other incidentals. He signed the note CRISPIN LACEY, not Cris Snow or Cris Neige like his father’s. He promised to pay the card owners back for any damages and expenses incurred on the ‘borrowed’ card.
Sanderson took out his satellite phone and aimed it overhead where the trees left an opening, punching the button for the saved telephone number of the detective. He answered on the first ring.
“Detective Eachann. Have you found him?” he asked eagerly.
“Not yet. I’ve found his campsite. I’m on County Road 35, in an old RV park that looks like it hasn't been open in a few years. The boy broke into a Citation coach, stole some food, water, blankets, some clothes and two credit cards in the name of Olums. Out of Sarasota, Florida. The RV tags are three years out of date.”
“You’re near Grand Gorge,” Matt said. “We’ll come get you.”
“No. I have enough supplies and I’m continuing to follow his tracks. Call you at the next campsite.”
“How old is the trail?”
“Two days, maybe. Not any more than that,” Sanderson said. He didn’t say goodbye but simply ended the call as he scanned the ground for more footprints next to the horse’s hoof-prints. The tracks led him up through the meadows with waist-high grass and onto the broad shoulders of the state road. He heard the swish as traffic passed, enough to qualify the route as a busy road but was surprised that no one could see him as he walked and waved. He suspected that it had been the same for the boy and horse, especially as the child was walking beside his mount and not on its back. He knew this because he had found an occasional boot print in the soft sand next to the bare hoof-prints. The horse moved out with a big stride when ridden but slowed his pace to accommodate the shorter stride of the child.
The tracks led him through a thicket of blackberry canes where he found the spot where the boy had tied the horse to a small tree. The area around the young maple was torn up as was the tree. The horse had chewed the bark off, stripped branches and leaves, urinated and left droppings. From the dryness of the balls, Sanderson thought that the pair had only left the day before. He wondered why Cris had chosen that spot to park and as he back-tracked, he found a shopping cart in the woods. It was loaded with tied up empty plastic bags, neatly stacked inside each other. The name on the bag was from an upscale camping and hunting store.
The cart’s tracks took him to a parking lot of immense size, a part of a giant mall. Therein, he lost the boy’s trail, but he really didn’t need them in lieu of the name on the sports bags. He knew where to look and would bet a week’s pay that the boy had been videotaped both coming and going to the mall.
He stood under a shade tree and called the detective. Told him that he needed the cop to request the CCTV tapes for up to three days ago at Dick’s in the Rainier Mall in PA.
Eachann promised to meet him in two hours with his badge and the proper authority. Sanderson told him that they could find him in the food court enjoying real pizza and a long neck. Matt laughed and said to save them three or four pieces each.